rgive all my enemies, but the hatred toward this
man, who has so wantonly trifled with the faith and love of my child,
that hatred I will take with me into the grave--and yet, I fear, Elise
has not forgotten him."

"This dead love does not give me any uneasiness," said Bertram. "Four
years have passed since that unlucky day."

"And for four years have I been faithful in my hatred to him. May not
Elise have been as constant in her love?"

Bertram sighed and drooped his head. "It is too true, love does not
die so easily." Then after a pause he added in a determined voice: "I
repeat my request--give me your daughter!"

"You know that she does not love you, and yet you still desire her
hand?"

"I do. I have confidence enough in her and in myself to believe Elise
will not refuse it to me, but will freely make this sacrifice, when
she learns that you will only allow me, as your son, the privilege of
sharing my little fortune with you. For her love to you, she will give
me her hand, and invest me with the rights of a son toward you."

"Never!" cried Gotzkowsky, vehemently. "She must never be informed
of that of which we have been speaking. She does not forebode the
misfortune which threatens her. I have not the courage to tell her,
and why should I? When the terrible event happens, she will learn it
soon enough, and if it can be averted, why then I can spare her this
unhappiness. For my child I wish a clear, unclouded sky; let _me_ bear
the clouds and storms. That has always been the object of my life, and
I will remain faithful to it to the last."

"You refuse me, then?" asked Bertram, pained.

"No, my son. I accept you, and that which you have given me in this
hour, the treasure of your love; that I can never lose. That remains
mine, even if they deprive me of all else."

He opened his arms, and Bertram threw himself weeping on his breast.
Long did they thus remain, heart to heart, in silence; but soul spoke
to soul without words and without expressions of love.

When Gotzkowsky raised himself from Bertram's embrace, his countenance
was calm, and almost cheerful. "I thank you, my son; you have given me
new courage and strength. Now I will preserve all my composure. I
will humble my pride, and apply to those who in former times professed
gratitude toward me. The Council of Berlin have owed me twenty
thousand ducats since the time that the Russians were here, and I had
to travel twice in the service of the town to