I explained that Udal was little accustomed to travelling in strange countries, and had no knowledge of either the German or Italian tongues; and to put a close to the discussion, I rose from my seat and walked away to the end of the apartment, where I busied myself over some weapons that hung upon the wall. In a minute or so I heard the door close softly, and facing about, I saw that the priest and Mdlle. Durette, who had taken no part in any of this talk, had departed out of the room. The Countess came towards me. "I sent them away," she said, with a wan smile, and a voice subdued to great gentleness. "I have no thought to--to part with you so soon. Stay out this week. You--you told me that you had something which you wished to say." "Madame," said I, snatching eagerly at her hand, "you also told me that you had guessed it." "Not now; not now." She slipped her hand from my grasp with an imploring cry, and held it outspread close before my face to check my words. "Not now. I could not bear it. Oh, I would that I had more strength to resist, or more weakness to succumb." Never have I heard such pain in a human voice: never have I seen features so wrung with suffering. The sight of her cut me to the heart. "Listen," she went on, controlling herself after a moment, though her voice still trembled with agitation, and now and again ran upwards into an odd laugh, the like of which I have never hearkened to before or since. 'Twas the most pitiful sound that ever jarred on a man's ears. "On the night of the marriage the villagers will come to the Castle to dance in the Great Hall. That night you shall speak to me, and a carriage shall be ready to take you away afterwards, if you will. Until that night be 'prudent.'" She gave me no time to answer her, but ran to the door, and so out of the room. I could hear her footsteps falling uncertainly along the gallery, as though she stumbled while she ran, and a great anger against the priest flamed up in my breast. "Strength to resist, or weakness to succumb." Doubtless the words would have bewildered me, like the oracles of old Greece, but for what I suspicioned in the priest Now, however, in the blindness of my thoughts, I construed them as the confirmation of my belief that he was practising all his arts upon Ilga to secure Lukstein for the Church. 'Twas Father Spaur, I imagined, whom she had neither the strength to resist nor the weakness to yield to, and I fancied that I was set upon a second contest for the winning of her, though this time with a more subtle and noteworthy antagonist. And yet for all my fears, for all Ilga's trouble, with such selfish pertinacity do a lover's reflections seek to enhearten his love, I could not but feel a throb of joy for that she had so plainly shown to me what the struggle cost her. CHAPTER XVIII. AT LUKSTEIN.