. Strange! the pages bearing the torches
before the old lord come to a sudden halt; a man runs toward them round
the sharp angle of the gallery; his hair is in confusion, his robe
soiled and torn; no dagger in his belt nor sword at his side; his lips
are blue and shivering, his brow pallid; he looks as if Death were
breathing on him as he passed, and he fled in terror from the fleshless
phantom.

'The father must not advance another step;' and stretching his arms
toward the old man, he seizes one of his hands.

'Where is thy wife? Speak, and tell me!'

The bridegroom kneels before him: 'Stop, father; go back to thine own
chamber; waken not thy sleeping daughter so early.'

'Thou sayest: 'Awake her not.' Will she _ever_ again waken? Speak
quickly. Tell me the naked truth, for evil spirits filled my sleep with
dreams of terror. I saw her pleading for death, but thou wast unarmed as
now; and another stood near, who murdered the child I gave thee. Speak!
Was this all a horrid dream, a fearful jest of the summer's night to
appal my soul?'

The bridegroom bows his head under the unendurable weight of this
question. He shudders, and with lifted hand tries to turn the old man
back.

'Ha! thou darest not speak--thou art silent, I know it all now. God
punishes me because I have bowed to thy king, and sought alliance with
thy craven blood, alien as thou art!'

The window panes rattle as the wild cry echoes from the old man's
quivering lips; all present tremble at the voice of his despair. He
seizes his sword with both his hands, and while it trembles in his
grasp, continues:

'Art thou still silent? My fathers were the enemies of thine; had I a
son, he would have been thy deadly foe. I had an only daughter--I gave
her to thee--she too is gone--take all--there is no one to care for
now--the inheritance is also thine.'

The sword rattles in his hands, the blade falls from his grasp, as he
strikes it against the pillar near him. The bridegroom starts forward
and endeavors to stay the old man. The old man pushes him off, they
wrestle in their bewilderment, and struggle like wild beasts. Despair
nerves the aged arms with iron strength. Young and agile as he is, the
bridegroom feels the hands of his adversary pressing heavily upon his
shoulders, he bends under the weight, the old man hurls him to the
ground, and, no longer requiring aid from others, strides over the
prostrate body. He stalks on with flashing, burning eyes, h