The fading moon dies out beyond the mountains; her last rays fall upon the turf of the terraced gardens; long wreaths of mist and vapor rise in the air like bridal veils, floating and reddening in the early dawn. In this fatal moment the luring promises and lovely images of life stand before her. The murmurs of the lulling fountains fall upon her ear, then flash upon her eye; the shafts and groups of pillars of her ancestral home cluster around her, and the summer flowers greet her with their perfume. But death, not life, is in her heart. The pathway through the old forest whitens in the coming light, the grain waves in the open fields; beyond them, faintly flushing in the twilight, stand the mountain tops above which _his_ star of glory might have risen that very morn--and yet the whole horizon to him now is but the grave of eternal forgetfulness! He gazes far into the mountains, boldly sending his last greetings to the faithful there; while she, with drooping head, presses ever closer to him, asking from him now the look of love, now the thrust of death! In vain the gradual awaking of the world admonishes them more and more loudly that they have nothing more to do with time, that eternity is upon them--they linger still! Who may say what thoughts are thronging through their souls! More and more heavily she sinks upon the true heart of her brother, while the morning breeze plays with the long tresses of her golden hair. Hark! loud voices pledge a noisy health in one of the distant rooms--he shudders, but perhaps she hears no longer; heavy footsteps tramp along the gallery--the light of torches flickers in the morning breeze. 'O God, thou wilt surely give the victory to my country!' cries the chieftain, as he carries the benumbed and half-lifeless form of the bride within the wedding chamber. The drunken companions of the long revel reel and totter along the galleries of the castle; the bridegroom hastens to his bride with the dawn of day. 'Look!' she exclaims, stretching out her hands to the great mirror before which they stand, but in her bewilderment no longer recognizing her own figure there: 'Look! how beautiful my angel is!' 'Ah, too beautiful!' the youth repeats, with a bitter groan; then, pressing her to his breast with one arm, from the other flashes the deadly gleam of glittering steel--and in that very moment the heavy footsteps of the light-minded, reckless bridegroom reach the threshold of the bridal chamber. CHAPTER III.