Otto turned the ring the second time, and Aurelia’s silvery accents immediately became audible to the following effect: 

“If that fool Otto were here, he would buy it for me.”

She turned away, and walked down the street.  Otto uttered a cry like the shriek of an uprooted mandrake.  His hand was upon the ring to turn it for the third time; but the stranger’s warning occurred to him, and for a moment he forbore.  In that moment the entire vision vanished from before his eyes.

What boots it to describe Otto’s feelings upon this revelation of Aurelia’s sentiments?  For lovers, description would be needless; to wiser people, incomprehensible.  Suffice it to say, that as his lady deemed him a fool he appeared bent on proving that she did not deem amiss.

A long space of time elapsed without any further admonition from the ring.  Perhaps Aurelia had no further occasion for his purse; perhaps she had found another pursebearer.  The latter view of the case appeared the more plausible to Otto, and it hugely aggravated his torments.

At last the moment came.  It was the hour of midnight.  Again Otto felt the sharp puncture, again the ruby drop started from his finger, again he turned the ring, and again beheld Aurelia.  She was in her chamber, but not alone.  Her companion was a youth of Otto’s age.  She was in the act of placing Otto’s brilliant upon his finger.  Otto turned his own ring, and heard her utter, with singular distinctness: 

“This ring was given me by the greatest fool I ever knew.  Little did he imagine that it would one day be the means of procuring me liberty, and bliss in the arms of my Arnold.  My venerable grandmother—­”

The voice expired upon her lips, for Otto stood before her.

Arnold precipitated himself from the window, carrying the ring with him.  Otto, glaring at his faithless mistress, stood in the middle of the apartment with his sword unsheathed.  Was he about to use it?  None can say; for at this moment the young Baron burst into the room, and, without the slightest apology for the liberty he was taking, passed his sword through Otto’s body.

Otto groaned, and fell upon his face.  He was dead.  The young Baron ungently reversed the position of the corpse, and scanned its features with evident surprise and dissatisfaction.

“It is not Arnold, after all!” he muttered.  “Who would have thought it?”

“Thou seest, brother, how unjust were thy suspicions,” observed Aurelia, with an air of injured but not implacable virtue.  “As for this abominable ravisher——­” Her feelings forbade her to proceed.

The brother looked mystified.  There was something beyond his comprehension in the affair; yet he could not but acknowledge that Otto was the person who had rushed by him as he lay in wait upon the stairs.  He finally determined that it was best to say nothing about the matter:  a resolution the easier of performance as he was not wont to be lavish of his words at any time.  He wiped his sword on his sister’s curtains, and was about to withdraw, when Aurelia again spoke: