oldier's face of
agony made him start back. He whispered, "My mother wishes to speak to
you; something dreadful has occurred." Anton caught up his hat, ran into
the office, hurriedly asked Baumann to excuse him to the principal, and
then accompanied the lieutenant to the baron's house.

On the way, Eugene, who had lost all self-command, said unconnectedly to
Anton, "My father last night accidentally wounded himself by a
pistol-shot--a messenger was sent to summon me--when I came, I found my
mother in a swoon--my sister and I do not know what to do--Lenore
implored my mother on her knees to send for you--you are the only one in
whom we have any confidence in our distress--I understand nothing about
business, but my father's affairs must be in a dreadful state--my mother
is beside herself--the whole house is in the greatest disorder."

From what Eugene said and what he did not say; from his broken sentences
and his look of agony, Anton guessed at the horrors of the previous
evening. In the boudoir of the baroness he found Lenore, weeping and
exhausted.

"Dear Wohlfart!" cried she, taking his hand and beginning again to sob,
while her head sank powerless on his shoulder.

Meanwhile Eugene walked up and down, wringing his hands, and at length
throwing himself on the sofa, he gave himself up to silent tears.

"It is horrible, Mr. Wohlfart," said Lenore, lifting up her head. "No
one may approach my father--Eugene may not, nor I--only my mother and
old John are with him; and early this morning the merchant Ehrenthal was
here, insisting that he must see my father. He screamed at my mother,
and called my father a deceiver, till she fainted away. When I rushed
into the room, the dreadful man went off threatening her with his
clenched fist."

Anton led Lenore to a chair and waited till she had told him all. There
was no possibility of comforting in this case, and his own heart was
wrung to the utmost by the misery he witnessed.

"Call my mother, Eugene," said Lenore, at length.

Her brother left the room.

"Do not forsake us," implored Lenore, clasping her hands; "we are at the
last gasp; even your help can not save us."

"He is dead who might perhaps have done so," mournfully replied Anton.
"Whether I can be of any use I know not, but you can not doubt my
willingness to be so."

"No," cried Lenore. "And Eugene, too, thought of you at once."

The baroness now entered. She walked wearily; but, steadying herself by
a