hing of the count, nor
heard his voice, nor had any mention been made of him, and remembering
how he adored the boy, I was surprised.

At last Graefin Hildegarde, after a brief absence, came into the room,
and with a white face and parted lips, said to me in a half-whisper.

"_Liebe_ Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? Will you speak
to my husband?"

"To your husband!" I ejaculated.

She bowed.

"He longs to see Sigmund, but dare not come. For me, I have hardly dared
to go near him since the little one began to be ill. He believes that
Sigmund will die, and that he will be his murderer, having taken him out
that day. I have often spoken to him about making _der Arme_ ride too
far, and now the sight of me reminds him of it; he can not endure to
look at me. Heaven help me! Why was I ever born?"

She turned away without tears--tears were not in her line--and I went,
much against my will, to find the Graf.

He was in his study. Was that the same man, I wondered, whom I had seen
the very day before, so strong, and full of pride and life? He raised a
haggard, white, and ghastly face to me, which had aged and fallen in
unspeakably. He made an effort, and rose with politeness as I came in.

"_Mein Fraeulein_, you are loading us with obligations. It is quite
unheard of."

But no thanks were implied in the tone--only bitterness. He was angry
that I should be in the place he dared not come to.

If I had not been raised by one supreme fear above all smaller ones, I
should have been afraid of this haggard, eager-looking old man--for he
did look very old in his anguish. I could see the rage of jealousy with
which he regarded me, and I am not naturally fond of encountering an old
wolf who has starved.

But I used my utmost effort to prevail upon him to visit his nephew, and
at last succeeded. I piloted him to Sigmund's room; led him to the boy's
bedside. The sick child's eyes were closed, but he presently opened
them. The uncle was stooping over him, his rugged face all working with
emotion, and his voice broken as he murmured:

"_Ach, mein Liebling!_ art thou then so ill?"

With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away with both hands,
crying:

"Go away! I want my father--my father, my father, I say! Where is he?
Why do you not fetch him? You are a bad man, and you hate him."

Then I was frightened. The count recoiled; his face turned deathly
white--livid; his fist clinched. He glared down upon