“Man!” she exclaimed—“if you are not rather the incarnation of the evil one, begone. Come not to torment my heart, already almost broken. Know, then, that luxury and wealth are things I despise almost as much as him who offers them; and as for happiness, I never in this world shall know it again, nor have you the power to give it me. Begone, and leave me to myself. You stir not. Then if you will not obey my commands, but still have a soul that can be influenced by prayer, oh! hear my earnest supplication, and leave me to myself.”
“What madness makes you utter words like these?” said the Count. “Think well of what you throw away, and of the dark fate which awaits you. The Baron vows—and well I know he keeps his oaths when prompted by cruelty and revenge—that you must die to-morrow; and no mortal power but mine can save you. A word from me would rescue you. Fly with me. Ah! If you refuse, think not the man you love will benefit by your sacrifice; for here I swear that I will pursue him with the utmost rancour to avenge your death, of which he has been the cause. He has crossed my path before, and ere long I trust to see him in my power.”
“You move me not by fear of any harm you can do him,” answered the girl calmly. “He is above your malice, and would despise your vows of vengeance.”
“If not for his sake then, save yourself for your own,” exclaimed the Count. “Think how you will die, disgraced, unknown till after you have ceased to breathe; and then you will be a thing for savage soldiers to pass their brutal jest upon. Oh, why this madness? Let me save you from yourself, and fly with me.”
The proud Count knelt at her feet, and again endeavoured to take her hand. “See,” he exclaimed, “I kneel to you to beseech that you will let me save you from cruel death and contumely.”
The girl then shrinking back, “Begone, I say, again,” she cried. “Believe me, I despise you far too much even to seek your pity.”
The Count sprang to his feet. “Know then, wilful girl,” he exclaimed, “that nothing shall save you. Your cruelty will change my love to hate; and though I still might save your life, I shall not rest until I see you die. None shall know that Count Erintoff has humbled himself in vain. There are yet some hours to dawn. Think on my vows, and promise to obey my wishes. A word of yours would win my love again; else, before the sun mounts highest in the sky, you will have become a cold and senseless clod. I leave you now.”
The girl answered not, but looked disdainfully on the Count as he retired. Then, sinking on the hard log, she placed her hands before her eyes—to shut out something dreadful from her sight. A terrific struggle seemed to take place in that tender, that loving, bosom, as if the agitated spirit were about to burst its tabernacle; but it passed, and she was calm—so calm that it seemed she slept.