ainst
the wall, to wait till the storm and the night should pass.

The horses had lain down, and the Countess, as I perceived by her deep
breathing and her not answering me, was asleep. The thunder and
lightning were less near and less powerful, but the rain still fell, now
decreasingly and now with suddenly regathered force. At last I too
slept.

I awoke during the night, and changed from a sitting to a lying
position. When I next opened my eyes, the light of dawn was streaming in
at the door. The storm had ceased, birds were twittering outside. I was
aching and hungry. The Countess's face, as she slept, betokened weakness
and pain. I went and adjusted a saddle-flap that had got awry under her.
As I did so, she awoke.

"I am so tired," she said in a slow, small voice, like that of a weary
child.

"You are faint for want of food," said I. "You have eaten nothing since
noon yesterday, and very little then."

Thinking I wished to hurry our departure in search of breakfast, she
shook her head and murmured weakly:

"I am not able to go on just now. I assure you, I cannot even stand. All
strength seems to have gone out of me." As if to illustrate, she raised
her hand a few inches: it trembled a moment, then fell as if powerless.

It was plain that she was, whether from fatigue and privation alone, or
from illness also, in a helpless state. It would be cruelty and folly to
put her on horseback. And without at least the refreshment of food and
wine, how was her condition to be improved so that she might leave this
place?

After some thought and talk, I said:

"The only thing is for me to go and get you food and wine, while you
stay here. But, alas, what danger you may be in while I am gone! If
anybody should come here and find you!"

"Nobody may come. Surely there are many days when this place is left
deserted."

"But if somebody _should_ come?"

"All people are not cruel and wicked. It might be a person who is kind
and good."

"But the robbers?"

"Why should they come? There is nothing for them here. If they came it
would be by chance; against that, we can trust in God."

"Perhaps intruders can be bolted out," said I, going to examine the
door. It was of thick oak, heavily studded with nails, and two of its
three hinges still held firmly. But there was no bolt, nor any means of
barring.

"Nothing but a lock," I said, "and no key for that." It only aggravated
my feeling of mockery to discover that both p