ory than that doorpost there, may I never hope for
salvation. I was at home long before," he added. Frederick stood still,
oppressed and doubtful. He would have given much to be able to see his
uncle's face. But while they were whispering, the sky had clouded over.

"I am very guilty," sighed Frederick, "because I sent him the wrong way;
although--but still, I never thought it would come to this, no,
certainly not! Uncle, I have you to thank for a troubled conscience."

"Well, go and confess!" whispered Simon in a trembling voice. "Desecrate
the Sacrament by tale-bearing, and set a spy on poor people who will
manage to find a way to snatch their bit of bread from between their
teeth, even if he is not permitted to talk--go!" Frederick stood,
undecided; he heard a soft noise; the clouds cleared away, the moonlight
again fell on the bedroom door; it was closed. Frederick did not go to
confession that morning.

The impression which this incident had made on Frederick wore off only
too soon. Who doubts that Simon did everything to lead his adopted son
down the same paths that he was following? And Frederick possessed
qualities which made this only too easy: carelessness, excitability,
and, above all, boundless pride, which did not always scorn pretense and
ended by doing its utmost to escape possible disgrace, by trying to
realize what it first had pretended to possess. He was not naturally
ignoble, but he fell into the habit of preferring inward to outward
shame. One need only say that he habitually made a display while his
mother starved.

This unfortunate change in his character was, however, the work of many
years, during which it was noticed that Margaret became more and more
quiet on the subject of her son, and gradually came to a state of
demoralization which once would have been thought impossible. She became
timid, negligent, even slovenly, and many thought her brain had
suffered. Frederick, on the other hand, grew all the more
self-assertive; he missed no fair or wedding, and since his irritable
sense of honor would not permit him to overlook the secret
disapprobation of many, he was, so to speak, up in arms, not so much to
defy public opinion as to direct it into the channel which pleased him.
Externally he was neat, sober, apparently affable, but crafty, boastful,
and often coarse--a man in whom no one could take delight, least of all
his mother, and who, nevertheless, through his audacity, which every one
f