"I will be that friend," said the countess. "There is no time to be
lost. Trust this precious ring with me. This very night the queen's
eye shall rest upon it; nor shall the efficacy of my poor words be
wanting, to strengthen the impression which it will doubtless make."

The earl's first impulse was to hold out the ring. But looking at the
countess, as she bent forward to receive it, he fancied that the red
glow of the gem tinged all her face, and gave it an ominous expression.
Many passages of past times recurred to his memory. A preternatural
insight, perchance caught from approaching death, threw its momentary
gleam, as from a meteor, all round his position.

"Countess," he said, "I know not wherefore I hesitate, being in a plight
so desperate, and having so little choice of friends. But have you
looked into your own heart? Can you perform this office with the truth
--the earnestness--time--zeal, even to tears, and agony of spirit--
wherewith the holy gift of human life should be pleaded for? Woe be
unto you, should you undertake this task, and deal towards me otherwise
than with utmost faith! For your own soul's sake, and as you would have
peace at your death-hour, consider well in what spirit you receive this
ring!"

The countess did not shrink.

"My lord!--my good lord!" she exclaimed, "wrong not a woman's heart by
these suspicious. You might choose another messenger; but who, save a
lady of her bedchamber, can obtain access to the queen at this untimely
hour? It is for your life,--for your life,--else I would not renew my
offer."