Spite of the countess's repentance, when the clergyman, in a deep solemn voice, inquired of Rodolph whether his royal highness was willing to take Sarah Seyton of Halsburg, Countess Macgregor, for his wife, and the prince had replied in a firm, distinct voice, "I will," the dying eyes of Sarah shone with unearthly brilliancy, an expression of haughty triumph passed over her livid features,—the last flash of expiring ambition.
Not a word was spoken by any of the spectators of this mournful ceremony, at the conclusion of which the four witnesses, bowing with deep but silent respect to the prince, quitted the room.
"Brother," said Sarah, in a low voice, "request the clergyman to accompany you to the adjoining room, and to have the goodness to wait there a moment."
"How are you now, my dear sister?" asked Seyton. "You look very pale."
"Nay," replied she, with a haggard smile, "fear not for me; am I not Grand Duchess of Gerolstein?" Left alone with Rodolph, Sarah murmured in a feeble and expiring voice, while her features underwent a frightful change, "I am dying; my powers are exhausted! I shall not live to kiss and bless my child!"
"Yes, yes, you will. Calm yourself; she will soon be here."
"It will not be! In vain I struggle against the approach of Death. I feel too surely his icy hand upon me; my sight grows dim; I can scarcely discern even you."
"Sarah!" cried the prince, chafing her damp, cold hands with his. "Take courage, she will soon be here; she cannot delay much longer!"
"The Almighty has not deemed me worthy of so great a consolation as the presence of my child!"
"Hark, Sarah! Methinks I hear the sound of wheels. Yes, 'tis she,—your daughter comes!"