her hand. The Baroness's face
was the colour of lead; her eyes were opened as wide as possible, and
yet she seemed hardly conscious. Emilia stood at one side; her hands
were pressed to her bosom, her fingers were twitching convulsively.

Frau Agatha endeavoured to relieve the situation of its solemnity and
unnaturalness by making a few humorous remarks about Eberhard's hiding
place on the hill by the Castle. Baroness Clotilda looked at her son in
anxious and uneasy suspense: "I scarcely recognise him," she said with a
hoarse voice, "he has changed so."

"You have changed, too, Mother," said Eberhard, as his chin sought
refuge between the lapels of his coat. He was as stiff as a poker.
Agatha looked at him full of vexation and annoyance. He acted as though
he were being bored by the meeting.

But it was only a mask. As he looked at the old, indistinct, tired,
bullied face, he became conscious of his mistake: he felt that he was
wrong in saying that "Mothers are also human beings." He saw at once
that amends had to be made, that action was necessary; he felt that his
next step would lead to inevitable self-contempt if he neglected the
moral deed of repentance.

As he struggled with himself and stared, as if paralysed, into the
rebellion of his own soul, a certain pair of eyes had forced their way
behind the seeming apathy. A sudden blush came to Sylvia's cheeks: she
went up to her cousin, and took him by the hand. He quivered; he saw at
once that she had divined what was going on in his soul, and now she was
determined to bring his fight to a close, a final, definite close. She
took him out of the room; he followed her; she led him through the
dining room, the reception room, the smoking room, the library, and on
to his father's room. Agatha, Emilia, and the Baroness looked at each
other in amazement. They went to the door of the room, and listened in
breathless suspense.

Sylvia opened the door rather boldly. The old Baron was sitting on the
leather chair before the stove. His legs were wrapped in a blanket; the
expression on his face was of stony coldness.

Hardly had he noticed the two when he sprang to his feet as if the
lightning had struck close by him. He shook; he faltered; he groped
about for a physical support; and from his throat there came a stifled
gurgle. That was all.

Eberhard walked over to him, and reached out his hand.

For a moment it seemed as if the old man would collapse. A last flash of
h