“I fear your Lordship has been troubling yourself with impossibilities,” she answered, coming no nearer, while her tone was as icy as the frozen sheen without. “You have done me vast honor, but it is Moritz’s error if he has not told you that I am shortly to take the veil at the Convent of Quedlinburg.” I was for the instant confounded. I had expected possibly a few maidenly protests--to be duly overcome; but this attitude of stony resistance was baffling. Yet I had gone too far for any retreat. “Lordship? Lord Graf?” I darted back, seizing the first weapon that came to hand. “I was ‘Walter’ when we rode on the last hunt together. Have you one name for your friend in the autumn, and another in the winter, Ilsa?” And now I had struck out fire. “Ilsa? Never, never again from such as you.” And even in the twilight I saw the menace from her eyes. “If right you had to use the name, you have forfeited it--utterly.” “Dear God!” I cried, feeling my own blood quicken. “I will not take that without a reason. Is a year so short a time that an old friend who returns as a suitor is to be flung aside like a broken riding crop? Your cause?” “Palaestro.” She seemed to spit it forth. “Palaestro? and what of Palaestro?” I demanded, all my fine speeches cast to the wind. “What of Palaestro? When every traveller has brought back the tale of how you and your guests have--amused yourselves. Dare you ask _that_ of me?” “Noble Gräfin,” I declared, resolving not to lose my temper, but to reason her out of her passion, “when you permit me I will relate to you the manner of my leaving Palaestro; at present let me recall to you that your brother assuredly knows all that you do of my life there, and yet he cheerfully furthers my suit.” “Of course” (oh! how glorious rose her indignation); “he is a man. He thinks of your noble name, your wealth, the worldly advantage. But I--God pity me! (her voice broke) I think of none of these things. I think of your soul. Your soul--Walter. For I have loved you. Therefore I am resolved to go to the convent.” “You have loved me? Therefore you are resolved on the convent? Thunder of heaven! now at last I believe I am turning mad.” “Not mad. You hear only too well. Ah! if you were but a stranger whom I did not love; then I might marry you. I would sacrifice myself to aid my brother, and through my husband restore our old Blankenburg name. But you!--It is wholly impossible. I must go to the convent--for your sake.” By a great effort I forced myself to be calm. “Ilsa,” I commanded, “contain yourself. Give me frowns or give me favor, at least answer me clearly. Why, if you love me, will you not marry me?” “Walter,” she said in a shuddering whisper, “answer truly. Were you married to that Italian--that cardinal’s daughter?” “I was not.” “_O weh!_ Would to God you were!” “All men have many sweethearts,” I protested, attempting to turn the storm.