"Yes--yes," he whispered, and his dim eyes brightened for an instant. "If we were down there together--you and I--we should not have to stop long there; some one with her prayers would very soon win our release." Count Vavel suddenly beat his palm against his forehead, and exclaimed: "I never once thought of her! Wait, my brave Henry. I will return immediately. I cannot allow you to have a priest, but I will bring an angel to your bedside." He hastened to Marie's apartments. "You have been weeping?" she exclaimed, looking up into his tear-stained eyes with deep concern. "Yes, Marie; we are going to lose our poor old Henry." "Oh, my God! How entirely alone we shall be then!" "Will you come with me to his bedside? The sight of you will cheer his last moments." "Yes, yes; come quickly." A wonderful light brightened Henry's face when he saw his young mistress. She moved softly to the head of his bed, and with her delicate fingers gently stroked the cheeks of the trusty old servant. He closed his eyes and sighed when her hand touched his face. "Is he smiling?" whispered Marie to Ludwig, gazing with compassionate awe on the distorted countenance. Then she bent over him and said: "Henry--my good Henry, would you like me to pray with you?" She knelt beside the bed and in a feeling tone repeated the beautiful prayer which the good Père Lacordaire composed for those who journey to the other world, pausing from time to time to let the dying man repeat the words after her. Henry's tongue became heavier and heavier as he repeated, with visible effort, the soul-inspiring words. Then Marie repeated the Lord's Prayer. Even Ludwig could not do otherwise than bend his knee upon the chair by which he stood, and bow his skeptical head, while the innocent maid and his dying servant prayed together. When Marie rose from her knees, the painful smile had vanished from Henry's lips; his face was calm and peaceful; the distortion had disappeared from his countenance. * * * * * After Henry's death, life for the occupants of the Nameless Castle became still more uncomfortable. Ludwig Vavel had lost his only friend--the only one who had shared his cares and his confidences. He was obliged to hire a servant to assist Lisette, and, remembering what Henry had advised, took the old soldier with the wooden leg into the castle. For the old invalid, the change from hard labor to comfortable quarters and easy work was certainly an improvement. Instead of cutting wood all day long for a mere pittance, he had now nothing to do but brush clothes which were never dusty, polish the furniture, receive the supplies from and deliver orders to Frau Schmidt every morning, to place the newspapers on the library table, and convey the victuals from the kitchen to the dining-room.