things, perhaps the worst, and often
felt as if he were walking in the darkness over a mouldering bridge. Ah,
if it could only be propped up, and then rebuilt! But if it must give
way, he hoped the catastrophe would come soon. He knew that he possessed
the strength to build a new home for Els and himself. Even were it small
and modest, it should be erected on a firm foundation and afford a safe
abode for its inmates.

What did the young, joyous-hearted fellow who was wooing Eva know of such
cares? Fate had placed him on the sunny side of life, where everything
flourished, and set him, Wolff, in the shade, where grass and flowers
died.

There is a magic in fame which the young soul cannot easily escape, and
the name of Heinz Schorlin was indeed honoured and on every lip. The
imagination associated with it the cheerful nature which, like a loyal
comrade, goes hand in hand with success, deserved and undeserved good
fortune, woman's favour, doughty deeds, the highest and strongest traits
of character.

An atmosphere like sunshine, which melts all opposition, emanated from
Heinz. Wolff had experienced it himself. He had seriously intended to
make the insolent intruder feel his strong arm, but since he had learned
the identity of the Swiss his acts and nature appeared in a new light.
His insolence had gained the aspect of self-confidence which did not lack
justification, and when a valiant knight talked to him so frankly, like a
younger brother to an older and wiser one, it seemed to the lonely man
who, of late, completely absorbed in the course of business, had held
aloof from the sports, banquets, and diversions of the companions of his
own age, that he had experienced something unusually pleasant. How tender
and affectionate it sounded when Heinz alluded to the "little mother" at
home! He, Wolff, on the contrary, could think only with a shade of
bitterness of the weak woman to whom he owed his existence, and whom
filial duty and earnest resolution alike commanded him to love, yet who
made it so difficult for him to regard her with anything save anxiety or
secret disapproval.

Perhaps the greatest advantage which the Swiss possessed over him was his
manner of speaking of his family. How could it ever have entered Wolff
Eysvogel's mind to call the tall, stiff woman, who was the feeble echo of
her extravagant, arrogant mother, and who rustled towards him, even in
the early morning, adorned with feathers and robed in rich