he days of my grandsire.

I had but one sister; my mother was the sole superintendent of her
education; she thought the feminine mind, so susceptible of impressions,
should never be spontaneously consigned to foreign culture. Katherine was
worthy of her preceptress. It is not for me to dilate upon her
excellence--a portrait by my hand might be deemed the glowing creation of a
brother's fondness. It is enough to mention the strength of our
attachment. I was two years her senior; and when her age qualified her for
sharing in childish pastimes, she was the welcome partner of all my
amusements. I showered into her lap the first flowers of spring, and
brought her the wild-strawberry from heights where few would venture. In
her friendship, I reposed the confidence of ripening boyhood--frequently
were the overflowings of a sanguine temperament repressed by her mildness.
With innocent wiles she endeavored to vail my errors from parental eyes;
when I did incur displeasure, her accustomed gayety was gone, and the
voice that recalled her truant smile, was ever that which pardoned the
offender.

II.

I was entering my twentieth year, when our situation underwent an
important change. Our landlord was gathered to his ancestors, having
bequeathed his Lombardy estate to his second son, Count Rainer. Engel, the
good old steward, was soon after dismissed from office, and retired, with
the fruits of faithful service, to his native town in Carniola.

Count Rainer was a captain in the imperial army. He was with his regiment
at Pavia when informed of his father's death. Devolving his authority on
an emancipated sergeant of hussars, the purveyor of his libertine
pleasures, he dispatched him to St. Michael to wring money from the
tenantry, and prepare for his reception.

Ludolf was a swaggering bravo, emulous, at middle age, of the vices of
profligate youth. On his arrival, he circulated a pompous intimation that
he came vested with full powers to treat with the vassals of the count,
and renew their engagements.

My sister had gone to the village to make purchases, and I left the mill
at vesper chime with the intention of meeting her. The path was abrupt,
and little frequented. I was cherishing discontent at the husbandman's
unvaried existence, when I was roused by the distant accents of a female
in distress. They were clearly distinguishable, and I rushed to the
quarter whence they proceeded. In a corner of an open spot, backed