“No,” said Gotzkowsky, harshly; “I remain here to await the enemy.”

He cast on Elise, still leaning against the door, a threatening look, which made her heart tremble.  Bertram sighed, and had not the courage to go and forsake Elise in this anxious and critical moment.

“Hasten, friend,” said Gotzkowsky, sternly.  “The life of a brave man is at stake.  Hasten!”

The young man dared not gainsay him, but he approached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly:  “Be lenient, father.  See how she trembles!  Poor sister!”

And with a painful glance at Elise, he took the hand of the artilleryman, and led him out of the room.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XVII.

THE EAVESDROPPER.

Elise was now alone with her father.  She had sunk down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips murmured faint prayers.

Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agitated countenance, his lowering brow, his flashing eyes, betrayed the deep and passionate emotion of his soul.  Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, he felt no pity, no compassion for this poor trembling girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anxious eye.  His whole being was filled with burning rage against his daughter, who, his misgiving heart told him, had trampled his honor in the dust.

A long and dreadful pause occurred.  Nothing was heard but Gotzkowsky’s loud, heavy breathing, and Elise’s low-muttered prayers.  Suddenly Gotzkowsky drew himself up, and threw his head proudly back.  He then walked to the door leading into the balcony, and to the opposite one, and ascertained that they were both closed.  No one could intrude, no one interrupt this fearful dialogue.

Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only whisper, “Pity, pity, merciful God!  I shall die with terror!”

Gotzkowsky approached her, and, seizing her hand, raised her rapidly from the floor.  “We are alone now,” said he with a hoarse, harsh voice.  “Answer me, now.  Who is concealed there in your room?”

“No one, my father.”

“No one!” repeated he, sternly.  “Why, then, do you tremble?”

“I tremble because you look at me so angrily,” said she, terrified.

Her father cast her hand passionately from him.  “Liar!” cried he.  “Do you wish me to kill him?”

He took his sword from the table, and approached the door.

“What are you going to do, my father?” cried she, throwing herself in his way.

“I am going to kill the thief who stole my daughter’s honor,” cried Gotzkowsky, his eyes flashing with rage.

“Father, father, by the God in heaven I am innocent!” cried she, convulsively, striving to hold him back.

“Then let me have the proof of this innocence,” said he, pushing her back.

But she sprang forward with the agility of a gazelle, rushed again to the door, and clung with both hands to the lock.