e at
Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every
creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.
But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love
you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant
friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my
own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally
miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now
I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest
misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word 'honour,' all hope of that
love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who
have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries
tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured
that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be
made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you
obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth
will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity.

"Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the
next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle
will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your
lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I
shall need no other happiness.

"Elizabeth Lavenza

"Geneva, May 18th, 17--"

This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the
threat of the fiend--"I WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT!" Such
was my sentence, and on that night would the daemon employ every art to
destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised
partly to console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to
consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle
would then assuredly take place, in which if he were victorious I
should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he were
vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the
peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his
cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift,