The dumb wife sat on the stump, with her dying husband resting on her
lap. She had thrown her arms around the bleeding form, and the feet hung
limply down, touching the snow.

Ruth, sobbing bitterly, crouched on the ground by her mother's side, and
old Rahel, who had entirely regained her self-control, pressed a cloth,
wet with wine, on his forehead.

The young count approached the dying Jew. His father slowly followed,
drew the boy to his side, and said in a low, sad tone:

"I am sorry for the man; he saved my life."

The wounded man opened his eyes, saw Count Frohlinger, his son and the
fettered smith, felt his wife's tears on his brow, and heard Ruth's
agonized weeping. A gentle smile hovered around his pale lips, and when
he tried to raise his head Elizabeth helped him, pressing it gently to
her breast.

The feeble lips moved and Lopez raised his eyes to her face, as if to
thank her, saying in a low voice: "The arrow--don't touch it....
Elizabeth--Ruth, we have clung together faithfully, but now--I shall
leave you alone, I must leave you." He paused, a shadow clouded his
eyes, and the lids slowly fell. But he soon raised them again, and
fixing his glance steadily on the count, said:

"Hear me, my Lord; a dying man should be heard, even if he is a Jew. See!
This is my wife, and this my child. They are Christians. They will soon
be alone in the world, deserted, orphaned. The smith is their only