"Then," said Countess with a smile, "play the widow of Zarephath. Give me thy `little cake,' and when the light dawns, you shall have a new cruse and barrel in reward." "Nay, we look for no reward," answered Christian heartily. "I am only grieved that it should be so little. You are spent with your journey." "I am most spent with the weight. I had to carry the child, and this," she replied, touching a large square parcel, tied in a silk handkerchief round her waist. "It is the child's property--all he has in the world. May the Blessed One be praised that I have saved them both!" "`To them that have no might, He increaseth strength,'" quoted Christian softly. "Then--is not this your child?" "Yes--now." "But not--?" "By gift, not by birth. And it is the Holy One who has given him. Now, good friends, let me not keep you from sleeping. Perhaps I shall sleep myself. We will talk more in the morning." It was evident when the morning arrived, that the saved child had suffered less than she who had saved him. Both needed care, nourishment, and rest; but Countess wanted it far more than Rudolph. A few days sufficed to restore him to his usual lively good health; but it was weeks ere she recovered the physical strain and mental suffering of that terrible night. But Countess was one of those people who never either "give in" or "give up." Before any one but herself thought her half fit for it, she went out, not mentioning her destination, on an expedition which occupied the greater part of a day, and returned at night with a satisfied expression on her face. "I have settled every thing," she said. "And now I will tell you something. Perhaps you were puzzled to know why I sought shelter with you, instead of going to some of my wealthy acquaintances in the town?" "I was, very much," answered Christian hesitatingly. "I supposed you had some reason for it," said David. "Right. I had a reason--a strong one. That I shall not tell you at present. But I will tell you what perhaps you have already guessed-- that I have been divorced from Leo." "Well, I fancied you must have had a quarrel with him, or something of that kind," replied Christian. "Oh, we are on excellent terms," said Countess in a rather sarcastic tone. "So excellent, that he even proposed himself to lend me an escort of armed retainers to convey me to London." "To London!" exclaimed Christian, in some surprise. "I thought you would be going back to your father's house at Oxford." "Oh, no!--that would not do at all. I did think of it for a moment; not now. London will be much better." "May I take the liberty to ask how you mean to live?" said David. "Of course it is no business of mine, but--" "Go on," said Countess, when he hesitated. "Well, I don't quite see what you can do, without either husband or father. Perhaps your brother Rubi is coming with you? You can't live alone, surely."