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 majesty’s promise. Time is fleeting, and the wrongs of the people appeal to heaven more pitifully day by day. Look, illustrious master, down below!”

The Countess pointed to the city, so quickly that the Emperor unconsciously turned his eyes away from her face and followed the direction of her hand.

“It is, I suppose, the Towers of Týn, that you are pointing to,” he replied absently, and again turned his eyes to hers.

“Yes, your majesty, those are the Towers of Týn, reaching to the heavens, and below them is the market place veiled in the first shadows of the evening; and on it are the dark scaffold, the block, the gallows, the pillory—pools of blood and a pile of white heads. And do you remember the twenty-first day of June, 1621?”

Pale as death the Countess gazed at the towers. She had neither feeling nor hearing for anything else at that moment; it seemed that she had entirely forgotten who was near and where she was standing.