e
day I could be with her. Thinking was doing; at daybreak I was off,
and at evening I stood at the gate of the castle.

The night was clear and bright. The mountain peaks glistened in the
full gold of the sunset and the lower ridges were bathed in a rosy
blue. A gray mist rose from the valleys which suddenly glistened when
it swept up into the higher regions, and then like a cloud-sea rolled
heavenwards. The whole color-play reflected itself in the gently
agitated breast of the dark lake from whose shores the mountains seemed
to rise and fall, so that only the tops of the trees and the peaks of
the church steeples and the rising smoke from the houses defined the
limits which separated the reality of the world from its reflection.
My glance, however, rested upon only one spot--the old castle--where a
presentiment told me I should find her again. No light could be seen
in the windows, no footstep broke the silence of the night. Had my
presentiment deceived me? I passed slowly through the outer gateway
and up the steps until I stood at the fore-court of the castle. Here I
saw a sentinel pacing back and forwards, and I hastened to the soldier
to inquire who was in the castle. "The Countess and her attendants are
here," was the brief reply, and in an instant I stood at the main
portal and had even pulled the bell. Then, for the first time, my
action occurred to me. No one knew me. I neither could nor dare say
who I was. I had wandered for weeks about the mountains, and looked
like a beggar. What should I say? For whom should I ask? There was
little time for consideration, however, for the door opened and a
servant in princely livery stood before me, and regarded me with
amazement.

I asked if the English lady, who I knew would never forsake the
Countess, was in the castle, and when the servant replied in the
affirmative, I begged for paper and ink and wrote her I was present to
inquire after the health of the Countess.

The servant called an attendant, who took the letter away. I heard
every step in the long halls, and every moment I waited, my position
became more unendurable. The old family portraits of the princely
house hung upon the walls--knights in full armor, ladies in antique
costume, and in the center a lady in the white robes of a nun with a
red cross upon her breast. At any other time I might have looked upon
these pictures and never thought that a human heart once beat in their
breasts.