ight is creeping along the walls, the
lamps are dying out, loud talking is heard on the gallery, the
half-drunken bridegroom comes leaping and reeling on, rushes into the
chamber, suddenly seems transfixed to the floor, puts his hand to his
sword, but not finding it at his side, looks back, calls aloud, but no
one follows him. Horror, like living death, paralyzes the old man. The
bridegroom throws himself upon the exile, who exclaims solemnly, as he
thrusts him aside:

'Why do you profane the peace of the dead?'

Something glitters--flashes through the air--once--twice--thrice--a
faint cry--the lamps die out one after the other--a single one still
burns over the great mirror, and by its flickering light the old man
sees the figures of the armed man and the snowy maiden, drenched in
gore, reel, totter, heave, whirl in strange confusion--grow to enormous
height, mount, sink, fall. At this very moment the great clock of the
palatines strikes three--and awakes the old man in the sleeping chamber
of his ancestors, stretched at the foot of the escutcheoned chair.

* * * * *

His attendants, hearing a noise, throng into his room with hurrying
steps and flaming torches; they find their lord lying prostrate on the
floor with bleeding hands and agitated air. He starts to his feet,
crying:

'Save my child! Kill my brother's son!' They crowd around him. 'Is it
still night, or does the day _really_ dawn?'

He staggers to the oaken table, seizes his sword, draws it from the
sheath; the handle turns in his trembling hands, the blade falls to the
ground; again he grasps it, while great tears rain down from his haggard
eyes. The attendants cluster round him, kneel before him, and entreat
him to tell them clearly what he would have them do.

'Follow me! follow me!' he pants in broken voice. He hurries to the
door, half borne on by his people; passes along the corridor, wrestling
with faintness and giddiness as a strong swimmer battles with the waves.
The attendants gaze from one to the other, making the sign of the cross.

The swooning and delirium of the old man over, the retainers follow him
as he totters on to the wedding chamber. Profound repose seems to rest
upon the castle; through the wide range of open double doors the grand
saloon of festival is clearly seen; the tables are deserted, and the
lights dying in their sockets. The morning twilight is already stealing
in through the open windows