The sea was still heaving after the thunder-storm of the afternoon, but the sun had cast a trembling light over the dark waves before it set. The stars now gradually appeared in the blackish-blue vault of the heavens; Gotthold raised his eyes to them, and then gazed into the quiet countenance of the old man, by whose side he was seated upon a bench, sheltered by the thick walls of the beach-house. Through the window beside them gleamed the light of the lamp, which, ever since Cousin Boslaf had lived in the beach-house, had burned there night after night, and would now continue to burn on, even after his eyes were closed in death. It was for this object that he had taken the journey to Sundin--the first since he returned from Sweden, sixty-five years ago, and probably the last he would ever make in his life. It had cost him an effort to give up his hermit habits for days, and mingle with mankind once more. But it must be done; he dared not ask whether the road would be hard or easy for him. So he had sailed away, accompanied by young Carl Peters, the son of his old friend, and for six long days presented himself at the Herr Praesident's every morning, and was always sent away because the Herr Praesident was too busy to see him, as the valet said, who finally roughly forbade him to come again, just at the moment the former left his study, and, seeing the old man, asked him kindly who he was, and what he wanted. Then Cousin Boslaf told the friendly gentleman that his name was Bogislaf Wenhof, and he had been very intimate with Malte von Krissowitz, whose portrait was hanging on the wall, and who, if he was not mistaken, was the Praesident's great-grandfather, and then told him his desire. Malte von Krissowitz was one of the six young men who had officiated as judges during the contest between Bogislaf and Adolf Wenhof; the Praesident, when a very young man, had heard the famous story from his father, who had it from his grandfather, to whom his great-grandfather had related it; it seemed to him like a fairy tale that the hero of that story should be still alive, and the very old man who was sitting on the sofa beside him. He called his wife and daughter, introduced them to the old man, and insisted that he should stay to dinner. Everybody was most kind and friendly, and--what was most important--the Praesident, when he bade him farewell, gave him his word of honor that the good cause for which he pleaded should henceforth be his own.