"And you a blackguard," replied Bruno, standing before him with folded arms. "Who will punish you for your insolence," said Felix, boxing the boy's ears. Bruno staggered back a few steps. Felix saw, half frightened, how the boy's eyes began literally to burn; then he uttered a low, fierce cry from the depth of his throat--a great leap, like that of a leopard pouncing upon his victim, and the next moment Felix lay on the ground, and Bruno's powerful hands held his throat with an iron grip. Felix struggled desperately to shake off the boy and to rise again, but in vain. As often as he rose a little, trying to push Bruno aside with his arms, he felt his efforts paralyzed by superior strength, and the slender fingers enclosed his throat firmer and firmer. "Let me go, Bruno," he groaned. "Commend your soul to God, for you must die," Bruno growled. Felix felt his strength giving way, while that of his adversary seemed to increase every moment. Deadly anguish fell upon him. He wanted to call for help, but his trembling lips could not utter a sound; he felt a low buzzing in his ears, which grew stronger and stronger; it became dark before his eyes, though millions of small stars were shooting about; fearful thoughts drifted like storm-laden clouds through his brains.--Suddenly, when the last glimmer of consciousness seemed to be extinguished, he felt the horrible burden leave his chest, and when he at last gathered strength to rise from the ground, he was alone. The moon was shining on the dark blue sky, the light in Helen's room had disappeared, the music was at an end, and Felix might have fancied his struggle with Bruno but a dream, if the reality had not been too well attested by the violent pains he felt in more than one part of his body, the sand that covered his clothes, and the ground turned up all around him. With a heart filled with shame and rage he went back to the house, like a wolf who had attempted to surprise a flock, and had been driven back to the woods, bitten and wounded by a noble watch-dog. CHAPTER XIV. The baroness had missed Helen's letter the same evening. This discovery caused her no small dismay. The letter might so easily fall into wrong hands--hands that might return it to the girl, and thus expose her in her own daughter's eyes to sad disgrace! She should then irretrievably lose all the advantage which she had obtained by this insight into Helen's state of mind, and which she thought of rendering profitable to herself by frequent allusions and threatenings. It was unlucky, extremely unlucky!