ven when the heart is breaking and the abyss is
opening. O woman! this is thy part in the mortal struggle of human life!"

I was pursuing these reflections when the lord of Nideck began to speak--

"If my dear child Odile would but consult my wishes I believe my health
would return."

I looked towards the young countess; she fixed her eyes on the floor, and
seemed to be praying silently.

"Yes," the sick man went on, "I should then return to life; the prospect
of seeing myself surrounded by a young family, and of pressing
grandchildren to my heart, and beholding the succession to my house,
would revive me."

At the mild and gentle tone of entreaty in which this was said I felt
deeply moved with compassion; but the young lady made no reply.

In a minute or two the count, who kept his watchful eyes upon her, went
on--

"Odile, you refuse to make your father a happy man? I only ask for a
faint hope. I fix no time. I won't limit your choice. We will go to
court. There you will have a hundred opportunities of marrying with
distinction and with honour. Who would not be proud to win my daughter's
hand? You shall be perfectly free to decide for yourself."

He paused.

There is nothing more painful to a stranger than these family quarrels.
There are such contending interests, so many private motives, at work,
that mere modesty should make it our duty to place ourselves out of
hearing of such discussions. I felt pained, and would gladly have
retired. But the circumstances of the case forbade this.

"My dear father," said Odile, as if to evade any further discussion, "you
will get better. Heaven will not take you from those who love you. If you
but knew the fervour with which I pray for you!"

"That is not an answer," said the count drily. "What objection can you
make to my proposal? Is it not fair and natural? Am I to be deprived of
the consolations vouchsafed to the neediest and most wretched? You know
I have acted towards you openly and frankly."

"You have, my father."

"Then give me your reason for your refusal."

"My resolution is formed--I have consecrated myself to God."

So much firmness in so frail a being made me tremble. She stood like the
sculptured Madonna in Hugh's tower, calm and immovable, however weak in
appearance.

The eyes of the count kindled with an ominous fire. I tried to make the
young countess understand by signs how gladly I would hear her give the
least hope, and calm his rising pas