Count Frohlinger’s heart also overflowed, and when, raising his tear-dimmed eyes, he saw Elizabeth’s deep grief stamped on her gentle features, and beheld reclining on her breast, the mild, beautiful face of the dying man, it seemed as if he saw before him the sorrowful Mother of God—­and to-morrow would be Christmas.  Wounded pride was silent, he forgot the insult he had sustained, and cried in a voice as loud, as if he wished every word to reach the ear now growing dull in death: 

“I thank you for your aid, man.  Adam is free, and may go with your wife and child wherever he lists.  My word upon it; you can close your eyes in peace!”

Lopez smiled again, raised his hand as if in gratitude, then let it fall upon his child’s head, gazed lovingly at Ruth for the last time, and murmured in a low tone “Lift my head a little higher, Elizabeth.”  When she had obeyed his wish, he gazed earnestly into her face, whispered softly:  “A dreamless sleep—­reanimated to new forms in the endless circle.  No!—­Do you see, do you hear....Solo in parte’....with you ....with you....Oh, oh!—­the arrow—­draw the arrow from the wound.  Elizabeth, Elizabeth—­it aches.  Well—­well—­how miserable we were, and yet, yet....You—­you—­I—­we—­we know, what happiness is.  You—­I....  Forgive me!  I forgive, forgive....”

The dying man’s hand fell from his child’s head, his eyes closed, but the pleasant smile with which he had perished, hovered around his lips, even in death.

CHAPTER XI.

Count Frohlinger added a low “amen” to the last words of the dying man, then approached the widow, and in the kindly, cordial manner natural to him, strove to comfort her.

Finally he ordered his men, to loose the smith’s bonds, and instantly guide him to the frontier with the woman and child.  He also spoke to Adam, but said only a few words, not cheery ones as usual, but grave and harsh in purport.

They were a command to leave the country without delay, and never return to his home again.

The Jew’s corpse was laid on a bier formed of pine, branches, and the bearers lifted it on their shoulders.  Ruth clung closely to her mother, both trembling like leaves in the wind, while he who was dearest to them on earth was borne away, but only the child could weep.

The men, whom Count Frohlinger had left behind as a guard, waited patiently with the smith for his son’s return until noon, then they urged departure, and the party moved forward.

Not a word was spoken, till the, travellers stopped before the charcoal-burner’s house.

Jorg was in the city, but his wife said that the boy had been there, and had gone back to the forest an hour before.  The tavern could accommodate a great many people, she added, and they could wait for him there.

The fugitives followed this advice, and after Adam had seen the women provided with shelter, he again sought the scene of the misfortune, and waited there for the boy until night.