"Do not stir!" he called out to his people, and led Francis impetuously a few steps farther. "Now, name the slanderer!" Instead of reply Francis grasped at him, but with gigantic strength the latter caught his opponent by the breast and flung him to the ground, where he held him fast. "If you are an honourable nobleman," groaned Francis under him, "let me betake myself to my sword." Tausdorf hastily let him loose, and went back a few paces. The latter sprang up, frantic with rage, and tore his sword from the scabbard; and, looking after the knight's people furiously, cried out, "Don't let your servants help!" Tausdorf called to them in Bohemian, "Whichever of you moves a hand, my sword strikes him!" "Draw!" roared Francis, with foaming mouth. "Only in self-defence," said Tausdorf, and held out his blade. Francis pressed upon him with furious blows. He merely defended himself. During this the auburn-haired gipsy looked over the wall of the garden; she was now without a mask, and her face betrayed agony and repentance. "Why don't you part them?" she cried to Tausdorf's people, wringing her hands. "It is forbidden to us," replied the faithful Martin sadly. Tausdorf cast a glance from the combat to the place whence the well-known voice came; and, taking advantage of this, Francis lunged fiercely at his heart, but the thrust did not succeed. "My life, then, is intended?" cried Tausdorf indignantly, and he cut his adversary over the right hand. As the arm sank, his sword went into the breast of Francis, who fell to earth. "Gracious Heavens! such was not my purpose," exclaimed Tausdorf, when he saw the blood flowing; and, sheathing his sword, he gazed for a while with looks of compassion on his fallen adversary. Then turning to his servant, he bade him hasten for his carriage:--"I feel myself too weak for long and speedy riding, and this brooks no delay." Heubert and Schmidt hurried back to the town. "By God's holy word it was not my purpose!" repeated Tausdorf; and sighing "Poor Althea!" he followed his people. While this was passing, the gipsy had quitted the wall, opened a little gate in it, and approached Francis, who lay in death-throes on the ground. Having come up to him, she shook the auburn locks from her head, and the long brown hair fell about her face as she put on a withered coronet of roses. "Do you know me, Francis? Do you know this bridal ornament?" she asked, with a mixture of grief and anger. "Agatha!" sighed Francis; and with difficulty turned away his head, that he might not see the fearful apparition. "I have revenged your crime," she exclaimed, "and by a greater crime. But there is no joy in vengeance; the grave knows no hatred, and I forgive you. Your guilt is atoned; and you may appear confidently before the throne of Heaven. Pray for me yonder, that I too may be forgiven when I have ended here in penitence and agony!"