"What ails thee, my beloved? Oh, do not look so wildly at thy
Caspar! Marie, my own one, what is it?"
"It is over," murmured she, almost inaudibly.
"What is over?" cried the frightened mother, bending over her child's writhing form.
"Life!" sighed the girl, and her eyes closed wearily.
The frightful stillness was unbroken by a sound. Frau Wengelin suppressed her sobs, that she might gaze upon her dying child; while her father stood by, the picture of dumb despair. Caspar held her to his heart, dimly apprehending the fearful tragedy of the hour, and the guests pressed noiselessly around, vainly striving to catch a glimpse of their victim's face.
The crowd opened to allow passage to the priest, who, approaching the throne, came and knelt beside Caspar.
"Marie," said he, in a loud, distinct voice, that reached the portals of her soul, and aroused her departing senses.
Marie slowly opened her eyes, and gazed upon the speaker. "I have kept my oath," said she, hoarsely. "No blood was shed, but I have returned to die."
"Wherefore to die?" cried several voices at once.
"Ask my Caspar," murmured she, looking fondly into the face of her betrothed, and, with her eyes fixed upon his, Marie's soul took its flight to heaven.