“Here cometh one, and it shall be as she says,” sternly said the Count Gerient, as he beckoned Vivien to come forward.
She came, pale as marble, but beautiful as an angel, leaning upon Fredrich Weimher’s arm.
Slowly, softly she glided forward, and stood before the kneeling wretch.
He did not see her at once, she had come so silently; but chancing to raise his eyes after a moment, he instantly started wildly to his feet, his eyes protruded from their sockets, his nostrils dilated, and his under jaw dropped like a dead man’s.
“Back!” screamed Squire Moulton, frantically. “Back to the land of spirits whence you came. Heavens! why come you here to torture me thus?”
“Villain, it is your daughter!” said her uncle, solemnly.
“It is a lie! Back with you—come no nearer—mercy—Vivien!”
With a shriek of mortal agony that pierced every heart like an arrow, that rang and echoed, and rang again through that lofty, spacious cavern, curdling the blood in every vein, and paling every cheek with horror, the miscreant, by a mighty effort, burst the fetters that bound his hands, waved them wildly in the air for a moment, then tottered forward, swaying from side to side, and fell prostrate again at Vivien’s feet.
With a moan of fear and anguish, the lovely girl closed her eyes upon the horrible scene, and sank fainting upon the bosom of him who supported her. Ralph and his father sprang forward and raised the form of the prostrate squire; but life had fled, and they raised only a stiffening corpse.
The heart disease that so many years had threatened him, hanging like an avenging sword ever above him, had cut him down in an instant and he had gone to his reward; gone to where justice would be dealt unto him, not by the weak and erring hands of humanity, but by a stern and righteous Judge.