"He shall go," said Ehrenthal, readily; "he shall go this next quarter,
if my son Bernhard wishes it."

"And will you give up the idea of buying the baron's estate for
yourself?"

"When it comes to be sold, I will think of what you have said," replied
his father. "And now speak no more about the estate; when you are my
strong, healthy son again, we will return to the subject."

So saying, he seized the hand which Bernhard delayed giving, held it
fast in both his, and sat silently beside him.

If ever in the course of his life Ehrenthal had known satisfaction, it
was now, in having brought about this reconciliation with his son.

CHAPTER XXV.

Wave after wave broke over the head of the drowning man.

The factory had now been in operation for some months. The beet-root
crop on the estate itself had been deficient, and the cultivation of it
in the country round had proved unsuccessful. Many of the small farmers
had failed to fulfill their contracts, and others had brought in
inferior produce. There was a scarcity of beet-root as well as a
scarcity of capital; the works stopped, the workmen dispersed.

Ehrenthal was gone off to the Polish property, and the baron was
consumed by the fever of suspense. At last came the dark day when
Ehrenthal appeared before him, a letter from Commissary Walter in his
hand. The baron's capital had only been saved by his buying the estate.

The owners of the first mortgage of a hundred thousand dollars had
raised the property, by bidding, up to a hundred and four thousand; they
had then left off, and no other purchaser had come forward.

"The estate is now yours, baron," said Ehrenthal. "In order that you may
be able to maintain it, I have negotiated with the owners of the first
mortgage, and they will leave the hundred thousand upon the estate. I
have advanced for you four thousand dollars and the legal expenses."

The baron said not a word; his head fell heavily on his writing-table.
As Ehrenthal left the room, he muttered, "It is all over with him. And
the next quarter he will lose his old estate, and he has not energy to
undertake the new. I shall have to buy the Polish property too, in the
end."

And now term-time drew near, and the baron had the interest of all his
borrowed money to pay. Once more he looked round for help. In vain!
Last of all he came to his neighbor, George Werner, who had for some
years paid homage to Lenore, and then prudently drawn back, the