“Hear me, my Lord; a dying man should be heard, even if he is a Jew.  See!  This is my wife, and this my child.  They are Christians.  They will soon be alone in the world, deserted, orphaned.  The smith is their only friend.  Set him free; they—­they, they will need a protector.  My wife is dumb, dumb . . . alone in the world.  She can neither beseech nor demand.  Set Adam free, for the sake of your Saviour, your son, free—­yes, free.  A wide, wide space must be between you; he must go away with them, far away.  Set him free!  I held his arm with the hammer. . . .  You know—­with the hammer.  Set him free.  My death—­death atones for everything.”

Again his voice failed, and the count, deeply moved, looked irresolutely now at him, now at the smith.  Lips’s eyes filled with tears; and as he saw his father delay in fulfilling the dying man’s last wish, and a glance from the dim eyes met his, he pressed closer to the noble, who stood struggling with many contending emotions, and whispered, weeping: 

“My Lord and Father, my Lord and Father, tomorrow will be Christmas.  For Christ’s sake, for love of me, grant his request:  release Ulrich’s father, set him free!  Do so, my noble Father; I want no other Christmas gift.”

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.