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 frightful ghost soaring over the scene. Oh, Andrew, beg, beg! otherwise a fate like your ancestor’s will seize you. You have thoughtlessly revealed your sympathy with the heretics. Have you forgotten the fate of your aunt? Oh, beg, beg, Andrew; humble yourself, promise devotion and gratitude to Maria Felicia, that you may be forgiven! But, first of all, promise love, proud Hlohovsky. Do you see the sword above your head? Do you see how it glitters, how heavy it is?

Oh, the Hlohovskys do not beg; and they prefer death to the hand of one whom Kings have favored, who herself was the queen of beauty and intellect, and as wealthy as those who wear crowns. Hlohovsky scorned Maria Felicia because she was of the blood of traitors and oppressors.

And the harper moaned as if the sword were on his own neck, at his own heart.

“Mercy, mercy, Maria Felicia!” he wildly exclaimed. “Do you not realize that the one you want to sacrifice to your revenge is the very one you idealized, when, being tired of