"Yes. I meant to have told you hereafter of what I now reveal to you, but your insane behaviour forces me to speak. You would else be in danger of making a second assault upon--your grandfather!" Michael started, and stood staring wide-eyed at the speaker. "My grandfather! He is----?" "Your mother's father. But you must cherish no hopes from the tie; your mother was disinherited and cast off. Her marriage separated her forever from her family, and was her ruin." He paused and looked at Michael, who for the moment said not a word, although it was evident that the revelation had agitated him terribly. His features worked, and his chest rose and fell as though he were labouring for breath; at last after a long pause he said, gloomily, "Go on,--is there no more to tell?" "No, my son, no more for the present. It is a sad story, ending in grief and misery; a tissue of crime and misfortune that you could hardly understand. Hereafter, when you are older and more mature, you shall hear everything; for the present let the bare facts content you: I vouch for their truth. You see now that the person of Count Steinrück should be sacred to you." "Sacred? When he hounded me like a thief from his door?" Michael suddenly burst forth. "He knew that he was my grandfather, and yet could treat me so! Like a dog! Ah, your reverence, you ought not to bid me hold him sacred. I hated the Count because he was so hard and pitiless to a stranger, but now,--I should like to----" He clinched his fist with so terrible a look that Valentin involuntarily recoiled. "For the love of all the saints you would not----?" "Touch him,--no! I know now that I must not lift my hand against him, but if I could call him to account otherwise, I would give my life for a chance to do so." Valentin stood speechless, dismayed, though this savage outbreak was not alone what dismayed him. He too saw now what had so surprised his brother, that strange gleam that flashed out suddenly like lightning to vanish as instantly. The rugged, undeveloped features were the same, but the dreamy face had gone; as if a veil had been raised all at once there were revealed other eyes, another brow, and the movement with which Michael turned to leave the room was full of savage resolve. "Where are you going?" the priest asked, hastily. "To the forest lodge?" "No; I have nothing to do there now. Farewell, your reverence." "Stay! Where, then, are you going?" "I do not know,--away,--out into the world." "Alone? Without means? Utterly ignorant of the world and of life? What will you do?" "Go to ruin like my mother," the lad replied, roughly. "No, by heaven, that you shall not!" exclaimed the priest, rising with unwonted determination. "If my vows tie my hands,--if I cannot take care of you,--I can intrust you to another. It was a special providence that brought my brother here; he will not refuse to help me: I can rely upon him."