The Sergeant kneeled down and leaned over him to listen. With a quick movement Rosenblatt jerked the pistol from the Sergeant's belt and fired straight at old Kalmar, turned the pistol toward Kalman and fired again. But as he levelled his gun for the second time, Paulina, with a cry, flung herself upon Kalman, received the bullet, and fell to the ground. With a wild laugh, Rosenblatt turned the pistol on himself, but before he could fire the Sergeant had wrested it from his hand.
"Aha," he gasped, "I have my revenge!"
"Fool!" said old Kalmar, who was being supported by his son.
"Fool! You have only done for me what I would have done for myself."
With a snarl as of a dog, Rosenblatt sank back upon the ground, and with a shudder lay still.
"He is dead," said Brown. "God's mercy meet him!"
"Ah," said old Kalmar, "I breathe freer now that his breath no longer taints the air. My work is done."
"Oh, my father," cried Kalman brokenly, "may God forgive you!"
"Boy," said the old man sternly, "mean you for the death of yon dog? You hang the murderer. He is many times a murderer. This very night he had willed to murder you and your friend. He was condemned to death by a righteous tribunal. He has met his just doom. God is just. I meet Him without fear for this. For my sins, which are many, I trust His mercy."
"My father," said Kalman, "you are right. I believe you. And God is merciful. Christ is merciful."
As he spoke, he leaned over, and wiping from his father's face the tears that fell upon it, he kissed him on the forehead. The old man's breath was growing short. He looked towards Brown. At once Brown came near.
"You are a good man. Your religion is good. It makes men just and kind. Ah, religion is a beautiful thing when it makes men just and kind."
He turned his eyes upon Jack French, who stood looking down sadly upon him.
"You have been friend to my son," he said. "You will guide him still?"
French dropped quickly on his knee, took him by the hand and said, "I will be to him a brother."
The old man turned his face and said, "Paulina."
"She is here," said old Portnoff, "but she can't move."
At the sound of his voice, the woman struggled up to her knees, crawled over to his side, the blood flowing from her wound, and taking his hand, held it to her lips.
"Paulina," he said, "you have done well--you are--my wife again--come near me."
The woman made an inarticulate moan like some dumb beast, and lifted her face toward him.
"Kiss me," he said.
"Ah, my lord," she cried, sobbing wildly, "my dear lord, I dare not."
"Kiss me," he said again.
"Now let me die," she cried, kissing him on the lips, and falling down in a faint beside him.
Brown lifted her and laid her in Portnoff's arms. The dying man lay silent, gathering his strength. He was breathing now with great difficulty.
"My son! I cannot see you--"
Brown came and took Kalman's place.
"Here I am, father," said Kalman, kneeling beside him and holding his two hands.
"Bid--my daughter Irma--farewell! She will be safe with you."
Then after a pause he whispered, "In my pocket."
Kalman understood, found a packet, and from it drew the miniature of his mother.
"I give you this," said the father, lifting it with difficulty to his lips. "No curse with it now--only blessing--farewell--you have brought me joy--let me see her face--ah, dear heart--" he said, fastening his glazing eyes upon the beautiful face, "I come to you--ah! *******!--sweet ******* at last!--and love--all love! My son--farewell!--my love!"
"Dear God!" cried Kalman, "Jesu, have pity and save!"
A smile as of an infant falling asleep played over the rugged face, while the poor lips whispered, "At last--*******!--and--love!"
He breathed once, deep and long, and then no more. The long, long fight was done, the fight for ******* and for love.
