"Alas!" sobbed the father, "I see that you hate me, and yet I must rescue you, even against your own will. The emperor has given me a pass to Paris. It is himself who allows me to escape with my poor, misguided child. Come, dear Rachel, come, ere it be too late, and in Paris we can forget our sorrows and begin life anew!"
"No! he has made the law, and he must bear the consequences of his own cruelty. He need not think to rescue himself from the odium of his acts, by conniving at my escape! I hate that emperor, the oppressor of my beloved; and as he dishonored Gunther, so shall he dishonor me. Our woes will cry to Heaven for vengeance, and—"
But Rachel suddenly ceased, and fell hack upon a chair. She had no strength to repulse her father, as he raised her in his arms, and laid her upon the sofa. He looked into her marble face, and put his lips to hers.
"She has swooned," cried he in despair. "We must fly at once. Rachel,
Rachel, away! The time is almost up. Come, we must away!"
She opened her eyes, and looked around. "Come, my daughter," said her father, kissing her wasted hands.
She said nothing, but stared and smiled a vacant smile. Again he took her hands, and saw that they were hot and dry. Her breath, too, was hot, and yet her pulse was feeble and fitful.
Her father, in his agony, dropped on his knees beside the unconscious girl. But this was no time for wailing. He rose to his feet again, and darting from the room, offered a handful of gold to the sentry, if he would but seek a physician. Then he returned to Rachel. She lay still with her eyes wide, wide open, while she murmured inaudible words, which lie vainly strove to understand.
At length came the physician. He bent over the patient, examined her pulse, felt her forehead, and then turning to the banker, who stood by with his heart throbbing as if it would burst—
"Are you a relative of the lady?" asked he.
"I am her father," replied Eskeles, and even in this terrible hour he felt a thrill of joy as he spoke the words.