ing. Suddenly loud peals of
laughter resounded through the assembly, and the words "left-handed
father-in-law" were heard. Eberhard did not know what it meant, and
went on with his remarks. The talking in the crowd grew louder. Drops
of cold sweat stood on his brow. The burgomaster mounted the stand and
exclaimed: "Whoever isn't willing to listen to a man like Count
Eberhard, doesn't deserve to have a vote."

Breathless silence ensued. Eberhard concluded with the words:

"I am proud enough to tell you that I don't ask you for your votes. I
simply say that I accept the nomination."

He left the assembly, but, before doing so, begged his friends to
remain. He rode home, filled with the thought that he had separated
himself from the world, instead of having conquered it.

He alighted as soon as he came to his own land in the valley, and gave
orders to some of the laborers. When he returned to the road, he met
the postman, who handed him several letters. Eberhard opened the first
and read:

"Your daughter has fallen into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace
as the mistress of the king. To her the country owes the restoration of
the ecclesiastical ministry. If you still doubt, ask the first person
you meet in the streets of the capital. Unhappy father of a happy
daughter." It was signed "The Public Voice."

Eberhard tore up the letter and gave the shreds to the winds, which
carried them far away over the fields.

"Anonymous letters," said he, "are the meanest things conceivable. They
are far lower than cowardly assassination, and yet--" It seemed as if
the breeze which carried the shreds away had now returned, laden with
the expression that he had heard at the meeting. Had they not said
"left-handed father-in-law"?

Eberhard pressed his hand to his brow--the thought was like a burning
arrow piercing his brain. He opened the second letter and read: "You do
not care to believe how it stands with your daughter. Ask him who was
once your friend. Ask the king's physician, on his honor and
conscience. He will tell you the truth. Save what may yet be saved.
Then will the writer of these lines divulge his name. From one who
greatly esteems you. ----"

Eberhard did not destroy this letter; he held it in his trembling hand.
A mist suddenly rose before him. He passed his hands over his eyes as
if to brush it away; but it still remained, growing denser with each
succeeding moment. He tried to read the letter again, but coul