"You have no right to condemn him as I do, since you have followed his example. I have had hard work to make up my mind; but now that it is made up, I will not yield one jot! Yesterday, I thought my son's marriage with the daughter of my wretched brother a disgrace; to-day, I see in it the only possible means of avoiding the shame of having the last Heydeck depend for existence upon quill-driving or daubing. I give you my honour that we are separated forever, you and I, if you do not set off for the Tyrol and your uncle to-morrow! Now you know that there is no use in one word more. Make your decision, and let me have it in writing. I will not see you again before your departure!" The old man arose to leave the room, and Leo did not attempt to detain him. He knew perfectly well that after the colonel had given 'his honour' no power on earth could induce him to alter his determination. Leaning heavily on his bamboo cane, the colonel hobbled to the door, opened it, and stood pondering for one moment upon the threshold. Then he turned once more to his son, and, in a much gentler tone than he had hitherto used, said, "We part, Leo, certainly for a long time, perhaps forever. If you hear that sudden death has overtaken me, do not think hardly of your old father; but if you have a spark of love for me obey me and go to the Tyrol!" CHAPTER VI. The door closed behind the colonel, and Leo was once more alone, free to indulge in his own reflections. What troubled him most was his father's resolve to fight Bertram. It was but too certain that the obstinate old soldier would act upon his determination as soon as possible. In imagination he saw his father fall in a conflict with the man who had so insulted himself, and forgetting his own future, he thought only of how this duel might be prevented. A sudden idea flashed upon him, showing him he hoped a means of attaining this end. In the greatest haste he changed his dress, laying aside his uniform forever,--since he had already handed in his resignation and received leave of absence, he no longer considered himself as belonging to the service, and he hoped, moreover, in the dress of a civilian to escape immediate recognition on the part of his former comrades. Once more he paused before the picture on the easel, and murmured as he gazed at it, "All this is your work. You drive me forth into the world; you have destroyed all my hopes; and yet I cannot chide you,--not even although you turn from me those dark, enchanting eyes! Farewell! I dare not gaze longer into their depths: they bewilder my heart and soul, and now I need every faculty I possess to help me to carve out my future. Farewell, forever! I must see you never again!" After one long, last look, he took the portrait from the easel and leaned it with its face against the wall. Then he hurriedly left the room and the house.