"If you return now to-day," he continued, "that will only have the effect of confirming the rumors of which your father writes. The rats are leaving the house, they will say, and justly. And just now it is of importance to me that people shall say nothing, that as little attention as possible shall be directed to me. Do you understand, George?" "No," I answered; "why now especially?" I looked fixedly at him; he bore the scrutiny, and after a while answered, speaking slowly and in a low voice: "Ask no further, George. Perhaps I would tell you if you could help me; perhaps I would not. They say of me that I use men and then throw them away when they can be of no further service to me. It may be so; I do not know that the most deserve any better treatment. With you, at all events, I would not thus deal, for I like you. And now go to bed, and let the Wild Zehren play out the game. Perhaps he will break the bank, and then I promise you it will be the last of his playing." At this moment the wagon drove up; while reading my father's letter, I had not heard the order to old Christian to have the horses put to. Herr von Zehren looked through his papers, put some in his pocket, and locked others in his cabinet. Then old Christian helped him on with his furred cloak, he put on his hat, and stepping up to me, offered me his hand. I had watched all his movements in a sort of stupefaction. "And I cannot help you?" I now asked. "No," he replied, "or only by waiting quietly here until I return. Your hand is cold as ice; go to bed." I accompanied him to the door. His hunting-wagon was waiting, and long Jock, who usually filled the office of coachman, was on the front seat. "The wagon will only take me to the ferry, and then return," said Herr von Zehren. "And Jock?" I asked in a whisper. "Goes with me." "Take me in his place," I asked, imploringly. "It cannot be," he said, with his foot upon the step. "I entreat you," I urged, holding him by the cloak. "It cannot be," he repeated. "We have not a minute to spare. Good-night! Drive on!" The wagon drove off; the dogs yelped and barked, and then all was still again. Old Christian hobbled across the yard with his lantern, and vanished into one of the old buildings. I stood alone before the house, under the trees, in which the wind roared. The rain began to fall in torrents; shivering I returned to the house and carefully secured the door. The light was still burning in Herr von Zehren's room. I went to get it and also my letters that were lying upon his table. As I took them I espied a paper on the floor, and picked it up to see what it was. A few words were written upon it, and I had read them before I thought what I was doing. The words were these: