“See, see, Elvira! dost thou not see his eyes sparkling in the darkness? I see his white teeth as he smiles mockingly!” “Ernani! Ernani! I am terror-stricken!” He looked quickly at her, as though he would confide in her some great terror. Then a world of pity flooded his face, and he said quickly-- ’Twas an old wound, Elvira, which leapt in pain. “Leave me a little, love; I’ll come to thee soon.” “A loving wife doth lovingly obey. I go.” He followed her with his eyes till he could see her no longer, in the moon-light, and then he knew he was alone with death. Yet for a moment hope sprang up; the sound was surely fancy; the dread of what might be. He was so little used to joy that now it was come he could not believe in it. So he let go the dagger he had touched; and rising, prepared to follow his bride. Then again came the wailing sound, and following it were whispered the mocking words-- “Take thou this horn--when from it sounds a blast ’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past.” “MERCY!” Creeping through the moonlight came the mysterious masquer--his face seen now to be the unforgiving, revengeful face of Don Ruy, come to seek atonement for the loss of a bride, and to demand the fulfilment of a rash oath. “So soon!” “Aye--so soon! I come to turn thy myrtles to cypresses.” “Think--oh think! I have drunk from the cup of bitterness all my life--have tasted no happiness till now. Tarry a little--be merciful--tarry a little.” “‘Take thou this horn--when from it sounds a blast ’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past’” “Again--mercy!” “I am a Spaniard.” Then came flitting through the shade the white figure of the doubting bride. As she came near the spot where she had left Ernani she saw the grandee, and needed no words to be assured that her foreboding was no weak fear. “See, she comes--thy bride--to see thee fall. Forward, fair lady--forward, fair widow!” “Don Ruy--art implacable?” “As death--’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past.’” “Don Ruy--I love him--I love him! Mercy, dear guardian, mercy!” “That thou lov’st him is thy fault. Hasten, Ernani, if thou art of Spanish blood.” “Elvira--do not plead--it weakens my weak arm’” But she was too loving to obey--too terror-stricken to look upon her husband. She still remained upon the ground pleading hopelessly to the don for mercy. Mercy, she could not tell for what; yet mercy she saw he had the power to give. “I knew it. Fate hath but spread this feast before mine eyes to make yet blacker the bare truth. Don Ruy--if--if--” “‘Take thou this horn--when from it--’” “Ah--” There was a dull thud, a swingeing sound, and the bridegroom was on the ground, pressing his hand upon his side. Spanish honor was appeased--he had paid the debt of the life he had placed in the grandee’s hands, and which he had refused to purchase in the catacombs.