“You count mesalliances among such?” Guy asked, at length.  “Yes, you are right; but I know a case where ’a man’s being balked in his intention to degrade himself’ ruined him for life.  Ralph Mohun told me of it.  It was a nine-days’ wonder in Vienna soon after he joined the Imperial Cuirassiers.  A Bohemian count flourished there then—­a great favorite with every one, for he was frank and generous, like most boys well-born and of great possessions, who have only seen things in general on the sunny side.  While down at his castle for the shooting, he fell in love with the daughter of one of his foresters.  The man was a dull, brutal cur, and, when drunk, especially savage.  His daughter was rarely beautiful; at all events, the count, a good judge, thought her peerless.

“He meant fairly by the girl from the first, and promised her marriage, actually intending to keep his word.  Still there were arrangements to be made before he could introduce such a novel element into blood that for centuries had been pure as the sangue azzura.  He went up to Vienna for that purpose, leaving his design a profound secret to all his dependents.  If these thought about it at all, they probably believed their master’s intentions to be—­like Dick Harcourt’s toward the Irish lady—­’strictly dishonorable.’

“One night during his absence shrieks came from the cottage where the forester lived alone with his daughter.  Those who heard them made haste; but it was a desolate spot, far from any other dwelling, and they came too late.

“They found the girl lying in her blood, not a feature of her pretty face recognizable.  Near her were the butt of a gun shivered, and her father senselessly drunk.  He had evidently finished the bottle after beating her to death.

“Whether it was merely an outbreak of his stupid ferocity, or if she had exasperated him by her threats and taunts, for she was of a haughty spirit, poor child! and perhaps rather elevated by the thought of the coming coronet, will never be known.  The murderer was in no state to make a confession, and he remained obstinately silent in prison till his lord’s return.”

“How very horrible!” Mrs. Bellasys cried out, shuddering; “was not the count very angry?”

“Well, he was rather vexed,” replied Guy, coolly.  “They are high justiciaries on their own lands, those great Bohemian barons, and so he gave the forester a fair trial.  It was soon over; the man denied nothing, only whining out, in excuse, that he thought his daughter was dishonored.  The shadow of death was closing round him, and he was nearly mad with fear.

“The old steward saw a strange sort of smile twist his master’s white, quivering lips when he heard this, but he never said a word.  I imagine he thought to reveal his purpose now that it was crushed too great a sacrifice even to clear the dead girl’s fair fame; perhaps, though, he could not trust his voice, for he did not announce the sentence in words, but wrote it down:  his hand shook very much, and it never carried a full glass unspilled to his mouth again.