The count concluded his examination.
"It is quite true," he said; "corrupted matter has got into the wound, the poison has spread greatly, it is almost too late!"
He opened the black casket he had brought with him, and which he had placed beside him on the table.
It contained a small surgical apparatus, and several little cut gla.s.s bottles.
The count took a knife with a golden handle and a highly-polished shining blade.
"I beg your pardon, countess," he said in the tone of a man of the world, "I must hurt you, it is necessary."
The young countess smiled.
The count took firm hold of the suffering arm, and quick as lightning cut two deep gashes crossing each other into the wound.
Thick blood mixed with matter flowed from it.
"A handkerchief!" cried the count.
They gave him a cambric handkerchief; he quickly removed the blood, seized a gla.s.s bottle, opened the wound widely and poured into it a portion of the contents.
Clara"s face grew deadly pale; she closed her eyes, her lips quivered convulsively.
"Does it hurt?" asked the count.
"Horribly!" replied the young girl in a voice that was scarcely audible.
The count took from the casket a small syringe with a sharp steel point, filled it with fluid from the bottle, and injected the contents into the flesh of the arm, following the direction of the swelling.
Clara"s face showed even greater agony, the Countess Frankenstein watched the count"s manipulations with the deepest anxiety, Stielow wrung his hands in silent grief, and Father Ignatius moved his lips in prayer.
The count took another bottle, half filled a gla.s.s with pure water, and slowly and carefully counted the drops as he let them fall from the fluid in the phial.
The water grew blood red, a strong, peculiar odour spread through the room.
The count touched the patient"s brow lightly with his finger.
She opened her eyes; her countenance still expressed burning pain.
"Drink this!" said the count in a gentle but commanding tone. At the same time he carefully raised her head and placed the gla.s.s to her lips.
She took the contents. His eyes watched her attentively.
After a short time her face grew calmer, the contraction from the violence of the pain became less. She opened her eyes, and drew in a deep breath as if relieved.
"Ah! what good that does me!" she whispered.
An expression of satisfaction appeared on the count"s face, then he said in a grave, solemn voice:
"I have done all that is possible to human art and knowledge, let us hope G.o.d"s hand will shed a blessing upon my work. Pray to G.o.d, countess, fervently and with all your soul, that He may give my remedy strength to overcome the poison."
"Yes, yes," said the young girl ardently, and her eyes sought her lover; "come to me, my beloved friend!"
Herr von Stielow hastened to the bed and sank down before it with folded hands.
"I cannot put my hands together," she said in a low voice, looking at him affectionately, "so let me lay my hand in yours, and our united prayer shall ascend to heaven, that eternal mercy may permit us to remain together."
And she began whisperingly to pray, whilst the young officer"s eyes were raised upwards with a look of the deepest devotion.
Suddenly a shudder pa.s.sed through the form of the young countess, she withdrew her hand with a look of pain, and gazed with horror at her lover.
"Oh!" she cried in a trembling voice, "our prayers cannot really be united; what a dreadful thought, we do not pray to the same G.o.d!"
"Clara!" cried the young man, "what an idea! there is but one G.o.d in heaven, and He will hear us!"
"Ah!" she cried, without heeding his words, "there is but one G.o.d in heaven, but you do not walk in the paths that lead to Him, you are not in the bosom of the Church! Oh! I often thought of it amidst the pleasures and distractions of life; but now in this dire necessity, at the very gate of eternity, the thought fills me with horror! G.o.d cannot hear us, and," she added, with a bewildered look, "if I must die, if no help is possible, I must pa.s.s into eternity, knowing that his soul is lost! Horrible! oh, horrible!"
"Clara! Clara!" cried von Stielow in a tone of the greatest anguish, gazing in despair upon her painfully excited face, "G.o.d is the same for all those who worship Him with a pure heart, and no prayer can be more pure, more earnest than mine is now!"
Countess Frankenstein had sunk upon a chair, and covered her face with her hands, the father looked thoughtfully at the affecting scene, and the calm, perfect features of Count Rivero were lighted up as by a sudden inspiration.
Clara gazed sorrowfully at her lover, and gently shook her head.
"You do not worship at the altars of my Church," she said; "we are apart in the highest and holiest feelings that touch the human heart!"
"Clara, my own beloved!" cried the young man, raising his folded hands, "the altar on which your pure heart worships G.o.d must be the holiest, the best. Oh! that this altar were here, that I might throw myself before it, and pray to G.o.d for your recovery!" And raising his eyes with a look of inspiration, he took the hand of his betrothed and placed it on his own. A look of unutterable delight shone in the eyes of the young countess.
"The altar of G.o.d is here!" said Count Rivero, in a tone of deep emotion. He drew from beneath his waistcoat a golden cross, upon which a marvellously beautiful figure of the Saviour was chiselled in silver.
"And his priest stands beside you!"
He unfastened the crucifix from a small golden chain to which it was attached.
"There can be no higher nor holier altar than this," said he, touching the crucifix adoringly with his lips; "the Holy Father in Rome has consecrated it with his apostolic blessing. Young man," he said, turning to Stielow, who was still kneeling, but whose eyes were raised with a look half of inquiry, half of enlightened inspiration, "young man, G.o.d has indeed blessed you, in so wonderfully opening to you the way of salvation. Hear the voice of G.o.d, speaking to you through the pure lips of her you love; seize on the mercy that beckons you to the bosom of the true Church, and acknowledge G.o.d in the confession which perhaps may shortly arise from the dying lips of your betrothed to the throne of the Eternal Father. You supplicate Heaven for a miracle, the recovery of her you love, open your soul to the miraculous stream of mercy that flows towards you."
"I will!" cried Stielow, his face glowing with ardent enthusiasm.
Clara closed her eyes and pressed her hand firmly upon her lover"s.
"Thou hearest it, my G.o.d," she whispered; "I thank Thee! Thy ways of mercy are holy, and above all our thoughts and hopes."
"Father," said the count with dignity, "do your duty as a priest, and receive this soul, awakened to eternal salvation, into the bosom of the one true Church!"
Father Ignatius had stood by in great emotion, his eyes beaming with satisfaction; but he replied with hesitation:
"Is it possible? Here, without preparation?"
The count slightly raised his hand.