As Father Anderson's words faded, a deep silence fell upon the simple room.
The only sounds were his slightly ragged breathing and the faint whisper of wind from the distant fields.
Count Raymond was utterly speechless.
He gazed at the Priest's flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, a result of his agitation. This mentor, who was usually so gentle and calm, now seemed like a volcano on the verge of erupting, yet held back by some invisible force. The Count's heart was filled with an indescribable tremor.
Aurora gently took Eleanor's hand, while Eleanor's dark eyes darted between her father and the Priest.
Murphy had been listening quietly the entire time, his face remaining expressionless even as he faced the Priest's almost accusatory questions.
His gaze rested on Father Anderson's face—a mixture of desperation and resolve—before slowly shifting to the portrait on the wall.
His profound eyes were pools of darkness, making it impossible to discern his true thoughts.
