o say," continued Bernhard, in a low voice, "is my firm
resolve, and it is not one taken this day. If you have made money, it
was with the hope that I should outlive you and be your heir. Was it not
so?"

Ehrenthal vehemently nodded assent. "If, then, you behold your heir in
me, listen to my words. If you love me, act in accordance with them. I
renounce my inheritance so long as we both live. What you have laid up
for me has been laid up in vain. I require nothing for my future. If it
be appointed me to recover, I will learn to support myself by my own
labor. Beside your love and your blessing, father, I want nothing. Think
upon this."

Ehrenthal raised his arms and cried, "What words are these, my Bernhard,
my poor son! Thou art ill; thou art very ill."

"Hear me further," besought Bernhard. "Whatever your claims may be on
this gentleman's estate, they must be given up. You have been connected
with him in business for long years; you must not be the means of
making his family unhappy. I do not ask you to give away the large sum
in question. That would pain you too much, and would be humiliating to
him; all I require is, that you should accept the security he offers
you. If he ever promised you any other, forget it; if you have papers in
your possession which compromise him, give them back."

"He is ill," groaned his father; "he is very ill."

"I know that this will pain you, my father. Ever since you left your
grandfather's house, a poor barefooted Jew-boy, with one dollar in your
pocket, you have thought of nothing but money-making. No one ever taught
you any thing else, and your creed excluded you from the society of
those who better understood what gave value to life. I know it goes to
your heart to risk a large sum, but yet, father, you will do it--you
will do it because you love me."

Ehrenthal wrung his hands, and said, with floods of tears, "You know not
what you ask, my son. You plead for a robbery--a robbery from your
father."

The son took his father's hand. "You have always loved me. You have
wished that I should be different from yourself. You have always given
heed to my words, and before I could express a wish you have fulfilled
it. But this is the first great request that I have ever made. And this
request I will whisper in your ear as long as I live; it is the first,
father, and it will be my last."

"Thou art a foolish child," cried the father, beside himself; "thou
askest my life--my whole s