r knees
in prayer.

"The brave cannoneer is saved!" murmured Gotzkowsky in a low voice
to himself, and he too folded his hands in prayer. Was it a prayer of
gratitude, or did it proceed from the despairing heart of a father?

His countenance had a bright and elevated expression; but as he turned
his eyes down on his daughter, still on her knees, they darkened,
and his features twitched convulsively and painfully. His anger had
evaporated, and his heart was filled with boundless pity and love. He
felt nothing but painful, sorrowful compassion for this young girl
who lay deathly pale and trembling with suffering on the floor. His
daughter was weeping, and his heart yearned toward her to forgive her
every thing, to raise her up and comfort her.

Suddenly Elise started up from her knees and strode toward her father.
There was something solemn and imposing in her proud bearing, her
extraordinary composure, which only imperfectly veiled her raging
grief and passionate excitement.

"Father," said she solemnly, and her voice sounded hoarse and cold,
"may God forgive you for what you have done! At this moment, when
perhaps he is suffering death, I repeat it, I am innocent."

This proud composure fell freezingly on Gotzkowsky's heart, and drove
back all the milder forgiving impulses. He remembered only the shame
and the injured honor of his daughter.

"You assert your innocence, and yet you had a man concealed in the
night in your bedchamber!"

"And yet I am innocent, father!" cried Elise vehemently. "Read it on
my forehead, see it in my eyes, which do not fear to meet yours. I am
innocent!"

And completely overpowered by the bitter and desperate anguish of
her soul, she continued, still more excited, "But how does all this
concern you? It was not my honor that you were interested in; you did
not seek to avenge that. You only wished to punish me for daring to
assert my freedom and independence, for daring to love without having
asked your leave. The rich man to whom all bend, whom all worship as
the priest of the powerful idol which rules the world, the rich man
sees with dismay that there is one being not dazzled by his treasures
who owns an independent life, a will of her own, and a heart that he
cannot command. And because this being does not of her own accord how
down before him he treads it in the dust, whether it be his own child
or not."

"Elise," cried Gotzkowsky, shocked, "Elise, are you mad? Do you know
tha