He was his child still,
his only son, whom he had clasped to his arms with such passionate
tenderness on that last evening at Burgsdorf.

This memory brought with it a mighty longing in Hartmut's soul for those
arms, for a home, for all that he had lost since those boyhood's days,
which, despite their severity, had been so innocent, so peaceful, so
happy.

The door opened, and a servant entered and extended a card on a salver.
Rojanow made an impatient movement to take it away.

"Didn't I tell you I wouldn't see any one else to-day?"

"I told the gentleman that," explained the servant, "but he said he'd
like Herr Rojanow to hear his name, anyway--Willibald von Eschenhagen."

Hartmut rose suddenly from his reclining position; he did not believe he
had heard aright.

"What name, did you say?"

"Von Eschenhagen--here is the card."

"Ah--show him up. Hurry!"

The servant left the room, and a minute later Willibald entered, but
remained standing, uncertain and hesitating, near the door. Hartmut had
sprung up and was staring at him. Yes, these were the same old features,
the dear face, the honest blue eyes of his youth's friend, and with a
passionate cry of:

"Will! My own dear Will! Is it really you? You have come to me!" he
threw his arms stormingly around his friend's neck.

The young heir, who little understood how his appearance just at the
moment when old memories were welling up in Hartmut's brain, had moved
his friend, was almost overcome by this reception. He remembered that
Hartmut had always been his superior, intellectually, and how many times
he had been made to feel this. He had thought that the author of
"Arivana" would have grown even more imperious and self-assertive, and
now he was given this tender and overwhelming reception.

"Are you then so rejoiced to see me, Hartmut?" he asked, somewhat
timorously. "I almost feared it would not be right for me to come."

"Not right, when I have not seen you for ten long years?" cried Hartmut,
reprovingly. And then he drew his friend toward him and began to ask
questions and chatter away with such genuine heartiness, that Will soon
lost his shyness and could speak as of old to him.

He explained that he had only been three days in town, and was on his
way to Fuerstenstein.

"Yes, and you're to be married soon. I heard of your betrothal at
Rodeck, and I have seen Fraeulein von Schoenau once. I wish you great
happiness, old fellow."

Willibald took t