The Northern Light | Page 4

the danger from Zalika's return, but as long as
Hartmut remains at my side he is safe from her, for she will never come
near me, I give you my word for that."
"We will hope so," answered Wallmoden, as he rose and reached out
his hand at parting. "But do not forget that the greatest danger with

which you have to contend lies in Hartmut himself; he is in every trait
the son of his mother. You are coming over to Burgsdorf with him day
after to-morrow, I hear?"
"Yes, he is to spend his short autumn vacation with Willibald. I shall be
able to remain a day only, but I'll surely come for that time. Good-bye."
The secretary left the house, and Falkenried returned once more to the
window, but he only gave a fleeting glance after his friend, who waved
him a parting greeting, then returned gloomily to his own thoughts.
"The son of his mother." The words rang in his ears, but the thought
was not new to him; he had known it a long time, and it was this
knowledge which had furrowed his brow so deeply, and wrung from
him many a deep sigh. He was a man who could brave any outward
danger; but against this unfortunate heritage of blood in his only child
he had battled with all his energy for years, but in vain.
* * * * *
"Now I tell you for the last time that all this noise and confusion must
come to an end, for my patience is finally exhausted. Such goings on as
we have had for the last three days are enough to make one think that
all Burgsdorf is bewitched. That Hartmut is full of mad tricks from his
head to his feet. When he once gets loose from the reins which his
father holds tight enough, I'll admit that, there's no getting on with him,
and of course you follow after him through thick and thin, and obey
your lord and master's slightest behest. Oh, you are a fine pair."
This philippic, which was delivered in a loud tone, came from the lips
of Frau von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf, while sitting with her son and
mother at breakfast. The great dining-room lay on the ground floor of
the old mansion, and was an extremely simple room, with glass doors
leading out upon a broad stone terrace, and to the garden beyond. On
the brightly tinted walls hung a number of antlers, which bore witness
to the sporting tastes of former possessors, but these were the only
adornments of the room.

A dozen high-backed chairs, arranged stiffly in rows like grenadiers, a
cumbrous dining-table and a couple of old-fashioned sideboards
constituted the entire furniture of the room; and one could see at a
glance that they had already done service for several generations. Such
luxuries as wall-paper, paintings or carpet could not be found here.
Evidently the occupants were contented to live on just as their
ancestors had done, although Burgsdorf was one of the richest estates
in the district.
The appearance of the mistress of the house was in keeping with her
surroundings She was forty years old or there abouts, with a large,
strong figure, cheeks glowing with health, and firm, solid features,
which could never have been called beautiful, but denoted great energy.
Very little escaped the sharp glance of her gray eye, her dark hair was
brushed back smoothly, her gown was of coarse texture, simply made,
and looking at her hands, you saw at once that they were made for
work.
There was nothing attractive in her appearance, and her manner and
bearing were thoroughly masculine.
The heir and future master of Burgsdorf, who had just been
reprimanded so sharply, sat opposite his mother, listening, as in duty
bound, while he helped himself liberally to ham and eggs. He was a
handsome, fresh-looking youth, about seventeen years old, whose
appearance indicated no great intellectual strength, but he seemed to
beam with good nature. His sun-burned face was the picture of health,
but otherwise he showed little resemblance to his mother. He lacked
her energetic expression, and the blue eyes and blonde hair were not
from her, but were an inheritance from his father. With his large, but
very awkward limbs, he looked like a young giant, and formed a
striking contrast to his more delicately formed, aristocratic looking
uncle, Wallmoden, who sat next him, and who said now with a slight
soupcon of irony in his tone: "You certainly cannot hold Willibald
answerable for all these mad pranks; he certainly is a model son."
"I would advise him not to be anything else; who lives with me must
obey orders," cried Frau von Eschenhagen, as she struck an emphatic

blow upon the