erflowed
with gentle tears, while the cries of agony from below grew fainter and
fainter, and at length were silent altogether.

The maiden arose and stood again before the trembling Francis; with
awful calmness she said, "A horrid light is beginning to dawn upon me.
It seems to me as if my poor father suffered for your crime, the wild
vengeance of the nobles absolutely exacting blood in atonement for the
blood which has been spilt. It seems, too, as if you were well content
to buy yourself free with this expiatory sacrifice. Once again,
therefore, I conjure you, Francis, exert yourself for us. If you could
not rescue your saviour from the pangs of the rack, at least preserve
his life. Save it not merely for me, save it for yourself! For I swear
to you, by the agonies of this dreadful hour, if my father perishes,
you too are lost! I will bend all the energies of my soul to your
destruction; I will steal after you through life as your evil demon,
till at last I reach you and hurl the lightnings of vengeance upon your
guilty head!"

She rushed out.

"This is a night of hell!" groaned Francis, and dropt back, as if
annihilated, into his seat.

* * * * *

It was about the same time of the year, that Althea was sitting in
her chamber by the open window, through which played the gentle
spring-breezes. Her little Henry drew about the room, on a wheeled
platform, a stately knight, proudly mounted, in the full equipments of
the tournay, Tausdorf's present to him from Nuremberg. With this he
kept up an intolerable clatter, but his mother did not heed him. Before
her stood the embroidery frame, in which she had stretched a scarf, but
she did not work; and, lost in fairy visions, she listened to the
humming of the bees that swarmed in the blossoms of an apple-tree
before her window. Then on a sudden echoed the sweet song of the
nightingale from the topmost branch, and Althea's bosom swelled in
gentle heavings; her eyes became moist, she folded her hands, and with
pious looks to heaven, exclaimed mournfully, "Forgive me, Eternal
Benevolence! if this feeling be a sin against the memory of my Henry."

"Where now does Herr Tausdorf tarry?" interrupted the child. "He
promised to be here early to-day."

"Was the speech of innocence an answer to my prayer?" whispered Althea;
and, beckoning the child to her, she took him on her lap, caressed him
with fervour, and softly asked him, "Are you then fond of