'That is not my portrait,' he said slowly, emphasising each word; 'but it bears an extraordinary resemblance to myself, one which deceives at the first glance. Whom does it represent?' Baron Heideck had foreseen the question, and was prepared for it. So he answered without hesitation: 'A relation of ours who has been dead many years.' 'An Ettersberg?' 'No; a member of my family.' 'Indeed. And why have I never heard of this relative, and of the wonderful resemblance existing between him and me?' 'By mere accident, probably. Good heavens, you need not stare at the picture so persistently! Such likenesses are frequent enough among relations.' 'Frequent?' repeated Edmund mechanically. 'Was this the fatal souvenir which must disappear to-day? Had you destined it to be consumed by those flames? Was it for this you had the fire lighted?' The young Count's deadly pallor, the faint accents of his voice, showed that he felt himself to be nearing an abyss, though as yet he could not fathom its depth. Heideck saw this, and made a last desperate effort to drag him from the brink. 'Edmund, my patience is now thoroughly exhausted,' he said, taking refuge in simulated anger. 'You cannot seriously suppose that I shall make reply to this folly, or try to solve all the mad fancies of your brain.' 'I demand that the secret of this portrait be made known to me,' cried Edmund, summoning up all his energy. 'You must give me an answer, uncle, now--at once, or you will drive me to extreme measures.' Heideck racked his brain in vain to find a way out of the dilemma. He was not skilful in lying, and felt, moreover, that his nephew would no longer be deceived. The one chance left him was to gain time. 'You shall hear the story later on,' he said evasively. 'At this moment you are too excited, you are still suffering from the effects of your wound. This is not a fitting time to discuss such matters.' 'So you refuse to answer me,' Edmund broke out, with sudden fierce vehemence. 'You cannot, or will not, reply. So be it. I will apply to my mother, she shall give me an account of this.' He rushed out of the room, and was down the stairs before his uncle could check him. The Baron hastened after the young man, but the pursuit was fruitless. When he reached his sister's room, Edmund had already entered, and closed the door of the boudoir behind him. It was impossible even to hear what was going on in the inner apartment. Heideck saw that he must abstain from further interference. The matter was taking its fated course. 'There will be a catastrophe,' he said to himself hoarsely. 'Poor Constance! I fear that your punishment may prove greater than your offence.' CHAPTER XI. Next morning brought inclement autumn weather. Fog and drizzling rain obscured the landscape, and bushes and flowers bore evidences of the first nipping frost.