Berkow stood still in surprise.
"Why not?"
"Because it was precisely this Hartmann who stopped our horses and saved us from certain death."
His father uttered an exclamation of suppressed wrath.
"The devil! it must just be that fellow! No, then, certainly we cannot send him off at a minute's notice, we must wait for an opportunity. By the by, Arthur," with a displeased look at his son, "it was rather too bad that I should have to hear of that accident from a stranger. You did not think it worth while to write a syllable to me about it."
"Why should I?" returned the young man, resting his head wearily on his hand. "The thing was happily over, and, besides, they have nearly worn the life out of us up here with their sympathy, their congratulations, their questions, and their palaver about it. I do not think one's life is so valuable it is worth making such a fuss about its being saved."
"You don't think it is?" said the father, looking keenly at him. "I should have thought, as you were only married the day before"----
Arthur answered only with a shrug. Berkow's eyes rested on him with a still more searching gaze.
"As we are on the subject--what is all this between you and your wife?" asked he, all at once, without anything by way of preface.
"Between me and my wife?" repeated Arthur, as though trying to remember who was meant.