FELS."

I lost no time in complying with this summons. In a few moments I was in
the carriage; ere long I was at the schloss, was met by Countess
Hildegarde, looking like a ghost that had been keeping a strict Lent,
and was at last by Sigmund's bedside.

He was tossing feverishly from side to side, murmuring and muttering.
But when he saw me he was still, a sweet, frank smile flitted over his
face--a smile wonderfully like that which his father had lately bent
upon me. He gave a little laugh, saying:

"Fraeulein May! _Willkommen!_ Have you brought my father? And I should
like to see Friedhelm, too. You and _der Vater_ and Friedel used to sit
near together at the concert, don't you remember? I went once, and you
sung. That tall black man beat time, and my father never stopped looking
at you and listening--Friedel too. I will ask them if they remember."

He laughed again at the reminiscence, and took my hand, and asked me if
I remembered, so that it was with difficulty that I steadied my voice
and kept my eyes from running over as I answered him. Graefin Hildegarde
behind wrung her hands and turned to the window. He did not advance any
reminiscence of what had happened since he came to the schloss.

There was no doubt that our Sigmund was very ill. A visitation of
scarlet fever, of the worst kind, was raging in Lahnburg and in the
hamlet of Rothenfels, which lay about the gates of the schloss.

Sigmund, some ten days before, had ridden with his uncle, and waited on
his pony for some time outside a row of cottages, while the count
visited one of his old servants, a man who had become an octogenarian in
the service of his family, and upon whom Graf Bruno periodically shed
the light of his countenance.

It was scarcely to be doubted that the boy had taken the infection then
and there, and the doctor did not conceal that he had the complaint in
its worst form, and that his recovery admitted of the gravest doubts.

A short time convinced me that I must not again leave the child till the
illness was decided in one way or another. He was mine now, and I felt
myself in the place of Eugen, as I stood beside his bed and told him the
hard truth--that his father was not here, nor Friedhelm, nor Karl, for
whom he also asked, but only I.

The day passed on. A certain conviction was growing every hour stronger
with me. An incident at last decided it. I had scarcely left Sigmund's
side for eight or nine hours, but I had seen not