le, the heaviest burden would be lifted from his soul; in the
opposite case the old house would be shaken to its foundations. Yet
even its fall would have been easier for him to endure than this cruel
uncertainty, to which was added the torturing anxiety of bearing the
responsibility of things for which he was not to blame, and of which,
moreover, he was even denied a clear view. Yet he felt absolutely
certain that his father was concealing many things, perhaps the worst,
and often felt as if he were walking in the darkness over a mouldering
bridge. Ah, if it could only be propped up, and then rebuilt! But if it
must give way, he hoped the catastrophe would come soon. He knew that
he possessed the strength to build a new home for Els and himself. Even
were it small and modest, it should be erected on a firm foundation and
afford a safe abode for its inmates.

What did the young, joyous-hearted fellow who was wooing Eva know
of such cares? Fate had placed him on the sunny side of life, where
everything flourished, and set him, Wolff, in the shade, where grass and
flowers died.

There is a magic in fame which the young soul cannot easily escape, and
the name of Heinz Schorlin was indeed honoured and on every lip. The
imagination associated with it the cheerful nature which, like a loyal
comrade, goes hand in hand with success, deserved and undeserved good
fortune, woman's favour, doughty deeds, the highest and strongest traits
of character.

An atmosphere like sunshine, which melts all opposition, emanated from
Heinz. Wolff had experienced it himself. He had seriously intended to
make the insolent intruder feel his strong arm, but since he had learned
the identity of the Swiss his acts and nature appeared in a new light.
His insolence had gained the aspect of self-confidence which did not
lack justification, and when a valiant knight talked to him so frankly,
like a younger brother to an older and wiser one, it seemed to the
lonely man who, of late, completely absorbed in the course of business,
had held aloof from the sports, banquets, and diversions of the
companions of his own age, that he had experienced something unusually
pleasant. How tender and affectionate it sounded when Heinz alluded to
the "little mother" at home! He, Wolff, on the contrary, could think
only with a shade of bitterness of the weak woman to whom he owed his
existence, and whom filial duty and earnest resolution alike commanded
him to love, ye