ering for departure: "At the great feast of peace and pardon,
humbly confess your sins. Blessed is the firm in faith, he may
be absolved through contrition and penance."

A ray of hope illumines Tannhaeuser's face. He starts up from his
knees, and with a wild cry, "To Rome!" rushes forth from the Hall.

III

The story is taken up again when the valley all green and blossoming
at our first sight of it has assumed melancholy autumn colours.
Wolfram walking at sunset comes upon Elizabeth prostrate in prayer
at the foot of the road-side shrine. He watches her with eyes of
profoundest compassion. "Full well did I know that I should find
her here, as so often I find her, when in lonely wandering I descend
from the wooded heights to the valley. With death in her heart from
the blow dealt to her by him, outstretched in burning anguish,
night and day she prays--Oh, eternal strength of a holy love!--for
his redemption. She awaits the return of the pilgrims from Rome.
Already the leaves are falling, their home-coming is at hand. Is
he among the pardoned? That is her question, that her continual
prayer. Oh, if her wound is such as cannot be healed, yet let
alleviation be vouchsafed to it!"

The chant dawns upon the distance of the returning pilgrims. Elizabeth
rises to her feet, wan and worn and frail. "It is their song,--they
are coming home!" To steady her poor, agitated, failing heart,
she calls upon the saints and prays them to instruct her in her
part, that she may fulfil it worthily.

The band of pilgrims comes in sight; they pass, as earlier, in
front of the image of Mary, lifting their voices in an anthem of
solemn joy. Elizabeth looks into the face of every one of them as
they pass. They have defiled before her to the last. He is not
among them.

They wind their way out of sight, their last Halleluyah dies.
Elizabeth falls at the Virgin's feet, and, with the fervour of one
who is praying for very life, prays for death. "All-powerful Virgin,
hear my prayer! To thee, favoured among women, I appeal! I bow in the
dust before thee, oh, take me from this earth! Make me pure and like
to an angel, fit to enter thy blessed kingdom. If ever, possessed
by a fond insanity, my heart was turned from thee; if ever a sinful
desire, a worldly longing, took root in me,--with a thousand pains
I have striven to kill it in my heart. But if I cannot wholly atone
for that fault, do thou mercifully condescend to me, that I may
with humbl