XIII

UNDER MOON AND MONASTERY

For two days Lorry lived through intermittent stages of delight and despondency.  His recovery from the effects of the blow administered by Dannox was naturally rapid, his strong young constitution coming to the rescue bravely.  He saw much of the Princess, more of the Countess Dagmar, and made the acquaintance of many lords and ladies for whom he cared but little except when they chose to talk of their girlish ruler.  The atmosphere of the castle was laden with a depression that could not be overcome by an assimilated gaiety.  There was the presence of a shadow that grew darker and nearer as the days went by, and there were anxious hearts under the brave, proud spirits of those who held the destiny of Graustark in their hands.

The princess could not bide the trouble that had sprung up in her eyes.  Her laugh, her gay conversation, her rare composure and gentle hauteur were powerless to drive away the haunted, worried gleam in those expressive eyes of blue.  Lorry had it on his tongue’s end a dozen times during the next day or so after the count’s narrative to question her about the condition of affairs as they appeared to her.  He wondered whether she, little more than a girl, could see and understand the enormity of the situation that confronted her and her people.  A strange, tender fear prevented him from speaking to her of the thing which was oppressing her life.  Not that he expected a rebuff from her, but that he could not endure the thought of hearing her brave, calm recital of the merciless story.  He knew that she could narrate it all to him more plainly than had her uncle.  Something told him that she was fully aware of the real and underlying conditions.  He could see, in his imagination, the proud, resigned face and manner of this perplexed Princess, as she would have talked to him of her woes, and he could also picture the telltale eyes and the troubled expression that would not be disguised.

The Countess Dagmar, when not monopolized by the very progressive, or aggressive Anguish, unfolded to Lorry certain pages in the personal history of the Princess, and he, of course, encouraged her confidential humor, although there was nothing encouraging in it for him.

Down by the great fountain, while the soldiers were on parade, the fair but volatile Countess unfolded to Lorry a story that wrenched his heart so savagely that anger, resentment, helplessness and love oozed forth and enveloped him in a multitude of emotions that would not disperse.  To have gone to the Princess and laid down his life to save her would have given him pleasure, but he had promised something to her that could not be forgotten in a day.  In his swelling heart he prayed for the time to come when he could take her in his arms, cancel his promise and defy the troubles that opposed her.