The Castellan too, in his endeavours to prevent the escape of this prisoner (whose confinement seemed to be a greater object of anxiety to him, even than that of Edith and myself) had met with a fatal accident, and was every moment expected to breathe his last. We desired to see him before his death. With a feeble voice he entreated our pardon for the injustice, with which he had been compelled to treat us; but he called Heaven to witness, that the dreadful oaths which had been exacted from him, had deprived him of the power of acting differently. Yet did he not think it necessary to enjoin our future jailors to treat us with greater lenity; and they, being in all probability fettered by the same oaths with himself, esteemed it their duty to retain us in a captivity no less strict than before.
All we could obtain from them was, that we should not again be separated; and also that we should be permitted to visit that unfortunate lady, of whose existence in the Castle we were this day informed for the first time; who had made use of such violent means to obtain her liberty; and who (as our guards assured us) was on the point of paying with her life, for having dared to commit so desperate an action.
Curiosity, hope, the fear of finding some beloved acquaintance in this wretched captive, or the desire of giving some alleviation to the sufferings of an expiring partner in affliction, which of these motives induced us to make this melancholy visit, I cannot pretend to decide. When we received the permission to enter her dungeon, we were assured, that we should find nothing that would diminish our own distress, and the event justified the assurance.
They conducted us to a wretched pallet, on which lay a female, whose features were totally unknown to us, but whose appearance excited in us the deepest sentiments of pity; of that painful pity, which knows itself unable to afford relief! On hearing our footsteps she raised with difficulty her half-closed eyes, and with a smile of anguish extended her hand towards us. We exerted ourselves to afford her every little alleviation of pain, which our narrow means could furnish; and in executing these mournful services, our tears sufficiently declared the feelings of our hearts.
—“Forgive me!” said she, when after two or three hours our endeavours to relieve her had produced some little effect; “I wished to rescue myself from captivity, and had nearly brought the same fate on you, under which I am now groaning. But long suffering is the mother of despair!”—
Shortly after she seemed to be nearly delirious; she counted the years which she had already past in this dreary dungeon, and those during which she expected to be detained in it by her tyrant; then she raved about her son, for whose arrival she had so long waited in vain, and she entreated him to hasten to the rescue of his unfortunate mother!
Towards midnight she declared, that all pain had entirely left her. With an appearance of gaiety she thanked us for our attentions, and entreated to know the names of those, to whom she was so much indebted. The Countess revealed herself, and the captive in return bestowed upon her a look of interest and compassion.
—“Edith of Mayenfield?” repeated the invalid; “oh! I know your story well: you too have suffered much; not so much, its true, as I have suffered, yet enough to know what it is to incur a villain’s hatred.—And your name, gentle lady?” she continued, addressing herself to me.
—“I am Urania of Carlsheim and Sargans,” was my answer.
—“Urania of Sargans!” shrieked the stranger in a dreadful voice, while she clasped her hands violently together; “Urania? Ethelbert’s beloved Urania? Oh, Fortune, this blow was still wanting to make me completely miserable.—Away from my sight, abandoned woman! away, and leave me to die! But with my last breath I swear to be revenged! Even from my grave will I shriek to Heaven for vengeance! Tremble, detested girl; thou shalt not triumph over my corse unpunished!”—