Howbeit, when Master Ulsenius had let blood the old man opened his right eye; and when presently he was able to say:  “Book,” and then again “Book,” we perceived by sundry signs that what he craved was water, and that he spoke one word for another.  And thus it was till his chief confessor, Master Leonard Derrer, the reverend Prior of the Dominicans, came in with the sacristan, to administer to him extreme unction.  But now, when the reverend Father came toward the dying man with the Body of the Lord, there was so dreadful and sorrowful a sight to be seen as I may never forget to my latter day.  Instead of receiving that Holy Sacrament in all thankful humility, my grand-uncle thrust away my lord Prior—­a whitebearded old man, of a venerable and commanding presence—­with great fury and ungoverned rage, storming at him in strangely-mingled words, which for sure, he meant for others, but in a voice and with a mien which plainly showed that he would have nought of that Messenger of Grace.  And from time to time he turned that eye he could use on Ann, and albeit he spoke one word for another, he made shift many times to repeat the Cardinal’s name with impatient bidding, so that it was not hard to understand his meaning and his intent to receive the Viaticum from none other than that high prelate.

Howbeit, to us it seemed nothing less than treason to the dying man to interpret this to my lord Prior, in especial since my grand-uncle had, but now, shown us so much favor.  Indeed we were moved to show him all loving kindness.  Ann held his hand in hers, and whispered to him again and again that he should take patience, and that his Eminence was already on his way and would ere long be here.  The reverend Prior showed indeed true Christian forbearance, thinking that the departing soul was more sorely troubled than was in truth the fact.  He heeded not the old man’s threats and struggles, but stood in silence at his post, and when presently the old Baron’s hand dropped lifeless from Ann’s grasp he sent us from the chamber.

We could hear through the door the good priest’s voice in prayer and benediction, pronouncing absolution over the dying man, and at times my grand uncle’s wrathful tones, feeble indeed, but terrible to hear.  Each time he broke in on the Prior’s pious words we shuddered, and when at last the priest rang his little bell a great terror fell upon us, whereas this ordinance is wont to bring comfort and edification to the soul.

We had been on our knees some long space, praying fervently for that hapless, imperilled soul, when the door was opened, and my lord Prior declared in a loud voice that the noble Baron and Knight Sebald Im Hoff had made a good end after receiving the most holy Sacrament.

Then thought I, a good end peradventure, by the grace of Christ and the Virgin, but a peaceful end alas! by no means.  And this might be seen even in the dead man’s face.  In later years, whensoever it has been my lot to gaze on the face of the dead, I have ever perceived that death hath lent them an aspect of peaceful calm so that the saying of common folk, that the Angel of Death hath kissed them is right fitting; but my grand-uncle’s face was as that of a man whose dignity is broken by a mightier than he, and who hath suffered it in silent, gloomy rebellion.