the hand. With supreme effort he wrote a word, a short word, with his
finger upon her forhead. She saw, she heard, she read it--in the air, on
her forehead, on her brain, in her soul--she gave a scream, and fell
senseless to the ground. Dr. Gunther entered quickly, stepped over Irma,
closed his friend's eyes, and all was silence.

For many hours Irma was in her room, shut in with her despair, her
remorse. No one could gain admission. She thought furiously, she raved,
and then fell into a troubled sleep. When she awake her resolution was
made. She asked for light and writing material, and wrote: "My queen,--
With death I atone for my guilt. Forgive and forget! IRMA." On the
envelope she wrote: "To be handed to the queen herself by Dr. Gunther."
Then she took another sheet, and wrote:

"My friend,--For the last time I speak to you. We have gone
astray--terribly. The atonement is mine. You belong to her and to the
people. Your atonement is in life; mine in death. Be calm, be one with
the law that ties you to her and to the people. You have denied both and
I have aided you. Be true again to yourself! This is my dying word, and
I die willingly, if you but listen. Listen to this voice, and do not
forget it! But forget her who speaks to you. I will not be remembered."

She sealed the letters, left them in her writing-case, and asked for her
horse to be saddled. She rode out, followed by a groom, whom, some
distance from home, she sent back on some pretext. When he was out of
sight, she galloped off at full speed, dismounted, struck her horse with
the whip to make it run away, and lost herself in the wood in the
direction of the lake.