three miles from Eisenherz. Her enemies said
that by that short seclusion the wretched
woman believed that she atoned for all the sins
of the past twelvemonth. She usually went
with only one attendant, the old soldier and
his wife, who took care of the chapel, providing
her with simple food.

It was a cold and foggy evening when the
duchess descended from her great gilt coach,
and took the winding way through the woods
that led her to the chapel. Her yellow
velvet train rustled over the wet dead leaves.
The wind was sighing among the leafless
larches, and moaning among the black boughs
of the fir trees. Two hundred yards up, a stirring
in the brake startled the duchess; she
looked, and saw, by the light her servant carried,
an old man, whom she recognised as the
old guardian of the chapel, kneeling and gathering
fir-cones. He looked pale and ill, and did
not at first rise, but shook either with cold or
fear when the duchess addressed him.

"Karl Hauffman," she cried, "why are you
so far from the chapel? Did you not expect
me? Is the man imbecile? Answer."

The old man rose, drew himself feebly up,
and made the military salute, still trembling
with the cold as he made the salute, and
came nearer. Just then an owl hooted three
times.

"Your royal highness," he said, his teeth
chattering, "we did expect you; we had your
message yesterday; but my wife is ill, and I
have been out gathering fir-cones for the
fire."

"You should not leave the chapel. Are the
altar lamps lit for our devotions?"

"Your royal highness, they are. We expected
you half an hour ago."

"And are the candles ready in the room of
the Twelve Apostles?"

"Everything has been made ready for your
royal highness; and I will go forward with the
lantern through the wood."

"The wind seems rising," said the duchess.

"There will be a storm soon," said the old
man, as he led on with the light.

As the old man pushed open the rusty chapel
door, which was wet with damp, the wind shook
the mouldy black and silver hangings of the
walls, which rose and fell with a melancholy
wavelike swell. Two of the caudles on the altar
blew out with the draught. At that moment a
horn sounded higher up the mountain, and
seemed to be answered by an echo far down
towards the city, and an owl screeched as if
in answer. Then there was a deep silence.

The duchess knelt for some time in prayer.
Then she rose, and said to her attendant,
"You remain here, while I go and make my
confessions, according to my custom, in the
chamber of the Apostles."

The duchess rose, crossed herself, and lifting
the black hangings to the left of the altar,
entered the apartment which her superstition
had so strangely furnished. The black curtain
fell behind her, and seemed to shut her out for
ever from all living things. It seemed a grave
that she had entered. It was a long low-roofed
room, dimly lit, and hung with dark tapestry
like the chapel. In the centre stood a long
table, covered with a dark red cloth, round
which, with gilt cups before them, sat twelve
wax figures of the apostles, as large as life,
with flaxen hair and beards, and clothed according
to the strictest tradition of the old
painters. The wax faces and staring black
eyes of eleven of the number were fixed on
Saint Peter, who, with the gilt cross keys in
his right hand, sat at their head. The attitude
of each apostle was varied. Saint
John was turned half round listening to Saint
Thomas; Judas was clutching the bag; Saint
James was pointing to Heaven; Saint Mark
was gazing thoughtfully on Saint Luke; Saint
Luke was regarding Saint Peter with the intensest
veneration. Three apostles alone at
the lower end of the table were in shadow,
for the lights at that end of the table had blown
out.

The mind of the guilty duchess was rapt in
awe at the sight of these august figures, which
strongly stirred her imagination. She cast herself
at the feet of Saint Peter.

"Holy Saint Peter," she exclaimed, "intercede
for me at the golden gates, I pray thee, intercede
for one who has done evil, it is true, but only
that good might come. I struck down my chief
enemy only that the people might be the more
wisely governed and the town be saved from
the tyranny of heresy. To-morrow a traitor
dies upon the wheel, and an ambitious wanton
will be found dead in her cell. Pardon, Holy
Saint! Pardon! Let a miraculous voice, I
pray thee, answer the penitent who now lies
at thy feet. He does not answer. Is Heaven
silent? Ye lesser apostles hear me then. Spare
a guilty woman! Spare me! Spare——"

As she uttered these incoherent prayers, the
wretched woman, casting off her jewels and dishevelling
her powdered hair, crept round from
figure to figure in an agony of the most abject
and superstitious fear.

Suddenly, as she burst into hysterical tears
of passionate supplication, and crept on her
knees from figure to figure, the first apostle in
shadow, at whose feet she knelt and whose robe
she at that moment clasped, sprang to his feet,
held her down and seized her throat before she
could utter a cry for help; a second and a third
figure rose, and the three struck her to the
ground with three fierce, swift, and simultaneous
stabs. Then the three men disguised as
apostles strode into the outer chapel.

"Woman!" they said to the terrified attendant
of the duchess, " your mistress needs
your help. Tell her the Sealed Knots planned
this vengeance for her crimes. In the palace
where it had long awaited her the vengeance
might have been less sure and deadly." In a
moment they had disappeared in the darkness.

It was afterwards said that on the frozen
painted cruel face of that detestable dying
woman, a Death's Head Moth was found resting.
The omen had been accomplished. As