LITMIR.BIZ

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high wax candles burned unceasingly.

      Near the Archbishop, by a table, sat the monkish secretary, who wrote at his Lordship's slow dictation, orders pertaining to business both ecclesiastical and military. At the door of the room, which was concealed by a heavy crimson curtain, stood two fully-mailed men-at-arms, with tall pikes upright, whose ends rested on the polished floor. Near them, out of hearing of the Archbishop's low voice, stood, cap in hand, a courier equipped for riding, evidently awaiting the despatches which the monk was writing. Deep silence pervaded the great room and each person within it was motionless, save only the monk, who now was tying the despatches into bundles and sealing them at the small candle which burned on the table beside him.

      The heavy drapery over the door parted, and a retainer entered softly, standing with his back to the curtain until a scarcely perceptible motion of the Archbishop's head permitted him to advance. Dropping on one knee before the seated monarch, he said:

      "My Lord Archbishop, the Countess Tekla begs to be admitted."

      The Archbishop made no reply, and the messenger remained on his knee. The despatches were given to the waiting courier, who departed. Then his Lordship said curtly, "Admit her."

      The messenger, rising, went to the door, held back the curtains, and a moment later there glided into the room the Countess Tekla, who stood pale against the crimson background. The Archbishop regarded her with a dark and menacing look, but gave no other greeting. Seeing no motion which invited her to approach, the girl, after standing a moment or two in hesitation, moved swiftly forward and sank down before the throne.

      "My Lord," she murmured; then agitation seemed to choke her utterance.

      "If you come here to kneel," said the Archbishop, in low, deep tones, "kneel at the altar yonder and not to me. While you are there, pray that the saints bestow upon you a contrite spirit."

      "My Lord," she cried, "I beg of you to take my lands, and graciously permit me to retire to a convent that you may be pleased to appoint for me."

      "Your lands are mine, as your person is mine, to dispose of at my will, unquestioned."

      "My Lord, when my father gave my guardianship to you – "

      "I hold my guardianship, not by your father's will, but through the reading of the feudal law. Your father, in dutifully testifying that his wish ran parallel with the law, set an example which his daughter may profitably follow."

      "I wish to follow his example. I wish to render up to you all lands that were his. I wish to devote my poor services to Mother Church."

      "Your poor services shall be given where I bestow them. Betake yourself to your apartments, and come not here again until you bring with you a bending will and an unrebellious spirit."

      "My lord guardian, I do beseech you to hear me."

      "I have heard enough and too much," said the Archbishop sternly. "Write," he added to the secretary: "'To Count Bertrich. Hold yourself in readiness to wed the Countess Tekla in the chapel of our summer palace two days hence – on Friday at mid-day.'"

      The Countess rose to her feet, the colour mounting to her cheek and brow.

      "My Lord," she cried, a ring of indignation in her voice, "add to that a request that the Count disclose to you the cause of his first wife's death, so that you may judge whether he is a fit person to entrust with a second."

      "You may question him regarding that after marriage. I have ever understood that a man will grant information to his bride which he risks peril of his soul by concealing from his confessor. To your apartments, obstinate woman; there is but brief space to prepare for the festivities."

      "My Lord, my Lord, I bid you beware. It is feudal law that you may dispose of my hand as you will; but by feudal law I also have the right to make choice instead of a convent and forfeiture of my lands."

      "Despatch that message to Count Bertrich," said the Elector to his secretary.

      "My Lord Archbishop, I will appeal to our Holy Father, the Pope, and to the Emperor."

      "Do so. We will marry you first, and should we have made a mistake our Holy Father hath ample power to remedy it. And now, madame, your audience is ended."

      The Countess retired to her apartments, knelt before the image of her saint and prayed for guidance. She was in some doubt that the harsh old man would insist on the carrying out of his threat, and she had hope that he would send for her to tell her so, but no message came from him. Tekla slept little that night, and going down to early mass she saw the chapel already decorated for the dreaded ceremony, the workmen having evidently spent the night in preparing it.

      The floral wreaths, the loops of white flowers breathing sweetness and perfume, typical of love, joy and happiness, seemed in such ghastly contrast to the reality, that their simple presence did more to decide the girl than all the other influences which, on that eventful day, helped to shape her conduct.

      She resolved to escape from the thraldom of the Archbishop; seek refuge in the castle of her uncle, and from that haven send an appeal to the Pope and also to the Emperor. The only question was now that of means. Castle Thuron was on the Moselle; the river was swift; she knew little of the geography of the country, but she was aware that the roads by the stream were bad, and she doubted if they extended all or even the greater part of the way to the Rhine. Could she once get several hours start, on that rapid current, the chances of being overtaken were slight.

      While the Countess had full confidence in her maid Hilda, she thought it better not to confide her plans to any one. Hilda would be sure to tell her lover, and that young man might at the very outset refuse to undertake so perilous a voyage.

      Then if Hilda were cross-questioned and became frightened, she could not confess what she did not know. In the case of failure Tekla wished to face all the results of her rebellion alone, and leave herself the right to say that none other knew of her purpose. Questioning Hilda, and finding she had learned where Conrad lived, the Countess, with the natural craft of her sex, made preparations calculated to baffle her pursuers, temporarily at least. When darkness set in, she requested Hilda to lay out for her the costume she usually wore. This costume she astonished Hilda by asking her to put on. When the tire-woman had thus arrayed herself the two looked like sisters, and Hilda laughed merrily at the transformation, which caused even the Countess, anxious as she was, to smile.

      "Now listen attentively, Hilda, and act with circumspection. I have reason for wishing you to be mistaken for me to-night. You will put on this heavy veil so that none may see your face. Go quietly through the Palace and pass the guards without speaking to any or looking at any. Avoid meeting three persons at all hazards; return at once if you see one or other of them, and hie forth again as soon as danger is past. These three are the Archbishop, Count Bertrich, and the monk who is his Lordship's secretary. The guards will not stop you nor speak to you, thinking it is I who pass. Once outside, see that you are not followed, then get you to Conrad's house and bid him instantly to take you in his boat to the watersteps of the Palace, where I will await you."

      "Conrad spoke of another to help him with the boat; should he be absent shall Conrad search for him, my Lady?"

      "No. If he is there, bring him; if he is not, come instantly without. But first you must come with me to the water-door and bolt the door when I am out upon the steps."

      "But how shall we return, my Lady?"

      "I will tell thee more regarding our return when we are in the boat."

      Hilda barred her lady out, which seemed a strange proceeding, then, safely reached without question or following, the door of Baron Siegfried, where she knocked twice.

      CHAPTER VII

      THE FLIGHT OF THE COUNTESS

      "It is the Countess Tekla herself," cried Conrad, at the window.

      "Then unbar at once and do not keep her waiting," commanded the Emperor, eagerly.

      The bolts were instantly drawn back and the door thrown open.

      "Oh, Conrad," whispered Hilda, flinging the veil over her shoulder, thus disclosing her face. She paused in the midst of her speech when she saw a stranger

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