lonel's face. He had not
known that his son was under the same roof with him, and was totally
unprepared for the meeting. But he made no outcry, showed no sign either
of anger or weakness. Still and stark he stood and looked upon him who
had once been his all. At last he raised his hand slowly, and pointed
toward the door:

"Go!"

"Father, hear me."

"Go, I say!" The order sounded threatening this time.

"No, I will not go!" cried Hartmut, passionately. "I know that
reconciliation can only come in this hour. I have wronged you deeply;
how deeply, how severely, I feel now for the first time. But I was only
a boy of seventeen, and it was my mother whom I followed. Remember that,
father, and forgive me, forgive your own son."

"You are the son of the woman whose name you bear; you are no son of
mine. No one devoid of honor can be a Falkenried."

The words were almost too much for Hartmut. The blood mounted hot and
wild to his brow--the brow so like his father's--and it required all his
strength to keep himself under control.

The two believed themselves to be alone in the silence of the night, for
all in the castle had retired to rest. They did not know that they had a
witness. Adelheid von Wallmoden had not retired to rest. She knew that
sleep would not come to her eyes, which had witnessed the dreadful
accident which left her a widow. Still clad in the dark traveling dress
which she had worn on that fateful journey, she sat in her room, when
the colonel's voice sounded on her ear. With whom could he be speaking
at that late hour? He knew no one, and yet his voice had a strange,
threatening sound. Puzzled and uneasy, the tired woman rose and stepped
into the ante-chamber which separated the two rooms, to see who it was.
She had no desire to overhear any conversation. She had a nervous
feeling that something new might have happened. Then a voice which she
knew only too well, said "Father," and that one word revealed to her
what the next few words confirmed. Like one possessed she stood still
and listened to all which came to her through the half-opened door.

"You make this hour very hard, father," Hartmut said, laboring to
control his voice, "but I think I hardly expected anything else.
Wallmoden has told you about me, I feel sure, and what I have sought,
and how I have succeeded. I bring you the poet's wreath, father, the
first which has fallen to my share. Learn to know my work, let it speak
to you, then you w