lbert. The
lovers, indeed, divulged to no one when and where the first ray of
tender feeling dawned in their hearts, and far be it from us to wish to
penetrate the veil of mystery of first love, or even to relate things
which we cannot substantiate; we can nevertheless assert this much,
that they had already reached to that degree of love, when true lovers
swear eternal fidelity, amidst the interruptions of external
circumstances, and which, in the painful hour of separation, proved
their only consolation. Her much-loved aunt having died, the knight of
Lichtenstein sent for his daughter to Ulm, for the purpose of finishing
her education there, under the roof of a married sister. Bertha's
nurse, old Rosel, remarked that the burning tears which she shed, and
the longing eyes with which Bertha over and over again looked back as
they left the town, could not have been given alone to the hilly
country to which she was bidding adieu.

Shortly after Bertha's departure, Albert received a communication from
his uncle, in which the question was put to him, whether after four
years' study he was not now learned enough? He readily complied with
this hint, and, without a moment's hesitation, prepared to quit the
university; for since Bertha's absence, the lectures of the learned
doctors, and even the charming valley of the Neckar, were become
hateful to him.

The fresh air from the hills invigorated him with renewed force, as he
rode through the gate of Tuebingen towards his home, on a fine morning
in February. In proportion as his bodily frame was braced by the
freshness of the morning, so was his soul raised to that cheerful
elevation of spirits so natural to his age. Youth vainly imagines
itself capable, by its own powers, to bring about its most anxious
wishes, and it is this reliance on self which inspires more confidence
than assistance from others.

When Albert was left to his own thoughts as he paced his lonely way
homewards, the contemplation of his future prospects were wrapped in
mysterious uncertainty, which led his mind to compare his present
position with the clear lake which reflects on its surface the cheerful
objects rising around its banks, but veils the treacherous depth of its
waters by its bright colours.

Such was the feeling of Albert von Sturmfeder as he rode through the
beechwood forest towards his home. This road did not, indeed, lead him
nearer to his beloved; neither could he properly call anything h