allowed her to depart, he bemoaned the fact that he had acted rudely to
her, and thus had probably made her return impossible. His prison
seemed inexpressibly dreary lacking her presence. Once or twice he
called out her name, but the echoing empty walls alone replied.

For the first time in his life the heavy sleep of the camp deserted
him, and in his dreams he pursued a phantom woman, who continually
dissolved in his grasp, now laughingly, now in anger.

The morning found him deeply depressed, and he thought the unaccustomed
restraints of a prison were having their effect on the spirits of a man
heretofore free. He sat silently on the bench watching the door.

At last, to his great joy, he heard the rattle of bolts being
withdrawn. The door opened slowly to the small extent allowed by the
chains, but no one entered and the Count sat still, concealed from the
view of whoever stood without.

"My Lord Count," came the sweet tones of the girl and the listener with
joy, fancied he detected in it a suggestion of apprehension, doubtless
caused by the fact that the room seemed deserted. "My Lord Count, I
have brought your breakfast; will you not come and receive it?"

Herbert rose slowly and came within range of his jailer's vision. The
girl stood in the hall, a repast that would have tempted an epicure
arrayed on the wooden trencher she held in her hands.

"Beatrix, come in," he said.

"I fear that in stooping, some portion of this burden may fall. Will