The vibration made by the shutting of the great door behind him sounded hollow through the room, and it was the signal for a general break-up of the party.

THE

CHAPTER VIII.

SEVEN AND TWENTY YEARS AGO.

THEY had taken him to prison, the unfortunate Eversberg; to prison, under a fearful accusation of murder in its most horrible form, committed on a benefactor and friend. Seven and twenty years had passed since that terrible event-seven and twenty years of unblemished life, a life which, besides, bore witness to so many good deeds, to so much honour and uprightness. But all these years had not sufficed to wipe out that black deed, nor to appease the avenging might of retribution. On his highest throne of honour and respect, justice had reached him; it had snatched off the crown from his guilty head, dragged down his name into the dust, and burnt into his forehead the mark of Cain.

Of this terrible truth nothing was known with certainty the night of the ball; but after the words uttered by Bruno, it was as if a spectre had walked through the beautiful ball-rooms, grinning at every one, sending a shudder through their limbs, and converting the departure of the guests into a hurried flight. The carriages which were ordered so much later could have been easily procured in the little town of Dilburg, but no one wished to stay a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. They hastily wrapt themselves in their light cloaks.

Silent and amazed, they went out separately. Like

shades, the ladies glided along in their light dresses and white cloaks in the clear moonlight of the autumn evening across the great market-place of the town.

Once at home, in every house, the tongues that had been paralysed by fright were set free, and the conjectures which had been whirling through their heads at last found their natural outlet in speech; and, now no longer among strangers, people dared to give free utterance to their thoughts.

The word 'prison' in connection with the man who had been respected and honoured ever since they had known him; that word in connection with the host who a few hours before had opened his house for a splendid fête, was a thought so strange and alarming, that for the moment at least it excluded all ill-natured gossip, all pettiness of mind.

Strange conjectures were uttered that evening in Dilburg, more or less near the truth; conjectures which in the stillness of night spread themselves through the town, and hardly waited for daylight to proclaim the truth with the loud voice of RUMOUR.

But no one could be acquainted with the truth, in all its details, as written during that long night by the unhappy father to his son, and as I shall now impart it to you by means of the letter itself, which ran thus:

Bruno, my good son! It is to you that I address these lines, which contain the full confession of your unhappy father a full confession, be it at the cost of the love and reverence of those who are the dearest to me in this world. Yes, I will no longer play the part which has been the curse of my life. This full confession, as 1 shall lay it before my earthly and heavenly judge, I will in the first place utter to you.

May God be merciful to me, Bruno! I cannot feel

it otherwise than a relief, now that at last the sword which I have seen for seven and twenty years hanging over my head has fallen. Oh! that it was myself alone, the guilty one, that it would strike, and that it would pass by the innocent heads of my wife and child. But the curse is, the sins of the father are visited on the children to the third and fourth generation;' that fearful text of Scripture which has often made me shudder, lest it might have its fulfilment even in you-in you,whom I would have defended from shame and pain with my heart's blood.

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But I must remain calm if I am to retain strength enough to say what I must say. I must forget the present for the past, which I must describe to you.

'I write it to you, Bruno, because in these moments I hardly dare to raise my eyes to your mother; because my guilt towards her is so much greater than towards you. I write to you in order to spare myself the cruel punishment of a face-to-face confession. You must know the whole truth before I can look into your eyes again, and perhaps in your heart you may still find one word of comfort and forgiveness for him who has expiated so bitterly the crime which he committed.

'I was hardly fifteen years old, Bruno, when my mother, the widow of a shopkeeper, came to live in Dilburg. Our income was limited, limited even for the small bourgeoisie to which we belonged, but I believe that with good management and a contented disposition it would have been quite sufficient for our wants.

'Far be it from me to wish to stain the memory of my mother; but perhaps I may find some little excuse for myself in the wrong ideas which in many respects were imprinted in me through her example. She was an ambitious woman, my mother, with a discontented dis

position, always bewailing the low position to which she had been reduced, and to which, as the daughter of a rich silversmith, who became bankrupt before his death, she was not brought up. It was the recollection of days of wealth and comfort which had embittered her life and made her look upon riches and position as life's highest good.

'I have often thought since, that the seeds of the same restless longings might thus have been sown in me; seeds which, in my young and ardent mind, were developed into a passion. I recollect how from a child I indulged in undefined dreams of a future of greatness. I recollect that I looked at the large houses of the rich in the town with envy, and, in my thoughts, I chose out the most beautiful as my dwelling in that undefined time of which my imagination spoke to me; that I pushed into the doors of concert-rooms and theatres to admire the ladies and gentlemen in their smart clothes, and then returned home to our humble dwelling, where I told my mother of all the finery I had seen. Oh yes, rich men are happy; they can get everything,' was then her ordinary remark, and our simple meal was distasteful because we thought of the savoury dishes which the cook brought over to the great house opposite to us, and my mother was dissatisfied with her new gown because it was not silk, like that of the grocer's wife; and I felt no pleasure in my new clothes, which had been paid for with so much difficulty, because I had seen finer which other boys whom I knew were wearing. Fools-fools that

we were!

'I was seventeen years old when the choice of an avocation for me had to be decided. All my schoolfellows had already left behind them several years of their apprenticeship in the trades they had chosen, but

G

with me it was a new example of the old proverb, "to overlook what is within one's reach in hankering after what is unattainable." To become an officer, to study for the profession of an advocate or doctor, these were the foolish dreams of the son of a poor widow, and meanwhile the time and opportunity to become a clever workman were lost. The only good thing was, that I did not suffer to pass by uselessly the period of my being at school, which had been somewhat long for my station in life. That knowledge is power was one of the few sound ideas which I cherished, and which made me zealously acquire the branches of knowledge within my reach.

'Perhaps it was this exceptional zeal which drew on me the attention of the School Commissioners, and made one of them think of recommending me, when the vacancy occurred of a clerkship in the counting-house of the iron foundry of Mr Muller. I recollect that day as if it were yesterday, when, for the first time in my life contented with my lot, I walked to the foundry and answered in the counting-house the questions which the master put to me. I recollect the proud feeling with which I took my place at the desk which was pointed out to me as mine. I knew that at last I had my foot on the ladder to become more than an ordinary workman, and that I might get on further by my own industry and perseverance; and I did get on further.

'On the eight years of my life which then followed, I cannot look back without satisfaction.

'I worked-I worked with pleasure and zeal through all these long years. I did not keep up any intercourse with my former comrades, nor did I seek new ones; so that as far as this went there was not much fear of my being led away, and I found ample opportunity for my