had gained, all the splendor which surrounded me, I
flung at my father's feet. I released myself from him forever, and, that my
penance might be complete, I called all my servants and revealed my
ignominy to them. Then I left the palace where I had lived so long in
gilded shame. I took nothing with me. I call nothing mine except these
clothes and the name of Leonore. Now you know all, and you will no longer
be able to say that I can make a sacrifice for you. Decide whether I must
die, or whether you will pardon me. Let me atone; let me live--live as your
slave, your thrall. I desire nothing save to see you, serve you, live for
you. You need never speak to me, never deem me worthy of a word. I will
divine your orders without them. I will sleep on your threshold like a
faithful dog, that loves you though you thrust him from you--who caresses
the hand that strikes him. I have deserved the blows; I will not murmur,
only let me, let me live."

She gazed imploringly at him, with a face beaming with enthusiasm and love.

And he?

A ray of enthusiasm illumined his face also. He bent over the kneeling
figure, laid his hands on her shoulders, and gazed into her face while
something akin to a divine smile illumined his features.

"When I bade you farewell," he said softly, "I said that if I returned, I
would ask you a momentous question. Do you know what it was?"

She shrank and a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks, but she did not
venture to reply, only gazed breathlessly at him with fixed eyes.

He bent close to her and, smiling, whispered:

"Leonore, will you be my wife?"

With a cry of joy she sprang into his arms, laughing and weeping in her
ecstasy.

Kolbielsky pressed her closely to his heart and laid his hand upon her head
as if in benediction.

"You have atoned," he said solemnly. "You shall be forgiven, for you have
suffered heavily! You have come to me homeless. Henceforth my heart shall
be your home. You have cast aside your name--I offer you mine in exchange.
Will you be my wife?"

She whispered a low, happy "yes."

An hour later an officer of justice arrived to announce to Kolbielsky his
change of sentence to perpetual imprisonment and inform him that the
carriage was waiting to convey him to Leopoldstadt.

Kolbielsky now desired to see the priest whose ministration he had formerly
refused, and when, half an hour later, he entered the carriage, Leonore was
his wife. She accompanied him, disguised as h