many years, stood before him in order to help her unhappy child.  Her figure, her words, her songs, her sacred stories from the Saviour’s life on earth—­brought peace to his soul.  It suddenly came upon him; “God has not forgotten me.”  Just as before he had raged in despair, so now beautiful shadows out of the past appeared before him, and tears of redemption flowed from his eyes.

He did not have an hour’s sleep the night of his condemnation.  He prayed, he dreamed, and then the horrid terror, which made him shiver in all his limbs, came again.  He kept looking towards the window to see if daylight was beginning.  Early in the morning, just at the first dawn—­so he had often heard—­the warders come.  The window showed only darkness.  But look, in the little three-cornered bit of sky, there is a star.  He had not seen it on other nights.  It sailed up to the crack in the roof and shone down through the window in kindly fashion.  His eye was riveted on the spark of light until it vanished behind the walls.  When at length day dawned, and the key rattled in the door, Konrad’s hands and feet began to tremble.  It was the gaoler, who brought him a bundle of coarse cotton clothing.

When Konrad asked in a dull voice if it was his gallows dress, the old man answered roughly:  “What are you chattering about?  Put on your house clothes.”

The convict went up to the gaoler, clasped his hands, and said:  “Only one thing, if I knew—­when, when?  This suspense is unbearable!”

“Eh! how impatient we are!” mocked the old man.  “My dear fellow, we don’t do things so quickly.  The decision was only made yesterday.  Why, they haven’t yet settled about the banquet.”

“The banquet!”

“The bill of fare—­don’t you understand?  No orders have come yet.  You’re safe for twenty-four hours.  But if there’s anything you’d like to eat—­I’ll make an exception for once.  And now, get on with your toilet!  You can will away your own things as you please,” he pointed to his clothes.  “Have you anyone?  No?  Well, I know some poor people.  But get on, get on.  The hot season is coming on, and cotton isn’t bad wear then.”

The rough gaoler’s good-humoured chatter was particularly distasteful to the poor man.  To be snubbed and railed at would have pointed to a long life to come, one not to be measured by hours.  Did he know?  And was he silent out of pity? or was it malice?  Before, the old man had been easily moved to anger, and when heated would swing his arms up and down and plainly threaten to have the obstinate convict sent off.  Now there was no more grim humour nor raging round.  He looked at the poor sinner, sunk in deep gloom, with a sad calmness.  “Poor devil!” Suddenly it was too much for him, and he broke out violently:  “But come now!  You must have known it.  Be sensible; I can’t stand this misery.  Dying is not easy, of course; you should be glad that there’s someone by to help.  And then—­who knows whether you won’t live after all.  Do be sensible!”