The Baron's Sons

wife, I beg and most solemnly adjure you to obey my behests. Every muscle in my body is wrestling with death, but my thoughts are not now upon that final dissolution which must so soon overtake me. This cold sweat on my brow is not caused by the death-agony, but by the fear lest all my past striving shall have been for naught, lest the work of a quarter of a century shall be buried with me. Ah, Marie, if you but knew how my heart pains me! No, no more medicine; that cannot help me. Show me my sons' pictures; they will bring relief."

The baroness brought three miniature likenesses and held them before her husband's eyes. The man with the heart of stone looked at them, one after the other, and his sufferings abated. He forgot his death pangs, and pointing with his wasted forefinger at the portrait of the eldest, he whispered: "He will be most like me, I believe." Then, waving aside the three miniatures, he continued, coldly: "But no sentimentality now! The time is short and I shall soon be gathered to m