“‘To them that have no might, He increaseth strength,’” quoted Christian softly. “Then—is not this your child?”
“Yes—now.”
“But not—?”
“By gift, not by birth. And it is the Holy One who has given him. Now, good friends, let me not keep you from sleeping. Perhaps I shall sleep myself. We will talk more in the morning.”
It was evident when the morning arrived, that the saved child had suffered less than she who had saved him. Both needed care, nourishment, and rest; but Countess wanted it far more than Rudolph. A few days sufficed to restore him to his usual lively good health; but it was weeks ere she recovered the physical strain and mental suffering of that terrible night. But Countess was one of those people who never either “give in” or “give up.” Before any one but herself thought her half fit for it, she went out, not mentioning her destination, on an expedition which occupied the greater part of a day, and returned at night with a satisfied expression on her face.
“I have settled every thing,” she said. “And now I will tell you something. Perhaps you were puzzled to know why I sought shelter with you, instead of going to some of my wealthy acquaintances in the town?”
“I was, very much,” answered Christian hesitatingly.
“I supposed you had some reason for it,” said David.
“Right. I had a reason—a strong one. That I shall not tell you at present. But I will tell you what perhaps you have already guessed—that I have been divorced from Leo.”
“Well, I fancied you must have had a quarrel with him, or something of that kind,” replied Christian.