"My Lord," she murmured; then agitation seemed to choke her utterance.
"If you come here to kneel," said the Archbishop, in low, deep tones, "kneel at the altar yonder and not to me. While you are there, pray that the saints bestow upon you a contrite spirit."
"My Lord," she cried, "I beg of you to take my lands, and graciously permit me to retire to a convent that you may be pleased to appoint for me."
"Your lands are mine, as your person is mine, to dispose of at my will, unquestioned."
"My Lord, when my father gave my guardianship to you——"
"I hold my guardianship, not by your father's will, but through the reading of the feudal law. Your father, in dutifully testifying that his wish ran parallel with the law, set an example which his daughter may profitably follow."
"I wish to follow his example. I wish to render up to you all lands that were his. I wish to devote my poor services to Mother Church."
"Your poor services shall be given where I bestow them. Betake yourself to your apartments, and come not here again until you bring with you a bending will and an unrebellious spirit."
"My lord guardian, I do beseech you to hear me."
"I have heard enough and too much," said the Archbishop sternly. "Write," he added to the secretary: "'To Count Bertrich. Hold yourself in readiness to wed the Countess Tekla in the chapel of our summer palace two days hence—on Friday at mid-day.'"