"Gentlemen," began the old man, with a trembling voice, "you have done that which is not right before God. The innocent blood has flowed; to save and repair is no longer possible. I will, therefore, spare you and myself the sorrow of explaining how much you have erred, and on what grounds. I do not come to find fault or dispute with you; I come only to take leave of you for this life, and, at the same time, to bid you farewell in the name of all those nobles who have hitherto lived in peace under the shelter of your walls. You must yourselves find it natural, that none of them deem their life safe in a town that could let so noble a head fall under the sword of the executioner! Fear, indeed, has no longer any influence with me; I am too old for that, although I openly avow that I myself should not like to die here now, as I would not have my grave amongst you. A higher purpose compels me hence. My poor niece, whom you have made a widow, intends going, with her orphaned child, to Bohemia, to the old father of her betrothed, that she may console him for the loss of his only son, and wait there in patience till death shall free her from her sufferings, and re-unite her with the beloved of her heart. I go with her, and remain with her, for she needs a paternal friend in that foreign land. There will we sit alone together in our sorrow, and weep and comfort each other; and on my knightly word, we will never curse you. Heaven bless you! Heaven bring you to the consciousness of that which you have done, and awake in you a forgiving heart through holy penitence, that henceforth no more innocent victims may be sacrificed to the discord that is between you and us. If this wish should be fulfilled, if the blood shed in yonder grave should ripen into the fruit of peace, hail! thrice hail to the dust of the martyr!" The speaker was silent; his companions wept aloud, and those of the council turned away to dry their eyes unmarked. Only the old Erasmus stared before him, tearless, gloomy, and full of thought. "I am ready," said Schindel, looking up to his two guides, who took him by the arms, and helped him to rise. Supported by them, he bowed to the council, and was led away. The mourning procession followed him; the door closed behind them, while the council looked in silence at each other, and then gloomily at the old burgomaster, who, surprised by this measure, was not master of his speech. "The young Lord Hochberg of Fürstentein," announced the city-servant. "He, too, must have little that is consolatory to say to us," exclaimed Alderman Trentler; and Erasmus, almost lost in insensibility, signed to the servant to admit him. The youth entered in complete armour, lifted up his visor before the council-table, and, leaning on his sword, cast fierce and burning glances amongst the troubled faces about the table.