“Of his mother!  She was the sword which hung over his head.  It was she who destroyed her son!  But he knew nothing of the shameful depths to which she had sunk; he lived with her but she concealed her life from him.  I saw it, I knew it when his father hurled the dreadful accusation at him; he was as one struck by lightning.  There was truth in the man’s despairing cry.  Whatever his youthful misdemeanors, his punishment in that hour balanced them all.  His flight, his broken promise, have robbed him of a father, and of his dearest friend; but though they turn against him I will believe in him.  Yes, to the death!  Their charge is untrue, he is an innocent man.”

Adelheid was in a state of intense excitement now, her cheeks were aflame, her voice and manner had that intense passion which love alone can give.  Egon stood and looked at her.  There it was, the awaking to love and life, of which he had so often dreamed; the sea of ice had melted forever, but for another.

“I will not venture to decide whether you are right or not, my dear madame,” he said, in a spiritless voice, after a second’s pause.  “I only know one thing.  Whether Hartmut be guilty or innocent, he is to be envied in this hour!”

Adelheid drew back with a start.  She understood the significance of his words, and her head sank before his pained, sorrowful glance.

“I came to say good-bye,” continued Egon, “and to ask one question, one favor—­but it is fruitless to ask it now.  I have only farewell to say to you.”

Adelheid raised her eyes, in which the hot tears were standing, and held out her hand to him.

“Good-bye,” she said.  “Good-bye.  May Heaven protect you!”

The prince shook his head, and said with bitterness: 

“What does it matter?  I had thought to return—­do not look at me so pleadingly.  I have made a great mistake.  I see it now, and I will not annoy you with my moaning, but Adelheid, I would willingly fall if I could but inspire for a moment the feeling and passion which you reserve for another.  God bless you!  Good bye!”

He pressed her hand and was gone.

A dreary afternoon.  The wind had risen since the morning hours, and whistled ominously through the tall forest trees; the clouds grew darker and heavier, and the damp air was growing rawer and colder every moment.  The sunshine of yesterday was forgotten in the gloom of to-day.  The fresh green leaves, torn by the rising storm from the tall, waving branches, fell in a swirl at the feet of the tall, dark man, who, with folded arms, leaned against an old tree, utterly oblivious to the tempest which was gathering about him.

Hartmut’s face was deadly pale, and on it there lay a strange, unearthly quiet; the fiery light was gone from those speaking eyes, and his hair lay wet and heavy upon his forehead.  The storm had whirled his hat from his head, but he did not notice it, neither did he know that a heavy shower had drenched him to the skin.  After wandering about in the woods for hours, he had at last found this spot—­a fitting place to accomplish his purpose.