"Well, as in the meantime your wife is really dead, we might try with this bait to stop the mouth of Onophrius, so that he may leave you out of question altogether when he is put to the rack. I will go to the old man directly and reason the matter with him. If I can make it clear to him that your misfortune will do him no service, he may, perhaps, take good advice. Meanwhile don't let the time in prison hang heavy on your hands, and be of stout heart. I hope to God that I shall this once also draw you out of your anxiety and suffering.
"Could not you save Goldmann too?" asked Francis good-naturedly: "It would grieve me for the poor devil if he should have to pay the piper."
"That would be rather difficult. Some victim the nobles must have, and you may rejoice if they will be satisfied with the old messenger. However, I will see what is to be done for him, if he stand the torture without confession. God be with you!"
He went, and Francis continued sitting gloomily at the table. The peril, which with every moment approached nearer and nearer to him, straightened his breast sorely. His confidence in the all-powerful protection of his father had already sunk to a very low ebb, and the comfort left him by the doctor did not go a great way either.--"The infernal bay!" he muttered at last, glad to have found something on which he could lay the consequences of his own action--"the infernal bay!"--and he relapsed into a long melancholy silence.
Suddenly there arose below a loud noise and trampling; halberds clattered against each other; doors were opened and shut; and then again a deep awful stillness prevailed.
"What is the matter below?" he anxiously asked the jailer, who then brought in his supper to him.
"Logan Oppersdorf and the other commissioners have just arrived, together with several gentlemen of the council. Goldmann leads up the dance to-day!"
"God support the poor fellow!" groaned the agonized Francis, and ran about the chamber, goaded by all the pangs of hell. Quick footsteps were heard approaching the door: it flew open, and in burst Agatha with dishevelled locks, despair upon her pale, tearless face, and flung herself at the feet of her lover.
"Save, save my unhappy father!" she cried, in tones that rent the heart.
"Collect yourself, my poor girl," said Francis, and raised up the wretched creature: "what would you from me?"