"We appoint this day twelve days, on a Sunday afternoon, for the
combat," said Charles. "Then these men shall do their endeavor, each
upon the other; and may God give victory to the right!"
* * * * *
That evening, as usual, Max and I were at Castleman's. Yolanda did not
come down till late, but when she came she clung silently to Max, and
there was a deep pathos in her every word and glance. As we left, I went
back and whispered hurriedly to her:--
"Have no fear, dear one. Our Max will take no harm."
My words were bolder than my heart, but I thought to comfort her.
"I have no fear, Sir Karl," she said, in a trembling voice. "There is no
man so strong and brave as Max. He is in the right, and God is just. The
Blessed Virgin, too, will help him. It would be sacrilege to doubt her.
I do not doubt. I do not fear, Sir Karl, but, oh, my friend--" Here she
buried her face on my breast and wept convulsively. Her words, too, had
been bolder than her heart--far bolder.
The brooding instinct in me--the faint remnant of mother love, that kind
Providence has left in every, good man's heart--longed to comfort her
and bear her pains. But I was powerless to help her, and, after all, her
suffering was wholesome. In a moment she continued, sobbing while
she spoke:--
"But--oh! if by any mischance Max should fall; if by treachery or
accident--oh, Sir Karl, my heart is breaking. Do not let Max fight."
These words were from her woman's heart.
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