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 round to look from whom it came; but Rosa, who had foreseen this movement, had fallen back.

“And,” continued Cornelius, “what hour is appointed?”

“Twelve o’clock, sir.”

“Indeed,” said Cornelius. “I think I heard the clock strike ten about twenty minutes ago: I have not much time to spare.”

“Indeed you have not, if you wish to make your peace with God,” said the Recorder, bowing to the ground. “You may ask for any clergyman you please.”

Saying these words he went out backwards, and the assistant turnkey was going to follow him, and to lock the door of Cornelius’ cell, when a white and trembling arm interposed between him and the heavy door.

Cornelius saw nothing but the golden brocade cap, tipped with lace, such as the Frisian girls wore; he heard nothing, but some one whispering into the ear of the turnkey. But the latter put his heavy keys into the white hand which was stretched out to receive them, and, descending some steps, sat down on the staircase, which thus was guarded above by himself, and below by the dog. The head-dress turned round, and Cornelius beheld the face of Rosa, blanched with grief, and her beautiful eyes streaming with tears.

She went up to Cornelius, crossing her arms on her heaving breast.

“Oh, sir, sir!” she said, but sobs choked her utterance.

“My good girl,” Cornelius replied with emotion, “what do you wish? I may tell that my time on earth is short.”

“I come to ask a favour of you,” said Rosa, extending her arms partly towards him and partly towards heaven.