As the words escaped Clara's lips, Greifenstein started violently and made as though he would rise, laying his hands on the edge of the table and leaning forward towards his wife. The echo of Rieseneck's name had not died away when the unhappy woman realised what she had done.

Rieseneck himself turned suddenly towards her and the blood rushed to his pale face. Clara's head fell forward and she covered her eyes with her hands, uttering a short, sharp cry like that of an animal mortally wounded. The servant stood still at Rieseneck's side, staring stupidly from one to the other. Fully ten seconds elapsed before Greifenstein recovered his presence of mind.

'You are ill, Clara,' he said in a choking voice. 'I will take you to your room.'

He did not understand the situation, and he could not guess how his wife had learned that the visitor was not Herr Brandt but Kuno von Rieseneck.

But he was horrified by the thought that she should have made the discovery, and his first idea was to get her away as soon as possible.

He came to her side, and saw that she was helpless, if not insensible.

Then he lifted her from her chair and carried her through the wide door and the small apartment beyond into the drawing-room. Rieseneck followed at a distance.

'You can go,' said Greifenstein to the servant. 'We shall not want any more dinner to-night.'

The man went out and left the three together. Clara lay upon a great divan, her husband standing at her side, and Rieseneck at her feet. Her eyes were open, but they were gla.s.sy with terror, though she was quite conscious.

'Clara--are you better?' asked Greifenstein anxiously.

She gasped for breath and seemed unable to speak. Greifenstein looked at his brother. 'I cannot imagine how she knew your name,' he said. 'Did you know her before?'

Rieseneck had turned white again and stood twisting his fingers as though in some terrible distress. Greifenstein had not noticed his manner before, and gazed at him now in considerable surprise. He fancied that Rieseneck feared discovery and danger to himself.

'What is the matter!' he asked impatiently. 'You are safe enough yet--'

While he spoke Clara endeavoured to rise, supporting herself upon one hand, and staring wildly at Rieseneck. The presentiment of a great unknown evil came upon Greifenstein, and he laid his hand heavily upon his brother's arm.

'What is the meaning of this?' he asked sternly. 'Do you know each other?'

The words roused Rieseneck. He drew back from his brother's touch and answered in a broken voice:

'Let me go. Let me leave this house--'

'No!' exclaimed the other firmly. 'You shall not go yet.'

Again he grasped Rieseneck's arm, this time with no intention of relinquishing his hold.

'Let him go, Hugo!' gasped Clara. She struggled to her feet and tried to unloose the iron grip of her husband's fingers, straining her weak hands in the useless attempt. 'Let him go!' she repeated frantically. 'For G.o.d's sake let him go!'

'What is he to you?' asked Greifenstein. Then, as though he guessed some fearful answer to his question he repeated it in a fiercer tone. 'What is he to you? And what are you to her?' he cried, facing his brother as he shook him by the arm.

'You have cause to be angry,' said Rieseneck. 'And so have I.' He fixed his eyes on Clara's, and something like a smile flitted over his features.

'Speak!' commanded Greifenstein, to whom the suspense was becoming unbearable.

Clara saw that Rieseneck was about to utter the fatal words, and with a last remnant of energy she made a desperate attempt to cover his mouth with her hand. But she was too late.

'This woman is my wife, not yours!' he cried in ringing tones.

In an instant Greifenstein thrust his brother from him, so that he reeled back against the wall.

'Liar!' he almost yelled.

Clara fell upon the floor between the two men, a shapeless heap of finery. Rieseneck looked his brother in the face and answered the insult calmly. From the moment when he had recognised Clara, he had felt that he must see the whole horror of her fall with his own eyes in order to be avenged for his wrongs.

'I told you my wife was dead,' he said slowly. 'I believed it. She is alive. She has lived to ruin you as she ruined me. Clara von Rieseneck--that is your name--stand upon your feet--lift up your infamous face, and own your lawful husband!'

Even then Clara might have saved herself. One vigorous protest, and Greifenstein would without doubt have slain his brother with his hands.

But she had not the strength left to speak the strong lie. She dragged herself to her accuser's feet and threw her arms about his knees.

'Mercy!' she could not utter any other word.

'You see,' said Rieseneck. 'She is alive, she knows me!'

'Mercy!' groaned the wretched creature, fawning upon him with her wasted hands.

'Down, beast!' answered the tall old man with savage contempt. 'There is no mercy for such as you.'

Greifenstein had stood still for some seconds, overcome by the horror of his shame. One glance told him that his brother had spoken the truth. He turned away and stood facing the empty room. His face was convulsed, his teeth ground upon each other, his hands were clenched as in the agony of death. From his straining eyes great tears rolled down his grey cheeks, the first and the last that he ever shed. And yet by that strange instinct of his character which abhorred all manifestation of emotion, he stood erect and motionless, as a soldier on parade. The deathblow had struck him, but he must die on his feet.

Then after a long pause, broken only by Clara's incoherent groans and sobs, he heard Rieseneck's footstep behind him, and then his brother's voice, calling him by his name.

'Hugo--what has this woman deserved?'

'Death,' answered Greifenstein solemnly.

'She helped to ruin me through my faults, she has ruined you through no fault of yours. She must die.'

'She must die,' repeated Greifenstein.

'She has given you a son who is nameless. She cast off the son she bore to me because through me his name was infamous. She must pay the penalty.'

'She must die.'

Greifenstein did not turn round even then. He crossed the room to the chimney-piece and laid his two hands upon it. Still he heard his brother's voice, though the words were no longer addressed to him.

'Clara von Rieseneck, your hour is come.'

'Mercy, Kuno! For G.o.d's sake--'

'There is no mercy. Confess your crime. The time is short.' The wretched old woman tried to rise, but Rieseneck's hand kept her upon her knees.

'You shall do me this justice before you go,' he said. 'Repeat your misdeeds after me. You, Clara Kurtz, were married to me in the year eighteen hundred and forty-seven.'

'Yes--it is true,' answered the poor creature in broken tones.

'Say it! You shall say the words!'

Her teeth chattered. Transfixed by fear, her lips moved mechanically.

'I, Clara Kurtz, was married to you in the year eighteen hundred and forty-seven.'

The woman's incredible vanity survived everything. Her voice sank to a whisper at the two last words of the date, for Greifenstein had never known her real age.