As if borne on the wings of the wind, Gabriel Nietzel had flown through the streets to his own abode. It lay in a quiet, retired quarter of the town, and, as he turned into the street and looked up to the house, he saw leaning far out of one of the windows a woman, who, her face shaded by her hand, was gazing down into the street. He recognized the form, although he could not see her countenance, and uttered a loud cry of joy. This cry of joy found an echo in the window above, and the form vanished. Gabriel Nietzel rushed into the house and up the steps. On the top step stood a woman with outstretched arms, and again Gabriel uttered a cry of joy and pressed his wife firmly to his breast, as firmly as if he would never let her leave the spot, as if his love would keep and hold her there forever. He bore her through the open door into their chamber, bore her to the cradle standing in the center of the room, and then sank with her on his knees.

They looked at one another, and then at the child, which lay there quietly with wide-open eyes, in sweet contentment.

“My child! my child!” cried Gabriel; and it was as if now for the first time he saw his boy, as if he had but just been sent him by Heaven, and for a moment, in the blissful consciousness of being a father, he forgot all yes, all. He snatched up the child and hugged and kissed it, lost in rapture and delight. But all at once there came over him the memory of those pale, quivering features, the dimmed eyes, and drooping form. A shudder ran through his whole frame; with a shriek of horror he let the child fall back in its cradle, and clasped both hands before his face.

Rebecca tore back his hands, and her large black eyes gazed searchingly into his countenance. She now for the first time saw how pale he was, and how disturbed his mien. She now for the first time saw that he avoided her look, and that his breast heaved convulsively.

“Gabriel,” she said, with firm, impressive voice “Gabriel, something is the matter with you! Something has happened to you something shocking, dreadful!”

“Nothing!” he cried, hastily leaping up “nothing! But we must begone! We are to stay here no longer. We must away immediately this very hour!”

“I know it,” replied Rebecca quietly, her eyes fixed immovably upon her beloved “I know it, Gabriel, and I have prepared everything, as Count Schwarzenberg himself directed. I have been in Berlin ever since this morning, but feared to come here until you had gone to the banquet. I have made all needful arrangements. I have hired a vehicle, which is waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate. The count says we are to go on foot; that no one in the city must see you set out, and give intelligence with regard to your movements. Since you have been gone I have packed up all our effects in boxes, and our kind, faithful friend Samuel Cohen will send them after us to Venice. What is indispensable for present use I have packed up in yonder trunk, which we must take with us. All is ready, Gabriel, and we can go. Only one thing I know not, have you money enough for our journey?”

“Money enough!” repeated Gabriel, with a hoarse, mocking laugh. “I have more money in my pocket than I ever had in my whole life put together. I have so much money that we can buy a house in Venice, on the Ghetto; and we shall, too, and I will live there with you, and will become a Jew, and take another name, for my own name horrifies me. I will not, can not hear it again!”

“Why not?” asked she earnestly. “It is a fine name the name of a painter, an artist. Why would you never again hear your own name, Gabriel Nietzel?”

“Because it is notorious, infamous!” groaned he “because it is the name of a

“Well, why do you hesitate, Gabriel?” asked Rebecca in anguish of soul, while she laid both her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed upon him with wistful glances. He would have avoided her eyes, but could not; his looks must sink deep into those glittering, black eyes. Deep they looked, deep as the sea, and he thought to himself that a secret could be buried there, and rest secure in the bottom of her heart.

“Gabriel Nietzel,” asked Rebecca, in a voice at once threatening and tender “Gabriel Nietzel, what have you done? What lies heavy upon your soul?”

“Nothing, my Rebecca, nothing! Ask no questions! We must begone! Make haste, dearest, take the child, and come; for if we do not hurry, we are lost!”

She slowly shook her noble, graceful head and stirred not from her place.

She kept Gabriel in his with her hands, which she pressed more firmly upon his shoulders.

“Gabriel, my dear, precious Gabriel, what have you done? Tell me. I demand to know it as my right. When we were married on the Lido, in the solemn stillness of the night, when we joined hands, and both swore in the presence of your and my God that we would ever love one another, and that death alone should part us, when you said, ‘I take you to be my wife,’ and I said, ‘I take you to be my husband,’ then we likewise swore that we would live truly and confidentially with one another, and have no secrets from each other. Gabriel, fulfill now your oath. I demand it of you, by the memory of that hour, by my love for you, by our child. Gabriel, what have you done?”

“I can not tell it, and you may not hear it, Rebecca. For, once uttered, that word will be a two-edged sword, and plunge us both in misery and shame!”

“Shame! There is no shame for the Jewess! Misery! Tell me a form of misery which I have not suffered and endured from childhood up! My mother was stabbed in Venice by a nobleman because she would not break her faith with my father and desert him. My father was known as a sorcerer and vender of poisons. The noblemen used secretly to resort by night to our wretched house upon the Ghetto, and paid him great sums for his drugs, but if he showed himself upon the streets by day, the populace hooted and cast stones after him. And when they saw me, they hissed and mocked, bestowing opprobrious epithets upon me, and even went out of the way to avoid the contamination of my touch, for I was the daughter of a poisoner, a secret bravo I was a Jewess! But when I was grown, then the young noblemen came to my father, not merely for the sake of his drugs and medicines, but also hush! Not a breath of it! You were my deliverer my savior! You rescued me from all distress; you were to me as the Messiah, in whom my people have hoped for a thousand years. I followed you, and I shall go with you my whole life long go with you to the scaffold, if needs be. I know it, Gabriel, I read it in your countenance; you have committed a crime!”

“A crime! A fearful crime!” said he, shuddering. “Turn your head away, Rebecca, I am not worthy that you should look upon me!”

“I do look upon you, Gabriel, I condemn you not. I am thinking of what we said to one another in the count’s picture gallery. I called to you to rescue me at any price. I told you that if I could purchase deliverance thereby, I was ready to commit a crime. That to be with you again I would abjure the faith of my fathers, although I knew I should die of penitence after the perpetration of such a crime.”

“And I replied to you, Rebecca, that I, too, was ready to perpetrate a crime for the sake of rescuing you and calling you my own again, and that I would not die of penitence.”

“And yet you do repent, Gabriel, you shudder at yourself for you have done it, you have committed a crime. I will have my share in it, half of it belongs to me. In the sight of God, I am your wife, and you have sworn to share everything with me. Then divide with me, Gabriel; I claim my right. Share with me your crime, or I shall think that you love me no more, and then I shall go away, and you will never see me more.”

“I do love you, Rebecca I do love you! For your sake I have become a criminal, a murderer! I have purchased you at the price of my soul! Lay your ear close to my mouth, and I will tell you my dreadful secret: Rebecca, I am a murderer, a cursed murderer! I have committed a murder, which will cry out to Heaven against me as long as I live; for him whom I have murdered had never done me harm, but only good, and he confided in me, and trusted to my faith. Rebecca, I am cursed, and my name will be a byword in the mouths of men while books of history last. Rebecca, I have poisoned the Electoral Prince Frederick William!”

She uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back, as if struck by a thunderbolt.

“The Electoral Prince Frederick William! Not Count Schwarzenberg! The noble youth; not that detested evildoer, not him, who has deserved death a thousandfold?”

“He had not merely my life in his power, but yours and our child’s. It would have profited me nothing to murder him; we should only all three have been irretrievably lost. I was forced to obey his orders to perform the horrible deed in order to save you and myself.”

Rebecca pressed both hands tightly across her brow, and stared long at vacancy. “He must be saved!” she said. Then, after a pause, in a tone of firm determination, “Yes, he must be saved!”

“What could we do to save him?” sighed Gabriel hopelessly. “Nothing! You know your father’s drugs are subtle, and never fail in their effects!”

“You administered to him some of the medicine which my father presented you with?” asked she, with a wondrous gleam of light in her black eyes.

“Yes, I gave him some. You know when we took leave of your father he handed me three boxes as a keepsake, saying that they were the only dowry he could give me with you, but that many a prince would pay us immense sums for them, if we should sell them to him for his dear relations; for in these boxes were the deadliest poisons, leaving behind not a trace of their existence. The contents of one box causes instantaneous death, and he therefore called it ‘the apoplexy powder.’ The contents of the second box killed more slowly, and prolonged the patient’s life ten or twelve days; therefore he called it ‘the inflammatory powder.’ The third powder, however, because it works slowest of all, he called ’the consumptive powder.’”

“And of which powder did you give to the Electoral Prince?” asked Rebecca breathlessly.

“Of the inflammatory powder, for it was least dangerous to us.”

“Did the Prince drink the whole potion poured out for him?”

“No, he only drank half, and when he tried to hand it to his father, who asked for it, the glass fell from his trembling hands, and its contents were spilled upon the table.”

“Therefore the Prince only took half a powder?”

“Only half. But still he must die, for your father told me one pinch would produce death; and I gave him two, that the count might see its effects.”

Rebecca did not reply. She had sunk upon her knees and folded her hands. Her lips moved as if in silent prayer.

“What think you?” asked Gabriel Nietzel, after a pause. “Why do you not speak to me? Do you despise me, because I have confessed my crime to you? Do you turn away from the poisoner, the murderer?”

“No,” said she, suddenly drawing herself up erect. “No, I do not despise you, but I love you, and because I love you I will not that you should be a criminal. Had you poisoned the count, then I should have said, ’You have accomplished a good work. God has killed him by your hand; you are nothing more than the executioner, who has inflicted merited death upon the wicked, and has rid the world of him. Lift up your head and be joyful, for you were a tool in God’s hand!’ But you have poisoned a noble, good man, the son of your benefactress, and his death would cry out against you, and our child would be punished for the crime of his father. ’For I am a God of vengeance,’ says the Lord, ’and I will visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.’ I love you, Gabriel, and no sin or crime could separate me from you; for have you not taken to your heart the daughter of a criminal, and sinned for her sake? But our child shall not suffer for what his parents have done. The God of our fathers shall not take vengeance on our child, the sun and happiness shall shine upon him; for we, Gabriel, we have known night and misfortune, and tasted all the bitterness of life. Gabriel, our child must be free from stain of guilt or crime, and therefore must the Electoral Prince be saved.”

“Say how can it be done, show me a way to save him!”

“I know the way, and I will take it. I would save you and the child from bloodguiltiness and sin. Swear to me, Gabriel, that you will do what I shall require of you. Think of that hour upon the Lido when I gave myself to you. Think of the hour when this child was born, and I laid it in your arms and said: ’Take it. It is a gift of my love. Take the child with whom God has blessed us, and pronounced us pure!’ And you swore to me with tears that you would be a faithful father to our child all his life, and shield him as far as in you lay from all the pains of earth. By the memory of that oath I now require you, Gabriel Nietzel, to lay your hand upon my child’s head, and solemnly swear to me, by God, by our child, and by your love for me, to do exactly what I shall now demand of you.”

With reverential, timid admiration Gabriel Nietzel looked into Rebecca’s countenance, which was beaming with energy and beauty. He could not turn away his glance from her, for it seemed as if his inmost soul was held spellbound by her large, flaming eyes, resting fixedly upon him. Ever looking at Rebecca, he laid his hand upon the head of the child that lay slumbering in the cradle, and said in a distinct, solemn voice: “I swear by God, by our child, and by my love for you, Rebecca, that I shall do exactly what you will require of me.”

She nodded her head as proudly and gravely as if she had been a queen, who had just received the homage of her vassal.

“Listen then, Gabriel,” she said. “You take the trunk, I take the child, and let us be going, for the wagon is waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate, as you know. Do not speak to me by the way, for I have still much to plan and ponder. Time does not stand still, and every moment increases the Prince’s peril. If help does not reach him to-night, then is he lost beyond hope of recovery. Come!”

Already a question was trembling on Gabriel Nietzel’s lips. He wished to ask, “Can he by any possibility be saved?” But she had said, “Do not speak to me,” and, obedient to his oath, he remained dumb, took up the trunk, and followed Rebecca, who had tenderly lifted the child from its crib and had just gone out of the door. Swiftly they passed side by side through the streets, which were still deserted, for all loungers and street idlers were still tarrying in Broad Street or on the castle square. Many a time Gabriel cast a look of questioning entreaty upon Rebecca, but she saw it not; she seemed to see nothing whatever, for her eyes were gazing afar off; like a somnambulist, she strode along, and even when the baby in her arms began to cry she took no notice of it, nor sought to comfort it with tender, soothing words. At last they had passed the gate behind the willow bank, and found themselves without the city. There stood the wagon waiting for them, covered with a tilt of gray canvas. The Jewish boy who sat on the back seat under the canvas awning had fallen asleep, resting his head against the great wooden arch to which the cover was secured. The two lean little horses were greedily eating of the oats in the dirty bags around their necks. Not a creature was to be seen. The wretched conveyance had excited no attention whatever, and caused not a single passer-by to pause.

Rebecca stepped up to the wagon and gently laid the child in the straw with which the vehicle was filled. Then, with a silent wave of the hand, she ordered Gabriel to set down the trunk he was carrying. He did so, and Rebecca took a key out of her pocket, knelt down before the trunk, and sought hither and thither among its contents. First she took from the bottom of the trunk a packet with five seals, and, as she hastily stuck it in her bosom, her eye was uplifted to heaven with a glance of glowing gratitude. Then she took out a white dress and a long white veil, carefully concealing these things under the great black mantle which enveloped her figure. Finally, she locked the trunk and handed the key to Gabriel.

“Place the trunk gently in the wagon, so as not to wake the child,” she said. Gabriel silently obeyed, and then, standing on the footboard of the wagon, reached down his hand to her, as if he would ask her to follow.

She shook her head quickly. “Come, Gabriel,” said she, “come, let us step across and talk under yon tree. The child sleeps and David Cohen sleeps, too. Nobody hears us. Come.”

With hasty steps they crossed over to the great linden tree which stood at the side of the road. The birds sang and hopped about amid its dense foliage, and the hot sunbeams drew forth the most delicious fragrance from the blossoms with which each branch was laden. But the pair who walked up and down under the tree heeded neither the singing of the birds nor the perfume of the flowers. They were alone with one another and the sad, gloomy thoughts with which both their souls were filled.

“Gabriel,” said Rebecca, recovering breath, “I will go to free you from the stain of blood, for if it remain it would not merely poison the Electoral Prince but your whole life. My father gave you only the half of my dowry, as he called it. The other half he retained and gave me. After he had presented you with the poison, and I was alone with him in his chamber, he held out to me the sacred volume, and required me to take three oaths, by the memory of my murdered mother and by the hatred and revenge which we had sworn to the whole world upon her beloved body. First, I must swear that I would never abjure the faith of my fathers and become a Christian. Secondly, I must swear that I would rear the child that God would give me in our own religion, and never while I lived consent to its being made a Christian. Thirdly, I must swear to preserve the sealed packet he intrusted to me as my greatest treasure, my most precious possession, and only to tell you of it in case of the most extreme danger and necessity; that I was only to make use of the contents to purchase wealth or happiness. ’I have given death into your dear Gabriel’s hand,’ he said, ’into your hand, my daughter, I give life, and surely that is something much more rare and precious. He has the poisons; I give you the antidotes. They are worth tons of gold; they are my most precious treasure, and twenty years have I labored ere I discovered them. When I succeeded, I thanked God for this glorious discovery, and then thrice I swore upon the sacred volume, with my face turned to the East and with loud voice, that never should a Christian obtain these priceless antidotes through me, that never would I impart knowledge of them to a Christian. I will keep my oath, and divulge the holy secret only to you, my Rebecca. Guard it in your bosom under three sacred seals, and only in the most perilous hour of your life break the seal, which I herewith lay upon your lips. But never may you transfer this precious treasure to other hands; no Christian may ever touch it. Would you save life, then you must do it yourself, and only from your own hands may the one smitten with death receive life.’

“Those were the words spoken by my father, when he handed me the sealed packet. Then he instructed me how to apply the contents, and what I would have to do in order to render ineffective the three poisons given you. ‘Only,’ said he to me,’ the antidote must be administered before four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since the poison was swallowed, and then, still twenty-four hours later, the antidote must be used for the second time.’ Gabriel, my best-beloved, now is the most perilous hour of my life, and I have loosened the seal which my father pressed upon my lips. I have the antidote for the inflammatory powder.”

“Ah, Rebecca, and you will give it to me?” asked Gabriel, seizing both her hands and looking into her lovely face with beaming eyes.

She slowly and solemnly shook her head. “You are a Christian,” she said. “I have sworn to my father that no Christian should touch the precious treasure, that no hands but my own should apply the remedy he intrusted to me. Gabriel, out of love for me you gave the Prince into the jaws of death. Out of love for you I shall restore him to life.”

“Rebecca!” he cried, “how will you do it how can you accomplish it? Only from your hands the Prince is to receive life? That means, you will yourself apply the remedy? You will go to him? You would return to the city, venture into the castle? Know you not that Schwarzenberg has his spies everywhere; that every lackey in the castle is bribed by him and in his interests; that he knows what happens there night and day? Do you not know that, Rebecca? Did you not yourself often tell me so, when you visited the castellan’s wife, who loved you, because she, too, was a Venetian, and could speak her native language with you. Did she not tell you in confidence that Count Schwarzenberg was her real lord and master, and that she herself every morning repeated to the count’s secretary all that came under her observation in the castle? And now would you venture into that castle, that den of lions!”

“Did not Daniel venture into the lion’s den, and the wild beasts touched him not?” cried she. “Why should I fear, since my work is holy and pure as Daniel’s was?”

“I shall not suffer it. I shall cling to you and hold you back.”

“Gabriel Nietzel, bethink you of the oath you swore upon our child’s head. You will do what I require of you! This you swore. Will you break your oath?”

“No, Rebecca,” he said mournfully. “Command I shall obey.”

“I shall return to the city,” continued Rebecca. “Old Benjamin Cohen will hospitably entertain me and provide me with a safe hiding place. By night I shall go to the castle, and make sure that no one will detain me, no one will recognize me, and that Count Schwarzenberg’s spies shall not report that Rebecca Nietzel was in the castle and in the Prince’s room. The dress which I shall assume will be a certain protection; trust to me and ask no questions. I know every door and inlet to the castle, for the castellan’s wife often showed me through the palace, and stairs and corridors, secret doors and passages are all familiar to me. I know a little door on the Spree side, which is never locked, because nobody knows of its existence, or would regard it, for it only leads to a little niche; and that a secret door is concealed within this niche, not even the castellan’s wife herself knows. I discovered it one day, when I had lost my way in the castle, and was wandering in distress through the corridors. I said nothing about my discovery, and now I shall profit by it to gain safe access and to go out again. The next day I shall spend in concealment at Benjamin Cohen’s, and at night I shall go again to the palace, for the dose must be repeated. Twice in the course of forty-eight hours must it be administered, if life is to vanquish death. When I leave the castle the second night, my work will be done, for crime will be taken away from our heads, and our child will not have to suffer for the sins of its parents. Then, my Gabriel, then we shall return to my beautiful home, then shall we be free and happy! Think of that, my beloved, and let us patiently bear what must be borne.”

“I will think of that, Rebecca. But tell me, what shall I do? how shall I pass the long, dreary days of our separation? Do not be cruel. Let me return to the city with you. Benjamin Cohen will furnish a safe retreat for me and the child, as well as for yourself. I swear to you that I will keep myself concealed in the cellar, under the roof, anywhere you will, only let me go with you!”

“It can not be. The child’s life must not be endangered, nor yours either, that I may maintain the courage needful for action. Consider your oath, and do what I require. Now get into the wagon without delay. David is a good driver, and perfectly devoted to us. Travel day and night until you reach Brandenburg. There dwells a brother of Benjamin, little David Cohen’s uncle. At his house remain in retirement until I join you, and, O Gabriel! then we shall set out together.”

“Rebecca, I can not, indeed I can not leave you!”

“You must, for your crime must be expiated. Think, Gabriel, a long life of happiness lies before us. Let us courageously pass through the last cloud of evil, for beyond is day, beyond is the sun, beyond is Italy, the land of love and art! Now let us part, dearest. Farewell, till we meet again in joy!”

“Can you, Rebecca, can you so suddenly leave me and be parted from me?”

“I never leave you, for my soul is ever with you. No leave-takings, Gabriel; they make us weak, and sternly I must go to meet stern fate. Give me your hand. Farewell! Above lives a God for all men. He will protect me.”

“Rebecca, only give me one parting kiss!”

“I shall kiss you when atonement has been made nor until then shall I kiss our child again! Know this, Gabriel, that my love for you is eternal, it will abide even unto the end of the world! Now, let us part. Hark! the child cries. He calls for his father. Go to him, Gabriel, and tell our child that his mother loves you both more than her own life! Go!”

He tried once more to seize her hand and embrace her. She waved him back, and with an imperious movement pointed to the wagon.

“Remember your oath, Gabriel; you must do what I require of you,” she said firmly.

“But just tell me one thing, Rebecca,” implored he humbly. “When shall we meet again?”

“In four or five days, Gabriel. Stay quietly at Brandenburg, and wait for me there eight days. If by that time I have not come to you at Brandenburg, consider it as a sign that I have chosen some other route, to escape the anger and pursuit of Count Schwarzenberg, and that I have forborne to communicate with you lest I should be betrayed. Then travel with the child to Venice, making all possible speed. I shall join you on the way; but if I can not, then we shall meet again in safety at my father’s house in Venice.”

“Rebecca, it is impossible; I can not

“Hush!” interrupted she; “the child cries still, and David Cohen, too, is now awake.”

She quickly stepped toward the vehicle and nodded to the little coachman, who was sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Here we are, David,” she said. “Now prove yourself a brave boy and do honor to your father’s spirit. Drive boldly, but take care not to meet with accidents, and make for Brandenburg without delay.”

“I promised dad, God bless him, that I would not know rest or repose, hunger or sleep, until we reached Brandenburg!” cried the boy, cracking his whip. “Get in, I will drive you to Brandenburg.”

“Get in, Gabriel,” said Rebecca to Nietzel, who stood at the wagon door, looking at her with wistful, melancholy air. She shook her head as a negative answer to the dumb questioning of his eyes, and only repeated, “Get in, Gabriel!”

He jumped into the wagon, but, as he did so, leaned forward and stretched out his hands to her.

“Forward, David, forward!” commanded Rebecca. David whipped up his horses, and set off at full gallop.

“Be quick, David, for I must begone!”

David Cohen gave the little horses a sharp blow across their heads, causing them to bound forward in wild impatience. Rebecca gazed after them, breathless, with staring eyes. When the vehicle had disappeared from sight she pressed both hands before her eyes, and a sob and a groan escaped her breast. Soon, however, she resumed her self-control.

“If I weep I am lost,” she said, lifting up her head. “I have a difficult task to perform, and tears make one faint-hearted and cowardly. I shall not weep, at least not now. When my work of expiation is accomplished, when it has succeeded, then I shall weep. And they will be tears of joy! Jéhovah! Almighty! stand by me, that I may weep such tears to-morrow night! And now to work! to work!”

She turned, and with quiet, firm steps proceeded to the city.