Hartmut, almost rudely. "I
have declared to you more than once, that I will not and cannot speak on
the subject of my early life. If you are suspicious of me, let me go; I
have not forced myself upon you, you know that, but I will not endure
this questioning."

The hard, proud tone which he used toward his princely friend, seemed
not unknown to the latter, who only shrugged his shoulders and said
appeasingly:

"How excited you get in a moment; I believe you are right when you
maintain that the air of Germany makes you nervous. You certainly have
changed since you set foot in the country."

"Possibly; I feel it myself, and I know I annoy you with my queer
tempers lately, so you'd better let me go, Egon."

"I will guard you well, instead. I did not catch you so easily that I
can let you fly again after all my trouble. So remember that, Hartmut,
for I won't let you go free at any price."

The words had a joking sound, but Rojanow seemed to resent them. His
eyes were dark, almost threatening, as he replied:

"But what if I will go?"

"But you won't, for I will hold you closer than ever." Egon laid his
arm affectionately on his friend's shoulder. "I wonder how this bad,
obstinate Hartmut can answer to his conscience for even thinking of
leaving me alone. Have we not lived together for nearly two years, and
shared the same dangers and pleasures like brothers? And now you talk
about deserting me, without even a question as to how I'll get along
without you. Do you think I value your friendship so little, dear old
fellow?"

The words were so warm and sincere that Rojanow's ill-temper was
conquered. His eyes lighted up at the mention of their long and close
friendship, and he answered in a voice which bespoke a sincere affection
for his friend:

"Do you think that any one but you could have drawn me to Germany at
all?" he said, softly. "Forgive me, Egon. I am an unstable nature and
have always been a rover since--since my boyhood."

"Well, learn to settle yourself here--here in my home," exclaimed Egon.
"I only stay at Rodeck that you may see its many and varied beauties.
This old building, hidden away in the midst of the forest, is a
veritable production of fairy-land, a woodland poem, such as you will
not find at any of my other castles. The others suit me better, though I
know this is to your taste. But now I must really go. You won't ride?"

"No, I will enjoy the much-praised poetry of these woods, which seem