d
deliver it to you." Vittoria spoke as gently as the harsh tidings would
allow.

"Wounded? My God! my God!" Anna cried in her own language. "Wounded?-in
the breast, then! He carried it in his breast. Wounded by what? by what?"

"I can tell you no more."

"Wounded by whom?"

"It was an honourable duel."

"Are you afraid to tell me he has been assassinated?"

"It was an honourable duel."

"None could match him with the sword."

"His enemy had nothing but a dagger."

"Who was his enemy?"

"It is no secret, but I must leave him to say."

"You were a witness of the fight?"

"I saw it all."

"The man was one of your party!

"Ah!" exclaimed Vittoria, "lose no time with me, Countess Anna, go to him
at once, for though he lived when I left him, he was bleeding; I cannot
say that he was not dying, and he has not a friend near."

Anna murmured like one overborne by calamity. "My brother struck down one
day--he the next!" She covered her face a moment, and unclosed it to
explain that she wept for her brother, who had been murdered, stabbed in
Bologna.

"Was it Count Ammiani who did this?" she asked passionately.

Vittoria shook her head; she was divining a dreadful thing in relation to
the death of Count Paul.

"It was not?" said Anna. "They had a misunderstanding, I know. But you
tell me the man fought with a dagger. It could not be Count Ammiani. The
dagger is an assassin's weapon, and there are men of honour in Italy
still."

She called to a servant in the castle-yard, and sent him down with orders
to stop the soldier Wilhelm.

"We heard this morning that you were coming, and we thought it curious,"
she observed; and called again for her horse to be saddled. "How far is
this place where he is lying? I have no knowledge of the Ultenthal. Has
he a doctor attending him? When was he wounded? It is but common humanity
to see that he is attended by an efficient doctor. My nerves are unstrung
by the recent blow to our family; that is why--Oh, my father! my holy
father!" she turned to a grey priest's head that was rising up the
ascent, "I thank God for you! Lena is away riding; she weeps constantly
when she is within four walls. Come in and give me tears, if you can; I
am half mad for the want of them. Tears first; teach me patience after."

The old priest fanned his face with his curled hat, and raised one hand
as he uttered a gentle chiding in reproof of curbless human sorrow. Anna
said to Vittoria, coldl