circle. There was gaiety, comfort, charm and security about
everything that came to his eyes and ears. Was it possible that
this peace, unruffled, was so near its end?

He smiled as he neard Harry Anguish laugh gaily in his good old
way, his ringing tones mingling with a woman's. There was no
trouble in the hearts of the Countess and his blithe comrade.
Behind him rose the grim castle walls, from the windows of which,
here and there, gleamed the lights of the night. Where was she?
He had seen her in the afternoon and had talked with her, had
walked with her. Their conversation had been bright, but of the
commonplace kind. She had said nothing to indicate that she
remembered the hour spent beside his couch a day or so before; he
had uttered none of the words that struggled to rush from his
lips, the questions, the pleadings, the vows. Where was she now?
Not in that gay crowd below, for he had scanned every figure with
the hawk's eve. Closeted again, no doubt, with her ministers,
wearying her tired brain, her brave heart into fatigue without
rest.

Her court still trembled with the excitement of the daring
attempt of the abductors and their swift punishment.
Functionaries flocked to Edelweiss to inquire after the welfare
of the Princess, and indignation was at the highest pitch. There
were theories innumerable as to the identity of the
arch-conspirator. Baron Dangloss was at sea completely. He
cursed himself and everybody else for the hasty and ill-timed
execution of the hirelings. It was quite evident that the buzzing
wonder and intense feeling of the people had for the moment
driven out all thought of the coming day of judgment and its bitter