These reflections agitated him the more violently because they all thronged upon him at once. He reeled against the rounds of the ladder on which he stood, and listened still; for we sometimes wait with inexplicable impatience and fearful eagerness for the misfortunes which we dread the most. “Yes,” added the voice of the envoy, “you are to be commanded by the much-dreaded Hans of Iceland. Who will dare resist you? You fight for your wives and your children, basely despoiled of their inheritance; for a noble and unfortunate man, who for twenty years has languished unjustly in an infamous prison. Come, for Schumacker and liberty await you. Death to tyrants!” “Death!” repeated a thousand voices; and the clash of arms rang through the winding cave, mingled with the hoarse note of the mountaineer’s horn. “Stop!” cried Ordener. He hurriedly descended the remainder of the ladder; for the idea that he might save Schumacker from committing a crime and spare his country untold misery had taken entire possession of him. But as he stood at the mouth of the cave, fear lest he might destroy his Ethel’s father, and perhaps his Ethel herself, by rash invectives, took the place of every other consideration, and he remained rooted to the spot, pale, and casting an amazed glance at the singular scene before him. It was like a vast square in some underground city, whose limits were lost amid endless columns supporting the vaulted roof. These pillars glittered like crystal in the rays of countless torches borne by a multitude of men, armed with strange weapons, and scattered in confusion about the cave. From all these points of light and all these fearful figures straying among the shadows, it might have passed for one of the legendary gatherings described by ancient chroniclers,--an assembly of wizards and demons, bearing stars for torches, and illuminating antique groves and ruined castles by night. A prolonged shout arose. “A stranger! Kill him! kill him!” A hundred arms were raised to strike Ordener down. He put his hand to his side in search of his sword Noble youth! In his generous ardor he had forgotten that he was alone and unarmed. “Stay! stay!” cried a voice,--the voice of one whom Ordener recognized as Schumacker’s envoy. He was a short, stout man, dressed in black, with a deceitful smile. He advanced toward Ordener, saying: “Who are you?” Ordener made no answer; he was threatened on every side, and there was not an inch of his breast uncovered by a sword-point or the mouth of a pistol. “Are you afraid?” asked the little man, with a sneer. “If your hand were upon my heart, instead of these swords,” coldly answered Ordener, “you would see that it beats no faster than your own, if indeed you have a heart.” “Ah, ha!” said the little man; “so you defy us! Well, then let him die!” And he turned his back. “Give me death,” returned Ordener; “it is the only thing that I would accept from you.”