“Saved, saved,” she cried to herself, as the count--smiling now for the first time for a weary while--took her right hand and courteously led her to the grand hall of the castle. * * * * * Enter the hopeless prison, in which the gipsey and the troubadour were trying to console each other as each weary moment rolled away. She was lying on the bare ground; he sitting at her feet, his hands crossed, and smiling as he looked upon her. “Dost thou sleep, dear mother?” “There is no time for sleep, my son.” “Thou tremblest with cold.” “This is a tomb. I would we could escape.” “Escape!” “Yet, fear not, son; they cannot torture me.” “No; for art thou not a woman?” “Oh, they would not fear to torture a woman. But look on my face, canst thou not read death there? Nay, cry not, ‘mother,’ as thou weepest. They shall come to bite their lips with anger; for they will find me dead.” Then, as he buried his face in his hands, she was seized with unconquerable fear. “They come--they come. Save me--save thy mother. I am indeed, indeed thy mother.” “No one cometh; all is quiet.” “Fire! death by fire! I am afraid--I am afraid. I see her now--my mother. They dragged her and bound her to the stake. There! there! See, the flames have caught her hair; how it shrivels up! And her eyes--ah! she can see me no longer. Help! help! save me!” And she fell back senseless upon the hard earth. “Mother, if thou dost love me still--if thou wilt hear thy son’s prayers, be brave and calm.” As he spoke, she came again to a knowledge of her fate. “I am worn and weak; or thou shouldst not bid me be calm and brave. I am--very--worn-and--weak.” And she fell peacefully to sleep, as in her native mountains; free as the wind, and surrounded by her tribe. Then he knelt by her side, hardly daring to breathe, for fear of waking her. No fear of awaking her; for she is aweary, and _will_ sleep. They shall come and bear him away from thee, and still thou shalt sleep on and peacefully; he shall bid thee his last farewell, and still thou shalt sleep unheedingly. Suddenly he started, as a light fell upon the prison walls. He looked upon his sleeping mother, and thought it was her funeral pyre. But as he turned, he saw the light came from the door, upon the threshold of which stood the queen of mercy--his dear Leonora. She ran to him, and nestled on his breast. Then she cried, “Thou shalt not die, for I have saved thee.” “Thou hast saved me! how?” “Nay,” and she hid her face, and pointed to the door. “And thou--thou comest also.” “My life--my hope--I must stay here.” “Stay here!” “I pray thee go, go.” “Where thou goest I will also go; and where thou stayest, I will stay.” “But if thou stayest thou diest.” “Without thee what is life? Why do thy eyes turn from me; what is the price thou hast paid for my liberty?” “No price is high for a dear human life. There is yet time. For my sake, go!”