w him only for an instant before I went to bed, and
others were with us, so that I could ask no explanation.

The next morning I rose early, and in glee, for I was to go hunting.
Owen did not accompany me; he was, I understood, to confer with
Hammerfeldt. My jovial governor Vohrenlorf had charge of me. A merry day
we had, and good sport; it was late when we came home, and my anxious
mother awaited me in the hall with dry slippers. She had a meal spread
for me, and herself came to share it. Never had I seen her so tender or
so gentle. I had a splendid hunger, and fell to, babbling of my skill
with the gun between hearty mouthfuls.

"I wish Owen had been there," I said.

My mother nodded, but made no answer.

"Is the Prince gone?" I asked.

"No, he is here still. He stayed in case you should want to see him,
Augustin."

"I don't want him," said I with a laugh, as I pushed my chair back. "But
I was glad he talked like that about Owen last night. I think I'll go
and see if Owen's in his room." I rose and started toward the door.

"Augustin, Mr. Owen is not in his room," said my mother in a strangely
timid voice.

I turned with a start, for I was sensitive to every change of tone in
her voice.

"Do you know where he is?" I asked.

"He is gone," said she.

I did not ask where, nor whether he would return. I sat down and looked
at her; she came, smoothed my hair back from my forehead, and kissed me.

"I have not sent him away," she said. "I couldn't help it. The Prince
was resolved, and he has power."

"But why?" burst from my lips.

"It is the Prince's doing, not mine," she reminded me. "The Prince is
here, Augustin."

Why, yes, at least old Hammerfeldt would not run away.

My lips were quivering. I was nearer tears than pride had let me be for
three years past, grief and anger uniting to make me sore and desolate.
There seemed a great gap made in my life; my dearest companion was gone,
the source of all that most held my fancy and filled my mind dried up.
But before I could speak again a tall, lean figure stood in the doorway,
helmet in hand. Hammerfeldt was there; he was asking if the King would
receive him. My mother turned an inquiring glance on me. I bowed my head
and choked down a sob that was in my throat. The old man came near to me
and stood before me; there was a little smile on his lips, but his old
eyes were soft.

"Sire," said he, addressing me with ceremonial deference and formality,
"her