grip, and before I could move, a voice from the
other end of the room, where the shadows were deepest, arrested me.

"'"Touch that curtain, or dare to look upon my daughter's face, Martin
de Vaux, and you die! For her soul's sake I have permitted this! Now
go!"

"'I peered through the darkness, and I saw the tall, gaunt frame
of the Count of Cruta standing near the entrance. I hesitated for a
moment.

"'"Irene is my wife," I answered. "I offer no excuse to you for
my conduct, but at least I have the right to try and win her
forgiveness."

"'He moved a step forward, and his voice shook with passion. "You have
no rights! You are dishonoured! You are a villain! What! you to reason
with me under my own roof! Away! Out of my sight, lest I forget my
word and deal you out your deserts!"

"'My heart was hot with shame and anger, but I lingered. "Let her
speak," I answered, pointing to the bed. "It is she against whom I
have sinned, and her word I will obey. Irene! may I not stay by your
side? Tell me that you forgive!"

"'I clutched passionately at the curtain, resolved to tear it aside,
and plead with Irene upon my knees. But I was held from behind in a
strong, vise-like grasp, and one of the monks who stood there on guard
sternly wrested the curtain from my hands.

"'"Away with him!" cried the Count, his voice shaking with passion.
"Rudolph, do you hear!"

"'I nerved myself for a struggle, but in that moment's pause a thin,
white hand stole from behind the curtain and held mine for a moment.

"'"Martin, go quickly!" said a faint, weak voice, so altered that
I scarcely recognised it as the voice of Irene. "It is my wish--my
command."

"'"One word, Irene!" I cried, struggling to free myself. "Just one
word!"

"'"Farewell!"

"'"Irene, you are my wife. Have you nothing else to say to me?"

"'"Farewell!"

"'There was no sweetness, no regret in that single word. I bowed my
head in despair and went.'"

* * * * *

There was a long pause. Father Adrian was leaning back in his chair
with half-closed eyes, as though exhausted. Paul, standing opposite
to him, motionless and silent as a figure of stone, was listening to
every word with grave, anxious face.

"Will you hear the rest of the story now?" the priest asked after a
prolonged silence.

Paul bowed his head. "I am waiting," he said simply.

"I will continue, then, in your father's own words as near as
possible. This is what