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Ah! I see, thou hast not much
interest in my converse--treasure is nothing to thy love-sick heart,
eh! count?"
"Nay, not dead men's bones, indeed thou hast rare wine for such
cumbrous relics that can be turned to naught! And didst thou shrive
the saint for the use of his bones a hundred years hence?"
"Thou art growing facetious, count. Dost think of no virtue but thy
maid's? And art thou sure she will not fall back from her promise to
thee?"
Cantemir, filled with his own ideas, gave perfunctory acquiescence and
continued in his own line of thought. And what with a busy brain that
was not over-strong, and a ride of some length and dampness, with a
sore leg, he became feverish and the monk took him to bed in great
haste, where he remained for the best part of a week; the seriousness
of his disease not a little augmented by the desire for immediate
action.


CHAPTER XII
CASTLE AND MONASTERY

The next morning after Christopher's sudden disaster, the castle
seemed to have awakened from a long apathy.


Pages:
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