forget. There was ardent passion in every
feature and the large flaming black eyes, which spoke of courage and
high enthusiasm, harmonized so well with the wan hue of the pallid face.

"Well, my dear fellow, do you feel quite well again now?" asked Mr.
Sipos in a tone of friendly familiarity; "did the doctor call to see you
to-day?"

"I have no need of him, there's nothing the matter with me."

"Nay, nay! Not so reckless! You have been working again, I see. You know
the doctor has forbidden it."

"I only work to distract my thoughts."

"You should seek amusement rather. Why don't you mix in society like
other young men? Why don't you frequent the coffee-houses and go to a
dance occasionally? Why, you slave away like a street-porter! Young
blood needs relaxation."

"Oh, I am all right. My dear uncle, you are very kind, but you worry
about me more than I deserve."

"That is my duty, my dear nephew. Don't you know that your poor father
confided you to my care on his death-bed, bade me be a father to you.
Don't you remember?"

"I do," replied the young man, and catching hold of his guardian's hand
he pressed it, murmuring in a scarcely audible voice: "You have indeed
been a second father to me!"

But Mr. Sipos tore his hand passionately from the young man's grasp and
said in a somewhat rougher tone: "But suppose your dead father were to
say: 'That is not true! You have _not_ watched over my son as a father
should! You have lightly left him to himself. He was in danger and you
were unaware of it. He hovered on the edge of the abyss and you were
blind and saw nothing. And if God and my dead hand had not defended him,
he would have become a suicide and you knew it not--wherefore?'"--

The young man trembled at these words, he grew even paler than before
and gazed with a look of stupefaction at his chief. Then the old man
approached him, and took him by the hand as if he would say: "I am going
to scold you, but fear nothing. I am on your side."

"My dear Szilard," said he, "don't you recollect that when you were a
little child and did anything you should not have done, and your father
questioned you about it, did he not always say to you: 'when you have
done wrong and are ashamed to confess it, keep silence! press your teeth
together! but don't lie, don't deny it, never think of taking refuge
behind any false excuse, for your name is Szilard,[3] and cowardice does
not become the bearer of such a name!' You understo