in his almost
unconsciously. Then, as though he were in a holy place, he took off his
hat, and stood bareheaded before her.

"If I forsake you, Vjera," he said very solemnly, "if I forsake you ever,
in riches or in poverty, in honour or in disrepute, may the God of heaven
forsake me in the hour of my death."

He swore the great oath deliberately, in a strong, clear voice, and then
was silent for a moment, his eyes turned upwards, his attitude unchanged.
Then he raised the poor girl's thin hand to his lips and kissed it, three
times, reverently, as devout persons kiss the relics of departed saints.

"Good-night, Vjera," he said, quietly. "We shall meet to-morrow."

Vjera was awed by his solemn earnestness, and strongly moved by his
action.

"Good-night," she answered, lovingly. "Heaven bless you and keep you
safe." She looked for a last time into his face, as though trying to
impress upon her mind the memories of that fateful evening, and then she
withdrew into the house, shutting the street door behind her.

The Count stood still for several minutes, unconsciously holding his hat
in his hand. At last he covered his head and walked slowly away in the
direction of his home. By degrees his mind fell into its old groove and he
hastened his steps. From time to time, he fancied that some one was
following him at no great distance, but though he glanced quickly over his
shoulder he saw no one in the dimly-lighted street. The door of the house
in which he lived was open, and he ran up the stairs at a great pace, sure
that by this time his friends must be waiting for him in his room. When he
reached it, all was dark and quiet. The echo of his own footsteps seemed
still to resound in the staircase as he closed his door and struck a
match. He found his small lamp in a corner, lighted it with some
difficulty, set it on the table and sat down. There, beside him, propped
up against two books, was the piece of paper on which he had written the
few words for his friends, in case they came while he was out. He took it
up, looked over it absently and began to fold it upon itself again and
again.

"Dear Vjera!" he exclaimed, in a low caressing tone, as he smoothed the
folded strip between his fingers.

He was thinking, and thinking connectedly, of all that had just taken
place, and wondering how it was that he had been able to accept such a
sacrifice from one so little able to sacrifice anything. It seemed as
though it should hav