Deep silence reigned within the walls of the holy temple, broken occasionally by an expiring sigh, or the faint sound of the death- rattle. For the French soldiery had done their work. The poor wretches that had been ensnared into seeking refuge there, had all been murdered, and their possessions removed to a place of safety. One hour earlier, the vaults of the house of God had rung with shrieks and groans, but the victims were now dying or dead.

General Melac went among the prostrate bodies, looking here and there behind the pillars, to see whether any thing of value had been overlooked by his subordinates. The monk mean while bent over the prostrate forms that lay in hundreds upon the marble pavement, and so absorbed was he in soothing their last moments, that he almost started as the rough voice of General Melac reached him from the opposite end of the nave.

"Come, come," cried he, in thundering tones. "Enough of useless sentimentality!"

Without a word the monk rose, and, pointing to the grand altar, the general entered the chancel, and followed his conductor to a small door cut in the wall. This the monk opened, and, stepping back, signed to Melac to advance.

"Does this winding-stair lead to the tower?" asked the latter.

"Yes, general, and as there is but one way to reach it, I resume my proper place, and follow you, as in duty bound."

Melac began to ascend the stairs, the monk coming behind him, with an aspect the very opposite of that he had endeavored to maintain all day. His stooping shoulders were flung back, his head was erect, and in his eyes there sat a threatening devil, which, if Melac could have seen it, would have made his heart grow chill with apprehension. But Melac, too, was no longer the same. Up to this moment he had assumed an appearance of friendliness toward his companion. But now his eye flashed, and his hand clutched his sword, while deep in his heart flowed a current of treachery, which, translated into words ran thus:

"I do not see why he should have any part in this treasure. As soon as he has pointed out the spot, I will catch him in my arms and hurl him down into the body of the church. By Heaven! the life of one miserable monk never was worth a million of treasure!"

Did the monk suspect what was passing within the mind of the general? Perhaps he did; for well he knew that he was capable of any amount of atrocity.

On they went, sometimes stumbling in the dark, sometimes emerging into the light, until at last they reached the topmost step where Melac halted to breathe.

"Are we almost there?" asked he.

"Almost there." echoed the monk, while with a swift movement of his hand he drew from under his cassock two long, stout thongs of hide.

"What are you doing there?" asked Melac.

"I am making ready my lasso." replied he, throwing one of the thongs over the head of the general; and, before the latter had time to recover from his surprise, it was passed around his body, and his hands were pinioned fast behind.

Melac comprehended that he was betrayed, and making desperate efforts to free himself, he lost his footing, and fell at full length on the granite pavement of the tower. The monk now sprang upon his body, and drawing from his bosom a long handkerchief, he tied it fast over his victim's mouth.

"Your cries might be heard, and some fool might come to the rescue," said he. "You shall die without being allowed to give utterance to your despair."

Melac's eyeballs almost started from their sockets, but the monk looked on without pity. He dragged him to that part of the tower whence the gilded weathercock could be seen toying with the free air of heaven. The sky shone blue and bright; never had it seemed so fair to the wretch that was looking his last upon its azure dome. He felt himself raised in the arms of the monk, firmly fastened with a second thong, and then tossed outside the tower, where he hung, a small, dark speck in the eyes of the officers that were awaiting his return to the hall of council.

And now the monk cast himself down upon his knees. "O God, I thank
Thee that Thou hast granted my prayer, and delivered this monster to
my hands! 'Tis Thy will that I should be his executioner, and may
Thy holy will be done forever and forever!"

He rose and approached Melac, whose face was ghastly pale, and whose eyes were overflowing with tears. "Now," said he, "know why I have delivered you unto a cruel and agonizing death. For months I have tracked your path, with power to have stricken you every hour of the day. But sudden death was too merciful for such a brute as you! The Hyena of Esslingen shall have the horror and apprehension of a slow, torturing, and solitary death. Without sympathy and without witnesses shall he die, and in his last moments, when his flesh quivers with agony, and the devouring flames shall consume his odious body, let him think on Marie Wengelin, and on me. her lover and betrothed husband—Caspar!"

Without another word, he drew from Melac's finger his signet-ring, and began to descend the winding-stair. The eye of his victim followed his tall, manly figure until it disappeared forever from his sight; and then he listened to his retreating footsteps until they grew faint and more faint, and all hope was lost! An hour of mortal agony went by; the sun sank slowly to rest, and a few stars brightened the sapphire vault above him. Suddenly a red glow brightened the heavens, and gilded the dark waters of the Rhine— that Rhine which he had so incarnadined with blood! Avenging God! It was the fire himself had kindled! It leaped up from every point of Speier—and now—now the cathedral was in flames, and death—slow, lingering, and agonizing—had overtaken the Hyena of Esslingen!