e to life what would she say to him?

Hedged about with difficulties and dangers as he was, the sight of the
girl so near him and yet so inaccessible was maddening. Now that he had
discovered her, every impulse urged him to the feat of scaling the wall.
And yet, as though fascinated, he still sat, his gaze fixed on the bit
of white drapery which was a part of Marishka. He tried to imagine what
Goritz was saying to her, for he seemed to know that Goritz was her
companion, seemed to hear the murmur of their voices. He waited long and
then the white drapery vanished, reappeared, and Marishka's figure stood
in the window, leaning with one hand upon the casement, in silhouette
against the light. And now quite distinctly against the velvety soft
background of the breathless night the sound of her voice, refined by
the distance between them, but fearful in its tone and significance.

"_I--I am not afraid to die, Herr Goritz_," it said.

Renwick started to his feet as though suddenly awaking from a dreadful
dream into a still more dreadful reality. Marishka still stood in the
window motionless, but the words that she had spoken seemed to be
ringing endlessly down the silent gorge and in his brain, which was
suddenly empty of all but its echoes. He wanted to shout to her a cry of
encouragement--and hope, but he remained silent, grimly watching and
listening.

Marishka said something else and then turned into the room, while
through another window he saw the dark figure of Goritz pass away from
her toward the outward wall. Of Marishka he saw no more, but at
intervals he saw Goritz pacing to and fro....

How much longer Renwick watched he did not know, but after a while he
found himself stumbling along the face of the mountain, descending by
the way that he had come, Marishka's words singing their message through
and through him. It was as though the words had been meant for him
instead of Goritz, that Renwick even in death should know of her danger
and come to her aid. He was coming now, not as an avenging spirit, but
in the flesh, armed with righteous wrath and a fearful lust for
vengeance. He understood what the message meant. Hers was not a cry of
despair but of defiance.... What had happened? He had not seen.

"I am not afraid to die." Nor was Renwick--but to live were better--to
live at least for tonight. Fury gave him desperation, but for the task
before him he needed coolness, too. And realizing that haste might send