"Truly I would freely give mine that hers be not lost," Albrecht returned.
"It is in thine hands," Father Christopher went on as if he heard him not. "She loves thee still."
"Still!" Albrecht echoed in a piercing cry, springing to his feet.
His face was white with the terror of the fear which seemed to lurk behind the words of the priest. He caught Father Christopher's robe by the sleeve, and looked at him with terror and appeal in his face.
"Nay," the priest said, putting out his hand, and speaking with mingled sweetness and reproof, "we are speaking of the gracious countess and thy wife. Thou hast nothing to fear. It is only that the longings which thou hast thyself awakened in her are yet strange and not wholly mastered by her will. It is thou who hast given her these temptations as surely as she has given thee thy soul. There is never a gift between two; something is always given in exchange."
Albrecht bowed his head upon his hand. His eyes traced the long shadow which the torch, thrust into a ring upon the wall, cast along upon the floor, bare of rushes.
"But how may it be," he asked sadly, "that I, forsooth, can hope to save either her or yet myself?"
"Because," Father Christopher returned tenderly, laying his hand upon the bowed head as if inwardly he blessed the strong man before him, "thou hast the soul of a child and the strength of a knight; and because," he was fain to add, with a soft voice that was like a caress, "all that see thee must needs love thee."
"But why," Albrecht asked, "sayest thou that it were well that I tell all to my wife?"
The priest smiled with an expression which was at once tender and wistful, and through which yet a gleam of humor played.