It was evident that my brother had not expected so violent an outburst on the part of my habitually gentle father. He grew deadly pale and tried to free himself from my father's clutch. After he had succeeded in doing so, he reached for his hat and turned to the door. But, before he closed it behind him, he said: "You will find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me to-morrow." What he called the Kamp was a river of considerable depth. After he had left, the room looked a picture of misery and grief. My mother was leaning against the wall weeping violently; my father was pacing the room, his face rigidly set and breathing rapidly; the smallest of the children, roused by the noise, had started to cry; and I trembled in every limb with excitement. It was my brother's last words that worried me beyond expression--"You will find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me to-morrow." I imagined him plunging into the dark green water, sinking slowly and being found entangled in the tall reeds near the banks. "Mother," I said, speaking incoherently and almost inaudibly, "do you think that he will?" "Don't ask me anything," she replied; "I am the most unfortunate woman under the sun." During the whole day I hoped that he might still come back. He did not return, however, and when evening drew near I dismissed all hope of ever seeing him again. The next day I could not remain indoors any longer, so I went out and walked towards the river without actually knowing or wishing it. Every time I saw a group of people coming towards me I stopped in terror, for I believed that they had found him. Nobody, however, seemed to be on so terrible a mission. The people looked gaily at me, and passed on to their work in the vineyards. When I reached the church square, the very sight of which was enough to arouse such sad and sweet memories that I felt more wretched, my brother appeared on the scene. Giving a joyous exclamation, I hastened towards him. "Where did you spend the night, Charlie?" But this question did not seem to please him. "I certainly expected more tact on your part," he replied, stepping over to my side, "than even to allude to that distressing scene at which you were unfortunate enough to be present." I did not dare to ask another question, and walked along in silence. Secretly I was surprised at his composure. "I am extremely sorry for your misfortune," my brother said after a pause. According to my opinion it was he who was the more unfortunate of the two. "Why are you sorry for me?" I asked him, and regretted the question the next moment, because his face flushed with anger. "How can you ask why, when you yourself were present at this miserable occurrence, which must have taught you of what low descent you are." "I?"