Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1918-01-18
Chapter XXI CONTINUED,

FERDINAND WILLIAM OTTO.
Suddenly the Countess laughed, cholS-
Ing hysterical laughter that alarmed
Minna; horrible laughter which left
her paler than ever and gasping.
The old castle of the Loscheks looked
grim and inhospitable when she reached
1t that night. Built during the years
when the unbeliever overran southern
Europe, IL stood in n commanding posi-
ton ever a valley, and n steep walled
road led up to Il. The narrow windows
of its turrets we're built, in defiance Of
the Moslem hordes. in the shape Of the
cross Its walls had been hosptable
enough, however, when the crusaders
had thronged by to redeem the Holy
Sepulchre from the grasp Of the infidel
Here, In its stone hall, they had slept
in weary rows on the floor. From its
battlements they had stared south and
east along the road their feet must
follow.
But now, its ancient glory and good
repute departed, its garrison gone its
| drawbridge and moat things of the past,
It's very hangings and furnishings mol
dering from long neglect II hung over
, the valley past menace, an empty
threat.
To this dreary refuge the Countess
had fled. She wanted the silence Of it's
still rooms in which to think. Wretched
herself, it's wretchedness called her. As
the carriage which had brought her from
the railway turned into it's woods and
she breathed the pungent odor of pine
and balsam, she relaxed for the first
time.
why was she so hopeless? She could
escape. She knew the woods well. None
| VINO followed her could know them so
well. She would get away. and some-
where In new world make a fresh
start Surely, after all, peace was the
greatest thing in the world
Peace! The word attracted her. There
were religious houses where one would
be safe enough, refugees high-walled and
secure. into which no alien foot ever
| penetrated. And, as If to answer the
thought, she saw Mt that moment across
the valley the lights of Etzel, the tower
of the church. with its thirteen bells
the monastery buildings behind Il, and
set at its feet. like pilgrims come to
| pray, the low houses Of the peasants
For the church at Etzel contained cele-
brated shrine, none other than that OF
| our Lady Of the Angels, and here came
| from all over the kingdom, long lines
of footsore and weary pilgrims, seeking
peace and sanctity, and some a miracle
The carriage drove on 4; Minna, on the
box, crossed herself at sight of the
church and chatted with the driver, a
great figure who crowded her to the
! very edge of the seat.
81 am glad to be here" she said
II am sick of grandeur. My home is
in Etzel." She turned and inspected
the man beside her. You are a new
conner, l Think"
Il have but just come to Etzel."
"Then you cannot tell me about my
people" She was disappointed
And you" inquired the driver-"you
will stay for a vist?"
"A week only. But better than moth
| ing"
After that, you return TO the city?"
Yes Madame the Countess 49, you
would know, If you were Etzel-born-
Madame the Countess is lady-in-waitinR
to Her Royal Highness, the Archduehess
| Annunclata."
80" said the driver But he was
not curious, and the broken road de-
manded his attention. He was but new
ly come, so very newly that he did not
know his way, and once made a wrong
turning.
The Countess relaxed. She had not
, been followed. None but themselves
had left the train. She was sure Of
| that. And, looking back, she satisfied
herself that no stealthy foOt-traveler
dogged their slow progress. She breath
ed quietly for the first time.
She slept that night She had wired
ahead Of her coming, and the old care
laker and his wife had opened a few
rooms, her boudoir and dressing room,
and breakfast rooA on the first floor.
| They had swept the hall, too. and built
| fire there, but it had been built for
great household, and its emptiness
| chilled her.
At 4 o'clock in the morning she reused
at the ringing of bell, telling that
masses had already begun at the church,
For with the approach of Lent pill
| grimages had greatly increased in num-
bers But she slept again. to waken
| to full sunlight greatly refreshed.
| When she had breakfasted and
dressed, she went out on balcony
and looked down at the valley. II was
late. Already the peasants of Etzel had
gone out to their fields. Children
played along it's single streets. A few
women on the steps of the church made
rosaries of beads which they strung with
deft fingers. A band of pilgrims strug-
gled up the valley the men carrying
their coats, for the sun was warm, and
the women holding their skirts from the
dust.
AS they neared the church, however
coats were donned. The procession took
on order and dignity. The sight was
a familiar one to the Countess Her
eyes dropped to the old wall below
where in the sunshine the caretaker
was beating n rug. Close to him, IN
Intimate and cautious conversation, was
the driver Of the night before. CHANGING
up, they saw her and at once separ-
ated.
Gone was peace, then. The Countess
knew-lSnew certainly. "Our eyes see
everywhere" Eyes, indeed-eyes that
even now the caretaker raised furtlvely
from his rug
Nevertheless the Countess was mind
ed TO experiment, 70 be certain. For
none Is so suspicious, she knew as one
who fears suspicion. None so guilty
as the guilty. During the forenoon she
walked through the woods going brisk
lv with vigorous. mountainbred feet
| NJ craclSle of underbrush disturbed her
swift turnings revealed no lurking hg-
ures skulking behind the trunks OF
trees But where an ancient stone
bridge crossed mountain stream she
came on the huge driver OF the night
before renectively fishing.
\ He saluted her gravely' and the
Countess paused and looked at him
"You have caught no FISH, my trlendF
she said.
"No. madame. But one plays about
my hook"
She turned back Eyes everywhere