Egon had listened hitherto without a word to Storting's sad tale; he had been profoundly moved by the account of the burning of the castle, and of the death of its master, but at Storting's last words he started forward, exclaiming, "Fritzchen dead! What a terrible trial! Was his father's dying foreboding----"
"No, no, Herr von Ernau," Storting interrupted him. "Whatever crimes Lieutenant von Osternau may have committed, he is guiltless of Fritz's death: the boy died of scarlet fever. Fräulein Lieschen tended him night and day with a devotion which I have never seen equalled. She would not leave his bedside for an hour, although the physician tried to induce her to resign the care of him to some one else, since she had never had the fever herself. She was his only nurse, for her mother was ill in another room,--too ill even to see her darling, who breathed his last in his sister's arms.
"After Fritz's death the Lieutenant was the heir of Osternau; his cousin's wife and daughter could lay no claim to anything save the late proprietor's private property, and this had been destroyed on the night of the fire.
"A week after the boy's death the new master came to Osternau. He had told the pastor of his coming, and had asked him to rent a couple of rooms for him in some farm-house, which he could occupy until the rebuilding of the castle was complete.
"Immediately after his arrival he sent for me. I could not but obey his summons, for he was the lord of Osternau, and I was obliged to hand in to him my accounts for the management of the estate since Herr von Osternau's death.
"I went to him with a heavy heart, fully expecting that he would make use of the power now in his hands to revenge himself for the insult I had once offered him, and as fully resolved to requite scorn with scorn.
"He was sitting in a bare little room, the best the pastor could procure for him, at a table covered with papers. As I entered he rose and came towards me. He was greatly changed. The last few months had made him many years older. His eyes had an uncertain, flickering brilliancy; his face was haggard and very pale. The erect military carriage that had formerly characterized him was gone: he had grown old.
"He offered me his hand, and addressed me in a tone of hypocritical friendliness that disgusted me, as after one fleeting glance of keen scrutiny his eyes fell before mine.
"'We were hardly friends when we parted, Storting,' he said. 'You offended me, and I used harsh words towards you. We were both in a state of unnatural agitation, induced by the events of the night and my cousin's danger. You meant to act for the best, as the friend and servant of my dear departed relative. When I was cooler I perceived this, and therefore, I assure you, I bear you not the faintest grudge. Here is my hand. I trust you will take it in the spirit in which it is offered.'
"I could not refuse to take his hand, although my whole nature rose in revolt against any fellowship with the man. I had to sit down and take a cigar, while he talked to me as one would to some dear old friend, without a trace of the arrogance which had formerly made him so disliked by me. He asked, with every appearance of sympathy, after Frau von Osternau and Fräulein Lieschen. I had to inform him of the particulars of Fritz's death, and of Fräulein Lieschen's devotion; he showed the keenest interest in the welfare of his relatives, and postponed all business details, remarking that the management of the estate could not be in better hands than mine, and that he would discuss business with me when his relations with Frau von Osternau and Lieschen should be arranged. That they might become so, he begged me to assist him.