between my love and me."

He raised his clenched fist and shook it at the tower above him, and
seemed about to break forth in new maledictions against the lady, when
Beatrix, clasping her hands cried in terror:

"No, no, Herbert, you have said enough. How can you pretend to love me
when implacable hatred lies so near to your affection. You must forgive
the Countess. Oh, Herbert, Herbert, what more could I do to atone? I
have withdrawn my forces from around your castle; I have set you free
and your path to Schonburg lies unobstructed. Even now your underling,
thinking himself victorious, is preparing an expedition against me, and
nothing but your word stands, between me and instant attack. Ponder, I
beseech of you, on my position. War, not of my seeking, was bequeathed
to me, and a woman who cannot fight must trust to her advisers, and
thus may do what her own heart revolts against. They told me that if I
made you prisoner I could stop the war, and thus I consented to that
act of treachery for which you so justly condemn me."

"Beatrix," cried her amazed lover, "what madness has come over you?"

"No madness touched me, Herbert, until I met you, and I sometimes think
that you have brought back with you the eastern sorcery of which I have
heard--at least such may perhaps make excuse for my unmaidenly
behaviour. Herbert, I am Beatrix of Gudenfels, Countess von
Falkenstein, who is and ever will be, if you refuse to pardon her, a
most unhappy woman."

"No woodland maiden, but the Countess! The Countess von Falkenstein!"
murmured her lover more to himself than to, his eager listener, the