“You must die! Must you then die? Oh, God! it is but too true, and the scaffold stands ready even now; and no human power can save my Ordener, whom they will slay! Tell me,--cast one look upon your slave, your wife, and tell me, promise me, beloved Ordener, that you will listen to me without anger. Are you very sure--answer me as you would answer to God--that you could not be happy with that woman, that Ulrica d’Ahlefeld? Are you very sure, Ordener? Perhaps she is, she surely is, handsome, amiable, virtuous. She is far superior to her for whom you perish. Do not turn away your head, dear friend, dear Ordener. You are so noble and so young to mount the scaffold. Think! you might live with her in some gay city where you would lose all memory of this fatal dungeon; your days would flow by peacefully, without a thought of me. I consent,--you may drive me from your heart, erase my image from your thoughts, Ordener. Only live! Leave me here alone; let me be the one to die. And believe me, when I know that you are in the arms of another, you need not fear for me; I shall not suffer long.” She paused; her voice was drowned in tears. Still her grief-stricken countenance was radiant with her longing to win the ill-omened victory which must be her death. Ordener said: “No more of this, Ethel. Let no name but yours and mine pass our lips at such a moment.” “Alas! alas!” she replied, “then you persist in dying?” “I must; I shall go to the scaffold gladly for your sake; I should go to the altar with any other woman with horror and aversion. Say no more; you wound and distress me.” She wept, and murmured: “He will die, oh, God, a death of infamy!” The condemned man answered with a smile: “Believe me, Ethel, there is less dishonor in my death than in such a life as you propose.” At this instant his eye, glancing away from his weeping Ethel, observed an old man in clerical dress standing in the shadow under the low, arched door. “What do you want?” said he, hastily. “My lord, I came with the Countess d’Ahlefeld’s messenger. You did not see me, and I waited silently until you should notice me.” In fact, Ordener had eyes for Ethel only; and she, at the sight of Ordener, had forgotten her companion. “I am,” continued the old man, “the minister whose duty it is--” “I understand,” said the young man; “I am ready.” The minister advanced toward him. “God is also ready to receive you, my son.” “Sir,” said Ordener, “your face is not unknown to me; I must have seen you elsewhere.” The minister bowed. “I too recognize you, my son; we met in Vygla tower. We both proved upon that occasion the fallibility of human words. You promised me the pardon of twelve unhappy prisoners, and I put no faith in your promise, being unable to guess that you were the viceroy’s son; and you, my lord, who reckoned upon your power and your rank when you made me that promise--” Ordener finished the thought which Athanasius Munder dared not put into words.