"And how it blows!" cried Justus, "so that one can neither see nor hear. You know that Meta wrote to me on her arrival that every thing was going capitally. Mamma was, as she foresaw, entirely on her side, but papa, of course, made a tremendous row--only then, as she also foretold, to give in utterly a little while after, supposing that the 'stone-cutter' could maintain his daughter suitably, as he could give her nothing--not a shilling--he was a poor, ruined man. Good! I accept the ruined father-in-law, and he accepts me upon my showing that I had already for some years made--but you know all about that, and I only repeat it now to set before you in its proper light the abominable treachery of this man." Justus had halted under a lamp, and took a letter out of his pocket. "If the spelling leaves something to be desired, the letters are big enough, as you see, and the interpretation is clear enough from one point of view at any rate." Justus struck the crumpled leaf with the back of his hand, and read: "'Sir' (the first time I was 'Dear Sir'), "'In consequence of a telegram that I have just received from Berlin, the state of my affairs is so completely altered, my daughter's future prospects are so entirely changed, that the position which you can offer her at the best no longer appears sufficient to me; and before I give a final answer'--as if he had not done so already, the Jesuit!--'I must, as a conscientious man and provident father, beg for a few weeks delay, until the fortunate conjuncture of circumstances which has just occurred for me can be completely gone into. "'Sincerely yours, "'Otto von Strummin, "'Lord of the Manor of Strummin, Member of the Assembly, Vice-President of the Agricultural Society of ----' "I can't read that--but it is enough!" And Justus crumpled up the unfortunate letter, and with a scornful snort stuffed it again into his pocket. "Am I not right, Reinhold? Every possible difficulty stands in your path, I admit, but through it all, at the worst, you have to deal with a man who is the very soul of honour, and on whose word once given--and he will give it--you may rely. You can build your house upon a solid foundation, but how can a man build a house upon sand--treacherous quicksand, which, when he thinks he is as firmly fixed as the Colossus of Rhodes, gives way under his feet? If I only knew what the 'Lord of the Manor' really means! It is my belief that the whole story--telegram, conjuncture, every thing--is all dust which he wants to throw into my eyes to get rid of me--don't you think so?"