while others fastened to his garments the glittering orders
and diamond crosses. Some commanded him to bow before them, while others
ordered him to trample under foot the still smouldering ashes of his
Mother!

That thought sent the blood back in hot torrents to his heart. He broke
through the surrounding throng, rushed on, fled from the Presence
Chamber, eagerly looking for his bride. He saw her leaning on the arm of
another, mocking and jeering with the rest. He glides on behind the
statues, steals along the recesses, is discovered, and again flies
before the enemy. The Palace winds before him into countless
labyrinths--nowhere is shelter to be found sneers, menaces, insults, are
everywhere around him--but worse than all, _the curse is now within his
soul_!

Then he suddenly turns to meet his enemies; he baffles them at first,
but countless numbers are upon him. They hurl him to the ground, trample
him under foot, and pass on singing a song from the land of his Mother.
As he rises, fresh numbers assail him, he bids defiance to them all,
struggles, advances, until foaming, bleeding, sinking, he is again
driven back, again forced to seek an outlet from the Palace. Thus
fighting, running, falling, fainting, he makes his way until the first
dim dawn of day, and as it breaks, he falls heavily down the brazen
staircase, and rolls below into the court of the Palace. Here strong
arms seize him, and bear him rapidly away to the steps of the
church--the same church which he had left in the evening twilight.

It is the hour of the young dawn, but the sun of this earth will never
rise for him again! Light will awake the world, but it will shine into
his blue eyes no more!

He awakes to consciousness on the steps of the church, and finds himself
face to face alone with the Wanderer. He is mute in his despair. The
Wanderer, regarding him sternly, says: 'In other times and scenes thou
mightst perchance have been a hero, but the Fates doomed thee to heavy
trial, and thou wert not strong enough to preserve thy virtue! The
_visible reality_ prevailed with thee above the _invisible_, _holy_, and
_eternal truth_! Alas, thou art lost!'

'Give me back my horse!' cried the young man, as life again began to
flow through his veins. 'Give me the free dress of the steppes, give me
my arms, and thou shalt see that I know how to revenge the wrongs
inflicted on my brethren, to redress my own infamy!'

He grasped the hand of his friend, and