“Why do you think that I shall die, Ethel?” “Ah! Then you do not know this Hans,--this infernal thief? Do you know what a monster you pursue? Do you know that he is lord of all the powers of darkness; that he overthrows mountains upon towns; that subterranean caverns crumble beneath his tread; that his breath extinguishes the beacons on every rocky coast? And how can you suppose, Ordener, that you can resist this giant aided by the demon, with your white arms and feeble sword?” “And your prayers, Ethel, and the thought that I am fighting for you? Be assured, Ethel, the bandit’s strength and power have been greatly exaggerated. He is a man like ourselves, who deals out death until he himself be slain.” “Then you will not heed me? My words are nothing to you? Tell me, what is to become of me if you go; if you roam from danger to danger, exposing--for I know not what earthly interest--your life, which is mine, by yielding it to a monster?” Here the lieutenant’s tales recurred anew to Ethel’s fancy, exaggerated by her love and terror. She went on in a voice broken by sobs: “I assure you, dear Ordener, they deceived you who told you that he was only a man. You should believe me rather than others, Ordener; you know that I would not mislead you. Thousands have tried to do battle with him; he has destroyed whole regiments. I only wish others would tell you the same; you might believe them and not go.” Poor Ethel’s prayers would doubtless have shaken Ordener’s bold resolve, if he had not gone so far. The words uttered by Schumacker in his despair on the previous evening came back to him and strengthened him in his purpose. “I might, my dear Ethel, tell you that I would not go, and yet carry out my plan; but I will never deceive you, even to console you. I ought not, I repeat, to hesitate between your tears and your true interests. Your fortune, your happiness, perhaps your life,--your very life, my Ethel,--are at stake.” And he clasped her affectionately in his arms. “And what do I care?” she returned, weeping. “My friend, my Ordener, my delight,--for you know that you are my sole delight,--do not give me a fearful and certain misery in exchange for a slight and doubtful misfortune. What is fortune or life to me?” “Your father’s life, Ethel, is also at stake.” She tore herself from his arms. “My father’s life?” she repeated in a low voice, turning pale. “Yes, Ethel. This brigand, doubtless bribed by Count Griffenfeld’s enemies, has in his possession papers whose loss imperils the life of your father, already the object of so many attacks. I would die to win back those papers.” Ethel was pale and dumb for some moments. Her tears were dried, her heaving breast labored painfully; she looked on the ground with a dull and indifferent gaze,--the gaze of the condemned man as the axe is lifted over his head. “My father’s life!” she sighed. Then she slowly turned her eyes toward Ordener. “What you do is useless; but do it.”