or kindred who fear that she will bring injury
and shame upon them. Your wish is fulfilled. I hereby break the
betrothal."

"And, in so doing, you only anticipate the step which I intended to take
with more cogent motives," replied Casper Eysvogel with cool composure,
shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "The city will judge to-morrow
which of the two parties was compelled to sever a bond sacred in the
sight of God and men. Unfortunately, it is impossible for me to give your
daughter the good opinion you cherish of my son."

Drawing his stately figure to its full height as he spoke, he gazed at
his diminutive adversary with a look of haughty contempt and, without
vouchsafing a word in farewell, turned his back upon him.

Repressed fury was seething in Ernst Ortlieb's breast, and he would
scarcely have succeeded in controlling himself longer but for the
consolation afforded by the thought that every tie was sundered between
his daughter and this cold, arrogant, unjust man and his haughty, evil
disposed kindred. But when he again looked for the daughter on whom his
hasty act had doubtless inflicted a severe blow, she was no longer
visible.

Directly after he took the ring she had glided silently, unnoticed by
most of the company, up the stairs to the second story. Cordula von
Montfort told him this in a low tone.

Els had made no answer to her questions, but her imploring, tearful eyes
pierced the young countess to the heart. Her quick ear had caught
Siebenburg's malicious words and Casper Eysvogel's harsh response and,
with deep pity, she felt how keenly the poor girl must suffer.

The happiness of a whole life destroyed without any fault of her own!
From their first meeting Els had seemed to her incapable of any careless
error, and she had merely tried, by her bold, interference, to protect
her from the gossip of evil tongues. But Heinz Schorlin had just
approached and whispered that, by his knightly honour, Els was a total
stranger to him, and he only wished he might find his own dear sister at
home as pure and free from any fault.

Poor child! But the countess knew who had frustrated her intervention in
behalf of Els. It was Sir Seitz Siebenburg, "the Mustache," whose
officious homage, at first amusing, had long since become repulsive. Her
heart shrank from the thought that, merely from vain pleasure in having a
throng of admirers, she had given this scoundrel more than one glance of
encouragement. The ridi