“No; I will go to him myself.  And I will look again upon—­upon the face I loved.  It is but one pang the more, and why should I not endure it?”

Seeing him thus inclined, I made no effort to dissuade him, and without another word I led the way to the chapel.  I entered it reverently, he following me closely, with slow hushed footsteps.  All was the same as I had left it, save that the servants of the household had gone to take some needful rest before the morning light called them to their daily routine of labour.  Father Paul, too, had retired, and Heliobas alone knelt beside all that remained of Zara, his figure as motionless as though carved in bronze, his face hidden in his hands.  As we approached, he neither stirred nor looked up, therefore I softly led the Prince to the opposite side of the bier, that he might look quietly on the perished loveliness that lay there at rest for ever.  Ivan trembled, yet steadfastly gazed at the beautiful reposeful form, at the calm features on which the smile with which death had been received, still lingered—­at the folded hands, the fading orange-blosoms—­at the crucifix that lay on the cold breast like the final seal on the letter of life.  Impulsively he stooped forward, and with a tender awe pressed his lips on the pale forehead, but instantly started back with the smothered, exclamation: 

“O God! how cold!”

At the sound of his voice Heliobas rose up erect, and the two men faced each other, Zara’s dead body lying like a barrier betwixt them.

A pause followed—­a pause in which I heard my own heart beating loudly, so great was my anxiety.  Heliobas suffered a few moments to elapse, then stretched his hand across his sister’s bier.

“In her name, let there be peace between us, Ivan,” he said in accents that were both gentle and solemn.

The Prince, touched to the quick, responded to these kindly words with eager promptness, and they clasped hands over the quiet and lovely form that lay there—­a silent, binding witness of their reconciliation.

“I have to ask your pardon, Casimir,” then whispered Ivan.  “I have also to thank you for my life.”

“Thank the friend who stands beside you,” returned Heliobas, in the same low tone, with a slight gesture towards me.  “She reminded me of a duty in time.  As for pardon, I know of no cause of offence on your part save what was perfectly excusable.  Say no more; wisdom comes with years, and you are yet young.”

A long silence followed.  We all remained looking wistfully down upon the body of our lost darling, in thought too deep for words or weeping.  I then noticed that another humble mourner shared our watch—­a mourner whose very existence I had nearly forgotten.  It was the faithful Leo.  He lay couchant on the stone floor at the foot of the bier, almost as silent as a dog of marble; the only sign of animation he gave being a deep sigh which broke from his honest heart now and then.  I went to him and softly patted his shaggy coat.  He looked up at me with big brown eyes full of tears, licked my hand meekly, and again laid his head down upon his two fore-paws with a resignation that was most pathetic.