uselessly and yet would never have come to
an understanding. Behind all this is a clever fellow, who wants to trick
you and me for the sake of gain. So I have let everything rest until I
could combine the present explanation with a journey to Switzerland. So
here I am, and I will tell you, in as few words as possible, the
unfortunate story which led to this deception. But let me look at once
at the object in question. I want to see what the boy is like, whom the
man dares to place before my eyes as my grandson."

The pastor had now to tell of the unfortunate accident of Erick's
disappearance, how they had searched so far in vain, but how everything
was being done to find the dear boy; therefore he might make his
appearance at any moment.

The colonel only smiled a little, but that smile was a little sarcastic
and he said: "My good Sir, let us stop the seeking. The boy will not
return. The fellow who has placed him in your hands has calculated
wrongly this time. He, no doubt, hoped that I, at such a distance, would
credulously accept everything that he wanted, and would do what he
wished. Now he has found out that I myself was on the way to see you;
and to bring before my eyes some foundling as my daughter's child, that
he did not dare to do. On that account the child has disappeared,
Reverend Sir; that man knows me."

However much the pastor might assure the colonel that no one had
interfered in the case, that the boy, after his mother's death, without
anyone's intercession had come into the parsonage, and that from the boy
himself, without himself knowing it, had come the suggestions about the
country and the name of the grandfather,--all explanation of the pastor
did no good, the sturdy gentleman adhered to his firm opinion that the
whole thing was the invented trick of a man who wished to make money,
and that the disappearance of the boy at the necessary moment confirmed
it.

"But how should, how could the man of whom you speak--"

The colonel did not listen to the end of the sentence. "You do not know
this man," he threw in, "you do not know his knavery, Sir! I had a
daughter, an only child; I had lost my wife soon after marriage; the
child was all in all to me. She was the sunshine of my house, beautiful
as few, always joyous, amiable to everyone and full of talents. She had
a voice which delighted everyone; it was my joy. I had her instructed in
the house, also in music. Then, a young teacher came and settled