llent carpenter Gottfried Engelbrecht. Begone!
you are no longer my foster-son! You are a serpent whom I will pluck
from my bosom, whom I will disown"----

At this point Nanni rushed in and threw herself at Master Wacht's feet
with a piercing heart-rending cry of distress. "Father!" she cried,
completely overcome by her incontrollable anguish and unbridled
despair, "father, if you disown him, you will disown me also--me, your
own favourite daughter; he is mine, my Jonathan; I can never, never
part with him in this world."

The poor child fell down in a swoon and struck her head against the
closet-door, so that the drops of blood trickled down her delicate
white forehead. Barbara and Rettel ran in and carried the insensible
girl to the sofa. Jonathan stood like a statue, as if thunderstruck,
incapable of the slightest movement. It would be difficult to describe
the inner emotions which revealed themselves on Wacht's countenance.
His face, instead of being flushed with the redness of anger, was now
pale as a corpse's; there only remained a dark fire gleaming in his
fixed set eyes; the cold perspiration of death appeared to be standing
on his forehead. After gazing unchangeably before him for some minutes
without speaking, he relieved his labouring breast by saying in a
significant tone, "So that was it!" then he strode slowly towards the
door, where he again stood still, and turning half round towards the
women, cried, "Dont' spare _eau de Cologne_, and this foolery will soon
be over."

Shortly afterwards the Master was seen to leave the house at a quick
pace and bend his steps towards the hills. It may be conceived in what
great trouble and distress the family was plunged. Rettel and Barbara
could not for the life of them imagine what terrible thing had
happened; but when the Master did not return to dinner, but stayed out
till late at night--a thing he had never done before--they were greatly
agitated with anxiety and fear. At length they heard him coming, heard
him open the street-door, bang it violently to, ascend the stairs with
strong firm footsteps, and lock himself in his own chamber.

Poor Nanni soon recovered herself again and wept quietly to herself.
But Jonathan did not stop short of wild outbreaks of inconsolable
despair, and several times spoke of shooting himself. It is a fortunate
thing that pistols are articles which do not necessarily belong to the
furniture of sentimental young lawyers; or at least,