“Now, by the lightnings of heaven,” I adjured, “do not talk of this folly, this throwing of your life away. God never made you for prayer, and fast, and vigil. Ilsa, Ilsa,--I know you better than yourself. You were made for the great banquet, the glittering lights, the galloping hunt, the keen wind on the woodlands, the stately court,--or mayhap for those other joys,--the joys of the noble home, the laughter and prattle of children. There are ten myriad nuns in Germany wearying God with overmany rosaries and prayers. There is only one Ilsa von Blankenburg.” Very gently, but with commanding firmness, she put my hand from her dress. “Our speech grows painful, my Lord Graf,” she said with frigid dignity. “I have long since pondered everything you say. God keep you. Farewell.” The arras closed behind her. I was standing staring blankly around the long, dark room. * * * * * I cannot tell how I made my way again back to the Regenstein. All the folk in the two castles and in all the peasant huts for leagues around soon knew how I had come to the Gräfin with fair offer of equal marriage and had been utterly flouted. It was days before I would stir from my own apartments. Moritz indeed came to me, angered perhaps more than I; telling how he had used every possible argument and threat upon his sister, how little they had profited, yet offering to bring to bear yet more; but I forbade him. I would not have the miserable matter prolonged. “And I fear you are right,” spoke Moritz sadly at parting; “we Blankenburgers are a hard, obstinate stock, and Ilsa--why she is only one of us.” Twice, then, standing in a darkened chamber, within a short time, I had broken with a woman who had trodden close along my path,--and where was I now? I think if my pride had not intervened I would even have turned back to Italy and Marianna. But although I was possibly willing to confess myself a knave, I was totally unable to confess myself an entire fool. And I told myself that the sting of the charges flung at me by Ilsa was false. I was not vilest of the vile. I was strong, resolute, clothed with integrity. If for a little season I had lapsed from what the prudish deemed strict propriety, I had answered the call of my better instincts, and responded with the firmness of a born Stoic. And I could recall a thousand cases of worthies, ancient and modern, applauded as cavaliers or heroes, beside whom my recent entanglement with Marianna rose to the level of sheer saintliness.