Adelaide gently clasped her hands together, and looked down upon the ground for a moment or two, lost in deep thought. It was not that she hesitated, it was not that she asked herself, "Shall I, or shall I not, quit this place of sure and peaceful refuge, to mingle again with the strifes and confusion of the world?" for her mind was made up; and, thus far advanced, she was ready to go on. But it was that she saw many a painful hour before her, and she asked herself, "How shall I surmount all the anguish and the difficulty of the hour? Will my courage fail, will my bodily strength give way? Will God help me at my need, and strengthen me to do his appointed task?" As she thus thought, her hands pressed closer together, and her lips murmured, "Christ help me!" Then turning to Count Rudolph, she said, "I am ready to go, my lord, in obedience to the Emperor's command, and trusting to your word." She did not venture to say more, and Count Rudolph showed some inclination to depart; but the Abbess besought him to pause awhile, till both he and the lady had partaken of some refreshment. To speak the truth, he was not averse to a supply of good meat and wine; for he had ridden far, and was at all times blessed with a good appetite. He made Adelaide his excuse, however; and while he courteously complimented her in somewhat formal speeches, according to the custom of the day, Father George spoke eagerly, but apart, to the lady who had been Adelaide's hostess, and then called the Abbess to their consultation. Like a hill-side under cloud and sunshine, the cheek of the lady glowed and turned pale by turns, as she listened to the words which the monk spoke. She gazed down upon the ground, she looked up to the sky, her eyes filled with tears, her limbs trembled; and ere she answered, she sat down upon a settle, as if overpowered by what was said. "This is foolish and weak," she exclaimed, at length. "I will not shrink from the task, and why should I dread the peril? For him have I lived, for his sake have I endured the burden of existence, which otherwise would have long since crushed me. 'Tis but the habit of concealment and apprehension that engenders these foolish fears; and I will shake them off. Father, you tell me it is right to go, and I will go, if death should be my portion." "Joy may be your portion, daughter," answered Father George, laying his right hand lightly, but impressively, upon her shoulder;--"joy, brighter, deeper, than you have known for years, perhaps than you have known in life--It may be so. I say not that it will; but surely, to see your son raised to the summit of your highest hopes, is sufficient motive even for a greater risk." "It is--it is," answered the lady; "and I will go, good Father; but do not abandon me, do not leave me to meet a strange court, and scenes such as I have not seen for years, alone. I shall feel like some of the wild creatures of the woods, suddenly caught, and brought before a thousand gazing eyes."