The two-handed weapon was raised
high in the air, glittered for a moment in the rays of the rising sun,
then descended with the rapidity of lightning, while the head of the
murderer having slipped out of the handkerchief with the force of the
blow, fell with a crash on the platform. A loud cheer is raised by the crowd, and young Leo having thrown away
his sword and pushed aside the assistant executioner, has seized the
head of the criminal and torn off the bandage from his eyes. He holds it
high in the air by its purple locks and gloats with fiendish
satisfaction on its writhing features. The muscles of the face are
fearfully convulsed, as if the spirit had not as yet quite departed, but
still lingered about the corpse, being loth to leave its tenement. The
eyes roll hideously and appear to gaze reproachfully upon the face of
the young executioner. Suddenly a change comes over the features of the
young man. His countenance, the moment before so flushed with triumph
and revenge, now assumes a ghastly pallor; a cold sweat breaks out on
his forehead, his matted locks stand on end. His eyes start from his
head, his jaw drops low. Then, with a preternatural shriek, he drops the
head, which rolls down the hillock of earth among the crowd, staggers
and falls heavily upon the platform, gasping out "_Oh, Gott! mein
Vater!_"

No words can describe the sensation created among the crowd at this
horrible scene. Questions and explanations ensued, and a rush was made
towards the scaffold. Assistance was at length procured, and the son of
the late executioner was lifted from the ground and driven toward his
own house in the cart that he had set out in that morning to execute his
fearful mission. A doctor was sent for, who declared that he was in an
apoplectic fit. In time, however, he recovered, and the doctor left
someone with him to attend to him and keep him quiet. Nevertheless, when
he came to reflect upon what had happened that morning, in spite of all
restraint, he rushed wildly into the chamber where his poor paralytic
mother lay on her death-bed, and losing all caution and reflection in
his emotion, he related in a wild and excited manner the dreadful events
of the day. The result may be anticipated. The poor woman, long given up
by the doctors, sank under the startling news, and expired almost
instantaneously. Young Leo, who, with the exception of his drunkenness had really nothing
very bad in him, now gave way to the most excessive grief, for he loved
his mother tenderly. He felt himself now guilty of the murder of both
his parents, and refused all consolation. What had he now to live for,
thought he. His father he had murdered with his own hands and sent with
curses to the tomb; his mother, so dear to him he had hurried to the
grave through his insane want of self-restraint. His lady-love, false
(as he thought), for secretly they had plighted their troth together. What was life to him now but a burden? He loathed it. These gloomy
thoughts clouded his mind with a profound melancholy, a deep incurable
despair. On the following morning Leo Wenzel, the young executioner,
fell upon his own sword, yet moist with the blood of his father, by him
so unconsciously shed on the day before. With the death of Leo Wenzel the family became extinct, and the
profession of the Scharfrichter went begging. But who was the assistant
executioner? Nobody could find out. He had disappeared as mysteriously
as he had made his appearance. Some said it was one, and some another,
while the most settled belief was that it could be none other than the
arch-fiend himself who had come to carry off the Henker's soul. In the
confusion that followed the swoon of young Leo he had vanished, and no
one had seen whither. No human being could have passed through a crowd
without being seen by someone, therefore it must have been the
arch-enemy of mankind. Thus reasoned the people of ----dorf. And Lieschen, what became of her? Poor girl! the news of her lover's
suicide, for she had truly loved the youthful headsman, had completely
overwhelmed her. She fell into a decline and outlived her lover but one
year. The servant of the burgomaster was mistaken in believing that after
Leo's death the course would be now clear for him. His heartless scheme
had come to light (for it was difficult to keep anything long a secret
in ----dorf), and he found the door of Lieschen's house closed upon him
for ever. He soon knew himself hated by all the town, and tradition goes on to
relate that some years afterwards, when he was in the service of another
master, his employer having missed certain articles of plate and called
in the police to search his coffers, they found not only the missing
articles, but also a black mask and a suit of sad coloured clothes,
recognised as having been worn by the assistant on the day of Wenzel's
execution. Finding his reputation lost in ----dorf, he deemed it advisable to
retire to another village, where he afterwards married. The last we hear
of him is that he ultimately accepted the office of Scharfrichter, and
took up his abode in the house of Franz Wenzel, where he reared up a
long line of executioners, which was only broken many years later by the
profession of the Henker ceasing to be obligatory. But what of our two friends Fritz and Ludwig? We had nigh forgotten
them. That they were both of them present at the execution is undoubted
from certain passages in their correspondence after my ancestor had left
Germany for ever. The day after Wenzel's execution was the last time
they met on earth. They each of them passed the remainder of their days
in their own respective countries though they corresponded frequently. The most recently dated letter from Ludwig Engstein bears with it the
news of his marriage, and in a postscript he mentions having been just
informed that since the execution of Franz Wenzel the tricks of the
Poltergeist had ceased for ever. *       *       *       *       *

Murmurs of applause were upon every lip as our artist finished his
narrative, when Mr. Oldstone, rising, thus addressed the club. "Gentlemen; I think you will all agree with me that my friend Mr.
McGuilp has fully earned his sitting from the fair Helen?" "Yes, yes," cried several voices; "he has paid us beforehand. Let him
have his rights." At this moment the door opened ajar and the head of Dame Hearty appeared
at the aperture to inform the club that her daughter was now at their
disposal. "Let her be brought in!" shouted a chorus of voices. "It is but fair
that we should have one more look at Helen before Mr. McGuilp walks off
with her." Helen then appeared in the doorway and was greeted enthusiastically by
the whole club, in the midst of which the painter, after looking at his
watch and ascertaining that it was yet early enough for a good sitting,
left the room and made for his studio, where, having set his palette, he
was joined shortly afterwards by his fair model.