'What caused the delay in starting?' asked Oswald hastily. 'What was the discussion about, and why did your master go off in his sledge alone?' 'It was about a wager,' said the old man, who looked greatly perturbed. 'The Count intends to drive over Stag's Hill.' 'Over that steep hill, just after a heavy downfall of snow? That must mean danger.' 'Yes; so most of the other gentlemen declared; but my master laughed at their fears. He said he would bet that by taking that road he should reach the rendezvous a good quarter of an hour before the rest of the party. It was of no use to remonstrate or retreat. Even Fräulein Hedwig tried in vain. The wager stands. If only he had any other horses to manage than those unruly black beasts....' 'By whose orders were those restive animals put to my cousin's sledge to-day? He generally drives the grays.' 'It was done by the Count's own order. He came down before breakfast to give the grooms their instructions.' 'And the man? Why was he left behind?' 'Also by the Count's directions. He said he wanted no attendant.' Oswald said not another word. He left the old man standing where he was, and without further consideration or delay hurried across to his aunt's apartments. The Countess still watched at the window, though the cortége had long disappeared from sight. She knew nothing of the scene that had taken place that morning in her son's room; yet she seemed to have some foreboding sense, some vague dread upon her, for her hands were folded in mute anguish, and the face she turned towards the new-comer was perfectly ashy in its extreme pallor. She started violently as Oswald came in thus, unexpected and unannounced. For the first time since he had left his old home at Ettersberg they met alone, and face to face. On the preceding evening and that morning they had seen each other only in the presence of strangers, and their intercourse had been limited to a few formal words of greeting. The Countess looked for no mercy from the man whom she estimated as her bitterest enemy, and who certainly had ample cause to be so. Though by an impulse of generosity he had parted with the weapon which would have proved most dangerous, its strength was known to him, and the knowledge gave him power enough over his aunt. But it was not this lady's habit to show herself weak, save only where her son was concerned, and now she at once roused her energies, and assumed a resolute attitude of defence. She stood cold and immovable, determined not to yield an inch, prepared for anything that might come. But no syllable of that she feared and expected came from Oswald's lips. He only approached her quickly, and said, in a low and eager voice: 'What has happened to Edmund?' 'To Edmund? I do not understand you.'