, but had not yet answered the summons; perhaps
some one from Ostwalden, where the news had been sent late. The carriage
turned into the broad road, and came on crunching and cracking over the
icy ground, and drew up under the wide porte cochere at the side of the
house. Hartmut, who was virtually master of the place, left his room
and hastened to see who had come or what was wanted.

He had taken but a step or two down the stairs which led to the entrance
hall, when he stopped suddenly and held his breath with a gasp. There
sounded a voice which he had not heard for ten long years. It spoke in a
low, subdued tone, and yet he recognized it at the first word.

"I come from the Prussian Embassy," the new-comer explained. "We
received the telegram early this afternoon, and I started at once. How
is he? Can I see Herr von Wallmoden?"

Stadinger, who admitted the stranger, answered in a low tone. Hartmut
did not hear what he said, but could imagine from the next words:

"Then I come too late!"

"Yes, sir; the Baron died this afternoon." There was a short pause, then
the stranger said:

"Take me to his widow; tell her it is Colonel von Falkenried."

Stadinger led the way, and a tall figure wrapped in a military cloak
followed him; the man watching on the stairs could only recognize the
contour of the figure. The two had long since disappeared in the room
beneath, and yet Hartmut stood grasping the ballister, and looking down
into the semi-darkness with vacant eyes. When Stadinger came out again,
Hartmut retraced his steps slowly to his own room.

For a quarter of an hour he paced restlessly up and down. He was having
a hard, fierce struggle with himself; he had never yet bent his pride,
never been able to yield, and he must bend and bend low before this
deeply injured father; this much he knew. But the longing, the burning
longing to see and be with him again, finally gained the victory.

He threw back his head with sudden decision. "No, I will be no coward. I
will not avoid him. Now that we are under the same roof, within the same
four walls, I will venture. He is my own father and I am his son!"

From the castle clock of Rodeck sounded forth ten slow, heavy strokes.
Without in the forest all was still, and within was the silence of
death. The old steward and the servants had all gone to bed, as had also
Frau von Eschenhagen. She had had a long journey without rest, and one
painful excitement after another on this