"See, there comes the procession!" cried Heidenreich from the window; and in spite of the horror that seized him at the news, Francis yet felt himself irresistibly attracted to look on that which he dreaded. Just then the old Onophrius was passing before the window. Free and unfettered, he walked with calm confidence between the city soldiers who accompanied him, while no marks of the fear of death were to be seen upon his venerable, pale, cheerful countenance; and a garland of white roses adorned his silver locks, which were fluttered by the morning breeze. Loud weeping was heard from the assembled people; even the iron Francis sobbed bitterly. At this moment the old man lifted up his eyes and maimed arm to him, and cried out with a strong voice, "I have forgiven you all! Only make good as much as you are yet able, and you shall not find me amongst your accusers before the judgment-seat of God." With this he went on cheerfully to the place of execution, while Francis howled and pressed his face against the iron grating of the window. The sufferer's head had fallen. The noise of the people returning from the burial, and the sudden silence of the bells, awoke Francis from his mental lethargy. He looked up, and found himself alone. "It was an evil hour!" he cried, rousing himself; "God be praised that it is over.--How! not yet torture enough?" he added the instant after, seeing Agatha, who just then closed the prison door behind her. In deep mourning, with hollow eyes staring out of a pale, meagre face;--in her hand the garland of white roses which her father had worn on his last travel, she stood for a long time at the door, a threatening Nemesis. She then glided nearer with a light step, and planted herself close before the terrified Francis, whose hair began to stand on end. "My father is no more," she murmured in the tones of death. "I have even now seen him to his final place of rest, and am come hither to execute his last commission. He has been silent: he has died to save you; and he has saved you that you may restore to his only child the honour of which you robbed her by crafty seduction. In his last farewell he said, 'I will believe that, with the best inclination, Francis had it not in his power to rescue me; but let him take you home as his wedded wife, which is his duty, and which he has promised me with deep oaths: thus he will at least have made good as much as he was able, and my shadow is reconciled.' Now, then, I am here to remind you of your oath." With infinite confusion Francis stammered out, "Yes,--that,--dearest Agatha--for the present, at least, that cannot be done. I do not depend upon myself alone." "You are a widower, and childless," said Agatha, with great composure. "But my proud stern father will never consent to such an alliance," objected Francis. "You have long been of age and wealthy, and therefore independent," said Agatha, in the former unimpassioned tone; "give me better reasons for your perjury."