with the pale, distorted, grief-worn face, with those large eyes flaming
with the fires of insanity, was to be his murderer. Death had come to
summon him away--death in the form of Gabriel Nietzel!

And so, he was to die! He, the mighty, the rich, the noble Count
Schwarzenberg! _He_ whose name all Germany revered, _he_ before whom all
bowed in humility, who had had control over millions! _He_ was to die by
the hand of a madman, to die alone, unwept! If his son were only with him,
his dear, his only son, who loved him, who--"Have you prayed?" asked
Gabriel Nietzel, who had been waiting in silence.

"No," said Schwarzenberg, startled out of his train of thought--"no, I
have not prayed! Why do you ask that?"

"Because you must die!" replied Gabriel Nietzel, grasping him more firmly
with his left hand, and with his right drawing forth a dagger from his
breast. The count profited by this moment, tore himself loose, jumped
back, and rushed toward the open door of the secret passage. But Nietzel
sprang past him, and already stood before the door, confronting him again!
As he saw the dagger glitter in the air, he remembered, with the rapidity
of thought, the instant when he had stood before Rebecca, with the drawn
dagger in his hand.

She had cried "Mercy! mercy!" He wanted to cry so, too, but could not!
Like a flash of lightning it darted across his eyes, like a crushing blow
it fell upon his brain. He uttered a piercing shriek, tumbled backward,
and fell upon the ground, with rattling in his throat and with dimmed
eyes!

Gabriel Nietzel bent over him and looked long into that convulsed
countenance, and into those eyes which were fixed upon him with a look of
entreaty! Nietzel understood that look. "No," he said roughly--"no, I do
not forgive you, I have no pity upon you. Be you cursed and condemned, and
go to the grave in your sins! God has been gracious to me; he has not
willed it that I should be stained with your blood. He has laid his own
hand upon you and smitten you. You will perhaps have long to suffer yet.
Suffer!"

He put up his dagger, strode through the apartment, stepped out upon the
secret passage and closed the door behind him.

"And now," he said, when he found himself outside--"now I shall go and
acknowledge my sins to the Elector. He will be compassionate, and allow me
to mount the scaffold. I shall then have atoned for all, and will once
more be united to my Rebecca!"

Was it possible that this wret