Pen can not describe the terror of that wretched woman upon making this alarming discovery.
"Blood! Whose? Hah! whose blood? Whose but his—whose but the blood of my darling—my own Mathias?"
For a moment the thought completely unnerved her, and it was little short of a miracle that she kept from fainting.
But she fought bravely with the deathly horror stealing over her.
And kneeling on the hearth, she called up, yet in gentle voice, lest she should give the alarm—
"Mathias! Mathias, my own! Do you not know me? Mathias, I say!"
She listened—listened eagerly for a reply.
And presently it came—a dull, hollow moan, a cry of anguish that chilled the blood in her heart, that froze the very marrow in her bones.
"Mathias, darling Mathias! answer me for the love of mercy; I shall die else."
Another moan was heard.