'The stoves here are so badly constructed,' he cried petulantly, giving vent to his secret vexation, and still with the same nervous haste tore a handkerchief from his breast-pocket to apply to the little wound. The handkerchief brought with it another article, which fell on the floor, and rolled close to Edmund's feet. Heideck stooped to pick it up, but it was too late; his nephew had been beforehand with him. Already the miniature-case was in Edmund's hands. The spring, long grown slack, had given way in the fall, and the cover had started open. A fate must have attached to this unhappy picture. Precisely as it was about to be destroyed, it thus fell into the hands of him who never should have beheld it! 'My likeness?' cried Edmund, in the greatest amazement. 'How did you come by it, uncle?' Every trace of colour had faded from the Baron's face, but it was only for a moment. He felt how much was at stake. By a strenuous effort of his will he succeeded in recovering outward calm, and taking advantage of the error, replied: 'You seem surprised. Why should I not possess a portrait of you?' As he spoke, he made an attempt to take the case from the young man's hand, but the latter stepped back, and declined to surrender it. 'But I never sat for this portrait, and what is the meaning of this uniform, which I have never worn?' 'Edmund, give me back that case,' said Heideck authoritatively, stretching out his hand for it again--but in vain. Had it not been for that previous occurrence in the Countess's room, Edmund would probably have allowed himself to be deceived by any pretext invented on the spur of the moment, for suspicion and distrust were far removed from his open, ingenuous nature. But now both had been inoculated, now he knew that some secret, some baneful secret, was being kept from him. His instinct told him that it had some connection with this picture, and he obstinately clung to the clue thus obtained, little dreaming as yet, it is true, whither it would lead. 'How did you come by the picture, uncle?' he asked again, this time in a somewhat louder key. 'That I will tell you when you have restored it to me,' was the sharp reply. For all answer, Edmund stepped from the centre of the room, growing dark in the gathering twilight, to the window, where he could still see clearly, and began to study the picture, trait by trait, and line by line, as Oswald had studied it on the preceding day. A long and troubled pause ensued. Heideck convulsively grasped the back of the chair from which he had sprung. He had no choice but to look on in silence; for he told himself that any false step now, any attempt at forcible interference, might be the ruin of them all; but the ordeal of suspense was hard to bear. 'Are you satisfied?' he asked, when some minutes had elapsed; 'and do you intend to restore to me my property?' Edmund turned.