"There is the paper signed, noble Count," he said; "the poor man expresses himself all hungered, and asks for meat and drink." "Did he make any difficulty as to signing this?" asked the Count; adding, "I hope you pressed him not." "There was no need, my son," answered the priest, "he signed it at once, and seemed wondrous meek considering all we have heard of him. All he complained of was thirst and hunger; and, good sooth, he should have food, seeing that he says he has not tasted aught since late last night, and it is three of the clock even now." "Three!" exclaimed the Count; "is it three? How the time flies!" "Hasting on towards eternity," replied the priest; "it is well to think of such things." "It is," answered the Lord of Ehrenstein; "he shall have food. Thanks, Father, for your pains; the poor man shall have food:--I had forgot how rapidly time speeds away from us;--thanks." As soon as the chaplain was gone, he read the paper over again, and marked well the scrawl which testified the Baron of Eppenfeld's concurrence in the truth of its contents; and then he somewhat regretted that he had not made them stronger in expression, considering the facility with which it had been signed. But after having carefully locked it in a casket, he turned his thoughts to other subjects, only second in importance to that which had just been discussed and settled. "Now, then, for this strange tale," he said; "I cannot believe it true. He would not dare;--and yet the youth spoke boldly. It may be malice after all: I never saw aught but such reverence as might become one in his station to the daughter of his lord; nor, on her part, aught but kindness--gentle, yet not familiar--such as she shows to all. And yet it is strange she has not come forth to greet her father on his return. She never failed before. Oh, if it be so, my vengeance shall be long remembered in the land;--but no, it is impossible! I will never believe it. This Martin of Dillberg is a proved traitor: the Baron's words condemn him; and he has known that Ferdinand would bring him to the question, and with the common art of half-fledged villany, has taken the poor vantage ground of the first charge. But it must be inquired into--must be refuted. I will call the youth before me:--nay, I will see her first.--But I will not tax her with it: such accusations often plant in the mind the first seeds of deeds to come. I have known many a guiltless heart made guilty by being once suspected." With these thoughts--for it is wonderful how often the same reflexions present themselves to the pure and to the corrupt, only their effects upon action are different--he went forth into the corridor, and opened the door of his daughter's apartments. In the ante-chamber the girl Theresa was sitting alone at her embroidery, and the Count asked, "Where is your mistress? How is it she has not been to greet her father on his return?"