e old
man as he cries:

'Daughter, dost thou hear? they approach to bear thee from the breast on
which thou hast rested from thy very birth; to take thee from the arms
of the old man who has so loved thee! Look up, look into my face; thou
art another's now--take leave of me--say, 'Father, I am happy!''

More and more closely she presses her hands to her face--and remains
gloomily silent.

'Child, dost thou really wish to lay me here among the dead? Dost thou
desire me to rise no more on earth forever? Ah, the love in thy blue
eyes has been my solace through my many life-storms. Thou art my single
pearl, and I have given thee to the hands of the stranger, that thy
brilliancy may remain unclouded, that it may ever glitter in its full
splendor. What is the matter with thee? Speak, child, even if it be to
complain, to tell me thou art wretched.'

Grasping the white marble of the grave with both hands for support, with
gasping breath he awaits her answer. The vengeful sword of remorse is
already in his soul; one groan, one spasm of anguish from the innocent
victim would break his heart. Raising her heavy eyelids, his child seems
to trace an expression of pity on his face, and for a moment dreams that
hope is not yet past. Kneeling on the marble of the grave, and turning
her young face, so sweet in its appealing anguish, full upon him, a
_name_ forces itself through her quivering lips--a sudden shivering
shakes the frame of the old man, throwing him off from the grave of his
young wife.

'What name hast thou uttered? It must never be repeated--never! No; it
were impossible. Tell me I have not heard thee aright; let it rest in
eternal oblivion! Thou canst not dream of that ungrateful exile,
conspiring against me because I prepared for him a brilliant future--the
son of my brother joining with my enemies to compass my ruin! If them
regrettest him, if thou hast a single lurking hope that I will ever
permit thee to see that banished rebel, to clasp his hand in even common
friendship, may the eternal curses of God rest upon you both!'

A voiceless victim offered up upon the altar of the vengeful gods, the
maiden has as yet suffered in silence, but rising now in solemn dignity,
in a cold, firm, resolute tone, she says:

'I love him, father.'

The old man cannot bear these chill and fatal words. His brain reels,
his hopes die, he falls at the foot of the grave, his soul rests for the
moment with the ghosts of his ancestors