its shining edge undimmed,
leaning against the block. There across it was the crimson mask which was
never more to bind his eyes as he did the office of final dread.

"Do you see them, son Hugo?" he cried, leaning heavily on my shoulder and
pointing with his finger; "they are gibbering at me, mowing,
processioning by, and pointing mockingly at me. Do you hear them
laughing? That horrid one there with his head under his arm? Laughing as
if there were no God! But I am not afraid. Mercy of Jesu! Hath God
Himself no Justicer, that He should punish me because I have fulfilled my
charge? I have all my life been merciful, ever giving the blow of mercy
first, and the drop of stupefaction before the Extreme Question. Hence,
fiends! Shapes inhuman, torment me not! For in my day I was merciful to
you and never struck twice. I _will_ die standing up. The devil shall not
fright me--no, nor all his angels!

"God Himself shall not fright me! I appeal to His judgment throne! Get
hence, false accusing spirits! I stand at Caesar's judgment-seat. Give me
the axe, boy--I will cut down the evil, I will spare the good. Here is
the Red Axe, my son. Take it! Strike with it strong and well. Strike,
strike, and spare not!"

Totteringly he handed me the axe, and, clasping his hands, he stood
looking up.

"God! God!" he cried in a great voice. "I see my Judge face to face; I am
not afraid! But I will die standing up!"

And in this manner, even as I tell it, died Gottfried Gottfried, a strong
man, standing up and not afraid. And these arms received him, as, being
dead, he fell headlong.

CHAPTER XLVIII

HUGO GOTTFRIED, RED AXE OF THE WOLFMARK

Then cried Dessauer from the door to me as I stood thus holding my father
in my arms:

"Haste you, lad; there are men coming across the yard with torches. They
are gathering in groups about the door. Now they are on the stairs--many
soldiers--and with weapons in their hands!"

And scarcely had he spoken when the sound of the tramping of men in haste
came to us up the turret, and the door of the garret was thrust violently
open. A turmoil of men-at-arms burst in on us. I stood still, holding
Gottfried Gottfried, his head on my shoulder, though I knew that he was
dead. But as one came forward with a paper in his hand I stooped and laid
my father gently on his bed.

An officer of the Black Hussars, fantastically dressed in their
church-yard array, with skull and cross-bones slashed in silv