Ah! I knew what the answer would be. "Count Raymond of Tripoli."
"Well, he cannot be the one she weds!" said I, grinding my teeth.
"He can, Helena. The Countess has been dead these four months. He says he wrote to tell us, and his letter must have miscarried."
"And is Satan to have it all his own way?" I cried.
"No, assuredly, dear child. Christ is stronger than he."
"Holy Mother, can you see one speck of light in this thick and horrible darkness?"
"I never see but one light in any darkness," she said. "'God is light, and darkness in Him there is none at all.' Dear Helena, wilt thou not put thine hand in His, and let Him lead thee to the light?"
"Could the good God not have prevented all this?" I wailed.
"Perhaps not, for thy sake," she said softly.
"Oh, she will not, she will not!" I moaned. "Holy Mother, tell me she never will!"