"My mistress. Oh! Woe! Woe! Come quick!"
"Victoria! Does any danger threaten her?" I cried, hurrying to the apartment of my foster-sister, while Mora followed me, saying:
"She sent me out of the room—she wanted to be alone. A minute ago I went in—and, woe is me! I saw my poor mistress—"
"Finish speaking—you saw Victoria—"
"I saw her lying on her bed—her eyes open—but they were fixed—she seemed dead—"
I shall never forget the frightful sight that struck my eyes as I stepped into Victoria's chamber. As Mora said, she lay stretched upon her bed motionless, livid, like a corpse. Her fixed, yet sparkling eyes, seemed to have sunk into their orbits; her features, painfully contracted, were of the cold whiteness of marble. A sinister thought flashed through my mind like lightning—Victoria was dying of poison!
"Mora!" I cried throwing myself upon my knees beside the couch of the Mother of the Camps. "Send immediately for the druid physician, and run and tell Sampso to come here!"
The servant rushed out. I took one of Victoria's hands. It was limp and icy.
"Sister! It is I!" I cried—"Schanvoch!"
"Brother," she murmured.