"Oh--what we have lost!" he murmured, locking her in a long embrace.
"Ian--Ian--my darling!" she sobbed.
This was all; and in broken words, choked with sobs.
The faithful old priest gently separated them at last, for he saw von Senborn was going to do it. He took her to the long window which led into the Countess' favorite room. She was crying bitterly, but without sobs, forcing them down lest she make it yet harder for Ian.
They bandaged his eyes. He refused at first; but the sight of that landscape, familiar in its desolation, dear to him yet, was more than he could bear. Oh, to leave life thus, when others were dying like men! And how dear was life, despite ruin and war and uncertainty! How many things he had meant to do; how much more happiness he might have had before this cataclysm fell upon them! Then thought turned to his mother.
"I must speak to my chaplain," he said in the firm voice of a man accustomed to obedience.
"You dare not murder him without shrift," he heard the priest say. He had left Vanda in the house and was returning hurriedly. A moment later his thin, shaking hand was on Ian's arm.
"Three minutes," said von Senborn's voice, impatient now. "Make the most of your time."
Hastily, the priest gave his quondam pupil what comfort he could. Then Ian whispered:
"Take the women away at once. You may yet reach Warsaw. Then with Mother to Rome. The Cardinal is all she'll have left but Vanda. Don't forget the jewels."