He went no farther--a gurgling, piercing cry of pain escaped his lips,
and pressing one hand to his breast, and the other to his brow, he sank
on the snow beside the stump of a giant pine.

A squire dashed from the forest--the archer, to whom this noble quarry
had fallen a victim, appeared in the clearing, holding aloft the cross-
bow from which he had sent the bolt. His arrow was fixed in the doctor's
breast; alas, the man had only sent the shaft, to save his fallen master
from the hammer in the Jew's hand.

Count Frohlinger rose, struggling for breath; his hand sought his
hunting-knife, but in the fall it had slipped from its sheath and was
lying in the snow.

Adam supported his dying friend in his arms, Ruth ran weeping to the hut,
and before the nobleman had fully collected his thoughts, the squire
reached his side, and young Count Lips, riding a swift bay-horse, dashed
from the forest, closely followed by three mounted huntsmen.

When the attendants saw their master on foot, they too sprang from their
saddles, Lips did the same, and an eager interchange of question and
answer began among them.

The nobleman scarcely noticed his son, but greeted with angry words the
man who had shot the Jew. Then, deeply excited, he hoarsely ordered his
attendants to bind the smith, who made no resistance, but submitted to
everything like a patient child.

Lopez no longer needed his arms.