"Hasten, friend," said Gotzkowsky, sternly. "The life of a brave man is at stake. Hasten!"
The young man dared not gainsay him, but he approached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly: "Be lenient, father. See how she trembles! Poor sister!"
And with a painful glance at Elise, he took the hand of the artilleryman, and led him out of the room.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVII.
THE EAVESDROPPER.
Elise was now alone with her father. She had sunk down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips murmured faint prayers.
Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agitated countenance, his lowering brow, his flashing eyes, betrayed the deep and passionate emotion of his soul. Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, he felt no pity, no compassion for this poor trembling girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anxious eye. His whole being was filled with burning rage against his daughter, who, his misgiving heart told him, had trampled his honor in the dust.
A long and dreadful pause occurred. Nothing was heard but Gotzkowsky's loud, heavy breathing, and Elise's low-muttered prayers. Suddenly Gotzkowsky drew himself up, and threw his head proudly back. He then walked to the door leading into the balcony, and to the opposite one, and ascertained that they were both closed. No one could intrude, no one interrupt this fearful dialogue.
Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only whisper, "Pity, pity, merciful God! I shall die with terror!"