him, and cared to be loved by him, was dazzling and confusing him; and at last all the passionate tenderness of his soul had broken forth, the long pent-up current of affection had overflowed its banks--powerfully, irresistibly, like a mountain torrent which breaks through a rocky gate and pours its waters exultingly into the broad valley. "Do you know," said the boy to Oswald, "that I was determined beforehand to hate you?" "Why, Bruno, is hatred so sweet?" "Oh, no. But I thought all tutors were like our first, and so I said to myself that what was good for one was good for all." "And how was Mr. Bauer?" "Well, he was a boor," said the boy, bitterly. "Why, my proud little lord, will you despise all low-born men?" "Certainly not," exclaimed the boy, warmly; "my own father was but a peasant, although he was a nobleman; I have often seen him behind the plough; but this man was coarse and rude, and a coward into the bargain. Once after dinner, I do not know what I had done, he slapped me in the face because aunty was present, and he thought she would be pleased to see him do so. Yes, he beat me," and the boy's eye flashed as he recalled the insult, and the big vein on his forehead, where wrath lies hidden, swelled up high. "And then, Bruno?" "Then I took the knife that was lying before me on the table and jumped at him, and the wretch ran away, crying for help. And when I saw that, and all the pale faces around me, I could not help laughing, and went quietly out of the room. And I would have liked to run away into the wide, wide world on the spot, but uncle came after me and promised me that that man should never touch me again. Uncle is very kind; you don't know how kind he is. But he is afraid of aunty; everybody is afraid of her--and yet I am fond of her, for she has pluck like a man, and I hate only cowards. Malte is a coward." "Malte is weak and sickly, and you ought to be patient with him; but if you are really fond of your aunt, why are you so cross to her?" "Am I cross?" The boy became silent. A cloud passed over his brow, his nostrils quivered, and his dark-blue eyes looked like a thunder-cloud when he said, glancing quickly upward: "I know I am cross; but how can I help that? I am only on sufferance here in the house; shall I be grateful for that? I cannot be so; I will not be so, and if they were to turn me out. Look here, Oswald, I have often wished they would drive me away; I have done things on purpose to make them send me off; then I would go into the wide world and earn my own bread, as thousands of boys do who are not half as strong and as brave as I am. Even to-day, as we were walking along the strand, and the great three-decker rose on the horizon and disappeared again, I wished, oh! so eagerly, I could have sailed away in her as a boy, as a sailor--only away, away from here, no matter where to."