ill realize how impossible it was for a man of my
temperament to live and breathe under the restrictions of a profession
which was death to every poetic feeling; then you will forgive your
unruly son for his boyish trick."

Hartmut Rojanow was himself again, and spoke with his old domineering
pride. His arrogant self-consciousness clung to him even in this hour.
He was the author of "Arivana," who acknowledged neither obligation nor
duty.

"The boyish trick," said Falkenried in a harder voice than ever. "Yes,
that's what they called it in order to make it possible for me to remain
in the service. I called it something else, and many of my comrades with
me. You would soon have been an ensign, in a few weeks you would have
been fleeing from the flag you had sworn to defend--I have never known
such another case. You had been well and carefully educated and I had
striven to instill into your mind the keenest sense of honor. You knew
only too well what you did, you were no longer a boy. He who flees like
a thief in the night from the service of his country is a deserter; he
breaks his word and he does not know what honor means. That is what you
did! But it comes easy for you, and such as you, to do such things."

Hartmut bit his lips and his whole body trembled at these merciless
words. His voice had a hollow, half suffocated sound as he answered:

"Listen, father, I cannot bear that. I have bowed before you, have plead
for forgiveness, and you drive me from you. It is the same cruel
hardness with which you once drove my mother away. It was your severity
alone which was accountable for her erratic life after you thrust her
from you and for mine through hers."

The colonel folded his arms and an expression of withering contempt
played round his lips.

"And you heard all this from her own lips? Possibly! No woman falls so
low that she reveals to her son the disgraceful truths of her life. I
would not soil your soul at that time with the truth, for you were yet
innocent and pure. Now you will understand me when I say that my honor
demanded the separation from your mother. The man who had stained it
fell by my hand, and she, as you know--I put her from me."

Hartmut grew deadly pale at this revelation. He had never known this,
never dreamed of such a thing, had in fact, believed that it was his
father's cruel disposition which had separated husband and wife.

The image of his mother whom he had so dearly loved, was sudde