After a few minutes Hartmut loosed himself from the arms which still
enfolded him.

"Why have you never been with me, mamma?" he asked vehemently. "Why have
I always been told that you were dead?"

Zalika stepped back, and in an instant all tenderness had died out of
her eyes, and in its place was a wild, deadly hate, as the answer came
like a hiss from between her set lips.

"Because your father hates me, my son--and because he wishes to deny me
the love of my only child since he thrust me from him."

Hartmut was silent. He knew well enough that the name of his mother
dare not be mentioned in his father's presence, and that he had been
sharply reproved once for doing so, but he had been too much a child at
the time to ask "why." Zalika gave him no time to do so now. She brushed
the thick locks back from his brow and a shadow crossed her face.

"You get your forehead from him," she said slowly. "But that is the only
thing that reminds me of him, all the rest belongs to me and me alone.
Every feature tells that you are mine--I always knew that."

She suddenly clasped him in her arms again with unspeakable tenderness,
and Hartmut returned the embrace with ardor. It seemed to him like the
fairy tales which he had so often dreamed, and he gave himself up
unresistingly to the spell of happiness which some wonderful magic had
cast over him.

Just at that moment, Will called loudly to his friend from the opposite