bring his mind to think
ill of Bertha, and however puzzling these nocturnal visits appeared to
him, he clearly perceived it had not been proved that her father was
ignorant of the transaction, or that the mysterious man was her lover.
He mentioned these doubts to his hostess.

"Really! you suppose that her father is acquainted with it?" said she;
"not at all--I know it for a certainty, because old Rosel, the young
lady's nurse----"

"Old Rosel said so?" cried Albert, involuntarily: the nurse, being the
sister of the fifer of Hardt, was well known to him. If she had really
said so, the case was no longer to be doubted, for he knew that she was
a pious woman, and devoted to her charge.

"Do you know old Rosel?" she asked, wondering at the warmth with which
her guest inquired after that woman.

"I know her? you forget that I come for the first time to-day in your
neighbourhood; it was only the name of Rosel which struck me."

Albert parried this question, being desirous the woman should not
suspect he was acquainted with the Knight of Lichtenstein or his
family.

"Don't they call her so in your country? Rosel means Rosina with us,
and the old nurse in Lichtenstein goes by that name. But observe, she
is a particular friend of mine, and comes now and then to see me, when
I give her a glass of hot sweet wine, which she loves dearly, and out
of gratitude tells me all the news. What I have told you comes from her
mouth. Old Lichtenstein knows nothing of the nocturnal visits, because
he goes to bed regularly at eight o'clock; and his daughter sends her
nurse every evening at eight o'clock also to her apartment. It struck
the good Rosel, however, a few nights ago, that there must be some
mysterious cause for this conduct. She pretended to go to bed,--and
only think what happened? Scarcely was everything quiet in the castle,
when the young lady, who otherwise never touches a chip of wood, laid
heavy logs on the hearth with her own delicate hands, made a fire,
cooked and roasted the best way she could, got wine out of the cellar,
and bread out of the cupboard, and spread the table in the dining room.
She then opened the window and looked out in the cold dark night, when,
just as the village clock struck eleven, the drawbridge rattled down on
its chains, the nocturnal visitor entered, and went into the dining
room with the young lady. Rosel has often listened in vain to hear the
conversation between them, but the oak doors a