f the answer he showed to me, and it ran thus:

"I consent to this, but only upon one condition, which is that when my
son is eighteen years old, you tell him all, and give him his choice
whether he see me again or not. My word is given not to interfere in the
matter, and I can trust yours when you promise that it shall be as I
stipulate. I want your answer upon this point, which is very simple, and
the single condition I make. It is, however, one which I can not and
will not waive."

"Thirteen years, Eugen," said I.

"Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three."

"You will let me know what the answer to that is," I went on.

He nodded. By return of post the answer came.

"It is 'yes,'" said he, and paused. "The day after to-morrow he is to
go."

"Not alone, surely?"

"No; some one will come for him."

I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy.

"There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you to obey as you
would me, Sigmund," he told him.

"Is he like thee?"

"No; much better and wiser than I am. But, remember, he never commands
twice. Thou must not question and delay as thou dost with thy
weak-minded old father. He is the master in the place thou art going
to."

"Is it far from here?"

"Not exceedingly far."

"Hast thou been there?"

"Oh, yes," said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, "often."

"What must I call this man?" inquired Sigmund.

"He will tell thee that. Do thou obey him and endeavor to do what he
wishes, and so thou mayst know thou art best pleasing me."

"And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. But where wilt thou
be?"

"When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is necessary--And
thy music," pursued Eugen. "Remember that in all troubles that may come
to thee, and whatever thou mayst pass through, there is one great,
beautiful goddess who abides above the troubles of men, and is often
most beautiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Remember--whom?"

"Beethoven," was the prompt reply.

"Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most
beautiful thing in the world."

"And thou art a musician," said Sigmund, with a little laugh, as if it
"understood itself" that his father should naturally be a priest of "the
most beautiful thing in the world."

I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:

"They are sending for him--an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him
with him."

And one morning he cam