"And this one, here, I suppose, is the brother of your betrothed?" said he. "It may be seen by the likeness."
"That is Oscar von Wildenrod certainly, but, properly speaking, there is no likeness whatever. Cecilia does not resemble her brother in the least; their features are quite different."
"But the same eyes!" said Egbert slowly, continuing to regard the two pictures fixedly; then he suddenly pushed them from him, and turned away.
"And you have not even a congratulation for me?" asked Eric reproachfully, being mortified at this indifference.
"Pardon me, I forgot it. May you be happy, as happy as you deserve to be! But I must go to your father, who is expecting me, and requires, you know, undeviating punctuality."
He evidently wanted to cut short this interview. Eric, too, remembered now what was impending, and the subject that was to be brought into discussion.
"Father is in his library," he remarked, "and you know he will not be disturbed there. He has summoned you from Radefeld----do you know why?"
"I suspect so, at least. Has he spoken to you about it?"
"Yes, and from him I heard the first word on the subject, Egbert--for heaven's sake, be on your guard. You know my father, and are aware that he will never tolerate such a bent in his works."
"In general he tolerates no other bent than his own," rejoined Egbert coldly. "He never can nor will comprehend, that the boy, who has to thank him for education and culture, has become a man, who presumes to have his own views, and go his own way."