and said in a low, sad tone:

"I am sorry for the man; he saved my life."

The wounded man opened his eyes, saw Count Frohlinger, his son and the
fettered smith, felt his wife's tears on his brow, and heard Ruth's
agonized weeping. A gentle smile hovered around his pale lips, and when
he tried to raise his head Elizabeth helped him, pressing it gently to
her breast.

The feeble lips moved and Lopez raised his eyes to her face, as if
to thank her, saying in a low voice: "The arrow--don't touch it....
Elizabeth--Ruth, we have clung together faithfully, but now--I shall
leave you alone, I must leave you." He paused, a shadow clouded his
eyes, and the lids slowly fell. But he soon raised them again, and
fixing his glance steadily on the count, said:

"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: