hom he bowed! He
stood before his judge, he stood before his conscience! He knew it, he
felt it! A cold hand was laid upon his heart and contracted it
convulsively; it was laid upon his head and bowed it low. Death was there,
and his name was Gabriel Nietzel!

"Gabriel Nietzel!" murmured his ashy pale lips, "Gabriel Nietzel!"

"You recognize me, then?" said the soldier quietly and coldly. "Look at
me, count, lift your eyes upon me! I want to see your countenance!"

With a last effort of strength Count Schwarzenberg resumed his
self-control. He raised his head, affecting his usual proud and
self-satisfied air. "Gabriel Nietzel!" he cried, "Whence come you? What
would you have of me? How did you come in here?"

"How did I come in?" repeated he. "Through yon door!"

And he pointed at the door opening upon the secret staircase. "I came
twice and begged to be allowed access to you, but was refused. This time I
admitted myself. You once sent me down the secret stairway, and pointed
out that mode of exit to me yourself, when your son was coming to visit
you. What do I want? I want you to give me my wife, my Rebecca; and if you
have murdered her, I want _your life_!"

"Would you murder me?" exclaimed the count in horror, while moving slowly
backward. Keeping his eyes fixed upon Gabriel Nietzel, he sought to gain
the door to his bedchamber. But Nietzel guessed his design and disdainfully
shook his head. "Do not take that trouble," he said. "I have abstracted
both keys and put them in my pocket. You can not escape me."

Count Schwarzenberg's eyes darted a quick, involuntary glance across at
the round table on which stood his bell. Nietzel intercepted this glance
and understood that the count meant to call his people. He took up the
bell and thrust it into his bosom.

"Give up your efforts to evade me," he said. "God sends me to you. God
will punish your crime by means of this hand, which you once bribed to
commit a murderous deed. Count Schwarzenberg, you have acted the part of
the devil toward me! You have robbed me of my soul! Give it back to me! I
demand of you my soul!"

"He is insane," said Count Schwarzenberg, softly to himself. But Nietzel
caught his meaning.

"No," he said sorrowfully--"no, I am not insane. God has denied me that
consolation. I know what has been, and what is. There was a time--a
glorious, blessed time--when I forgot everything, when all pain was
banished, and I was happy--ah, so happy! They sa