The tall young man in gray was on his knees, tearing the hands of the old man away. He saw the mark clearly now. There was no further use of attempting to conceal it. Rudolph rose and faced his angered nephew, his watery eyes inscrutable.
“You told me, Rudolph, that it was a brand that cursed me. I have seen it on him, too. You have lied to me.”
The old man’s eyes wavered. He trembled violently.
“Why did you lie?” demanded Karl. “Am I not your nephew? Am I not really cursed as you’ve maintained? Tell me—tell me!”
He had the old man by the shoulders, shaking him cruelly.
“Karl—Karl,” begged the helpless ancient, “it was for your good. I swear it. You were born to the purple. That’s what that mark means—not that you’re degraded to the gray, as I said. But there’s a reason. Let me explain.”
“Bah! A reason! You’ve kept me in this misery and squalor for a reason! Who’s my father?”
He flung Rudolph to the floor, where the old man crouched in apprehensive misery.
“Please Karl—don’t! I can explain. Just give me time. It’s a long story.”
“Time! Time! For twenty-odd years you’ve lied to me; cheated me. My birthright—where is it?”