"I fancied," he said, "that you too had abandoned me, and I must perish miserably here like a wounded stag. Is it not strange that the last Zehren who is worthy of the name, here, from the ancient fortress of his ancestors, now a pile of ruins, must watch the house that later generations built, consumed by the flames? How did it take fire? What do you suppose? I have many other questions to ask you, but I feel so strangely--such strange fancies pass through my head. I never felt thus before; and my arm too is very painful. I think it is all over with the Wild Zehren--all over, all over! Let me lie here, George, and die quietly. How long will it be before the fire eats its way through the subterranean passage, and the old Zehrenburg flies into the air?" Thus reason and madness contended in his fevered brain. Now he spoke connectedly and intelligently of what was next to be done, as soon as he had recovered his strength a little, and then he suddenly saw Jock Swart lying before him on the ground, and again it was not Jock but Alfonso, the brother of his wife, whose heart his sword had pierced. And yet--and I have often reflected upon this, while pondering over the singular character of this man--these terrible memories recurring in his delirium were accompanied with no words that indicated the slightest remorse. On the contrary, they had been rightly dealt with, and so should it be with all that ventured to resist his will. If they had burned his house, all castles and villages for leagues around should be ravaged by the flames. He would see if he could not punish his vassals as he thought fit, if they dared to rise in revolt. He would chastise them until they howled for mercy. Such utterances of his haughty spirit, exalted to madness by the fever that was raging in his veins, contrasted frightfully with the utter wretchedness of our position. While in fancy he was charging through burning towns that his wrath had given to the flames, his frame was shivering with ague, and his teeth chattered audibly. The cold, which grew ever keener towards daybreak, seemed to pierce to my marrow; and as often as the unhappy man, whose head rested upon my lap, ceased for a while his ravings, my head sank forwards or sideways to the cold wall against which I was leaning; and with ever more painful exertions I strove against the weariness which oppressed me with leaden weight. What would become of us if my strength gave way? Indeed what would become of us as it was? We could not remain thus. I was afraid that he would die in my arms if I could get no assistance. And yet how could I go for help without the risk of abandoning him to his pursuers? And how could I leave him now, when he was wanting to dash his head to pieces against the stones, and was craving to drink up the sea to assuage his consuming thirst?