“Nay, nay, dear love!  You must not do so.  This is not like my Hugo.  See, I do not cry.  Do you remember when you took me up and laid me on your bed, and our father came and looked?  You said I was your little wife.  So I was, even though I denied it, and now I can trust you, my husband.  I have never been aught else but your little wife, you see—­not in my heart, not in my heart of hearts!

“I have been proud with you, Hugo—­spoken unkind things.  For love, you know, is like that.  It hurts that which it would die for.  But now you will know, once for all, that I love you.  For death tests all.  And you will help me.  You will not cry then, Hugo—­not then, when we walk, you and I, by the shores of the great sea.  You will only send me a little voyage by myself, as you used to make me go to the well in the court-yard, to teach me not to be frightened!

“And then you will be with me when I go.  You will watch me; soon, soon you will come after me.  Yes, I am glad, Hugo—­so glad.  For—­bend down your ear, Hugo—­I will confess.  Your little girl is such a coward.  She is afraid of the dark.  But it will not be dark—­and it will not be long, and it will be sure.  If my love stand by, I shall not fear.  And, after all, it is but a little thing to do for my love, when I love him so.”

What I said, or what I did, I know not.  But when I came a little to myself, I found my head on my knees, and Helene soothing and petting me, as if I had been a child that had fallen down and hurt itself.

“I would have been a good wife to you, Hugo; I had thought it all out.  At first I would have been such an ignorant little house-keeper, and you would have needed—­oh, such great patience with me!  But so willing, so ready, Hugo!  And how I should have listened for your foot!  Do you know, I used to know it as it came across the court-yard at Plassenburg.  But I could not run and meet you then.  I could only slip behind the window-lattice and throw you a kiss.  But when I was indeed your wife, how I should have flown to meet you!”

I think I cried out here for very agony.

“Hush, Hugo!” she said.  “Hush, lad, and listen.  There are stairs up aloft—­I saw them in a dream.  I saw the angels and the redeemed ascending and descending as I prayed, even when you came in to call me back.  I shall ask God to let me wait at the stair-head a little while for you—­till it should be time for you to come, my dear, my dear.  You would not be very long, and I could wait.  I would listen for your feet upon the stair, dear love.  And when at last you came, I should know your footfall; yes, I should know it ever so far away.  You would not be thinking of me just then.  And when you came to the top of the golden stairs, there—­there, all so suddenly, would be your little lass, with her arms ready to welcome you!”

The door of the cell creaked open.

The jailer appeared.  “It is time!” he said, curtly, and stood waiting.  We stood up, and I looked in her eyes.  She was smiling, dry-eyed, but I—­the water was running down my face.