Therefore I met thee in deadly fight, and
overcame thee, and have wellnigh finished thee. Speak on."
"I have done all this," said the dying man, "and here, in my last hour,
repent me. The Lady Theodora is a spotless lady; the youthful Otto
the true son of his father--Sir Hildebrandt is not his father, but his
UNCLE."
"Gracious Buffo!" "Celestial Bugo!" here said the hermit and the Knight
of Hombourg simultaneously, clasping their hands.
"Yes, his uncle; but with the BAR-SINISTER in his scutcheon. Hence
he could never be acknowledged by the family; hence, too, the Lady
Theodora's spotless purity (though the young people had been brought up
together) could never be brought to own the relationship."
"May I repeat your confession?" asked the hermit.
"With the greatest pleasure in life: carry my confession to the
Margrave, and pray him give me pardon. Were there--a notary-public
present," slowly gasped the knight, the film of dissolution glazing
over his eyes, "I would ask--you--two--gentlemen to witness it. I would
gladly--sign the deposition--that is, if I could wr-wr-wr-wr-ite!" A
faint shuddering smile--a quiver, a gasp, a gurgle--the blood gushed
from his mouth in black volumes . . . .
"He will never sin more," said the hermit, solemnly.
"May heaven assoilzie him!" said Sir Ludwig.
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