We skirted the base of the huge rock on which the castle is built, and reached the small, low door without meeting anyone.  It was a moonlit night,—­the Paschal moon was nearly at the full,—­and the whiteness made each separate iron rivet in the door stand out distinct, thrown into relief by its own small shadow on the seamed oak.  My guide produced a ponderous key, which screamed hoarsely in the lock under the pressure of his two hands, as he made it turn in the rusty wards.  The noise frightened me, but the man laughed, and said they could not hear where they sat, far up in the vaulted chamber, telling long stories over their wine.  We entered, and I had to mount a little way up the dark steps to give him room to close the door behind us, by which we were left in total darkness.  I confess I was very nervous and frightened until he lighted a taper which he had brought and made enough light to show the way.  The stairs were winding and steep, but perfectly dry, and when he had passed me I followed him, feeling that at all events the door behind was closed, and there was someone between me and any danger ahead.

The man paused in front of me, and when I had rounded the corner of the winding steps I saw that a brighter light than ours shone from a small doorway opening directly upon the stair.  In another moment I was in the presence of Hedwig von Lira.  The man retired and left us.

She stood, dressed in black, against the rough stone; the strong light of a gorgeous gilt lamp that was placed on the floor streamed upward on her white face.  Her eyes caught the brightness, and seemed to burn like deep, dark gems, though they appeared so blue in the day.  She looked like a person tortured past endurance, so that the pain of the soul has taken shape, and the agony of the heart has assumed substance.  Tears shed had hollowed the marble cheeks, and the stronger suffering that cannot weep had chiselled out great shadows beneath her brows.  Her thin clasped hands seemed wringing each other into strange shapes of woe; and though she stood erect as a slender pillar against the black rock, it was rather from the courage of despair than because she was straight and tall by her own nature.

I bent low before her, awed by the extremity of suffering I saw.

“Are you Signor Grandi?” she asked, in a low and trembling voice.

“Most humbly at your service, Signora Contessina,” I answered.  She put out her hand to me, and then drew it back quickly, with a timid nervous look as I moved to take it.

“I never saw you,” she said, “but I feel as though you must be a friend—­” She paused.

“Indeed, signorina, I am here for that reason,” said I, trying to speak stoutly, and so to inspire her with some courage.  “Tell me how I can best serve you; and though I am not young and strong like Nino Cardegna, my boy, I am not so old but that I can do whatsoever you command.”

“Then in God’s name, save me from this—­” But again the sentence died upon her lips, and she glanced anxiously at the door.  I reflected that if anyone came we should be caught like mice in a trap, and I made as though I would look out upon the stairs.  But she stopped me.