Towards evening he visited us, and gave that answer in person, which we had vainly solicited in the morning. Now that he had laid aside his threatening casque and blood-stained armour, he appeared to be entirely a different person. His manner was respectful to Minna, courteous to me. He mentioned his father in terms rather of grief than anger; Lucretia’s name, (which, as we had been informed, used to be constantly on his lips) was not pronounced by him; and in the course of conversation he once so far forgot his wrath, as to mention me by the title of “his mother.”—
—“Oh! rejoice with me, dear Minna,” I exclaimed, while I prest the Damsel of Mayenfield to my bosom; “it is now certain, that we are safe! Heard you not, that Count Donat called me mother? See’st thou in him that terrific conqueror, such as report described him? Oh! that Ethelbert were but here to know, and love the real character of his so dreaded son: all would be pardoned, all forgotten!”
—“That is possible,” answered Donat, who could not help smiling at the unrestrained expression of my feelings; “the only person who has anything to pardon is myself; and I cannot deny that beauty like Urania’s may well excuse an act of injustice, even though it should be monstrous as that, which was suffered by the poor Lucretia!”—
We saw, that at the recollection of Lucretia a cloud seemed to pass over Donat’s countenance, though it soon disappeared again. We therefore lost no time in mentioning to him the only request about which we were now anxious, fearful lest he should alter his good dispositions towards us, before they had produced the effect which was so earnestly desired.
We entreated him to suffer us to return to his anxious father, and inform him, how unjustly he had doubted his son’s filial affection. Donat hesitated, and inquired, why we were desirous of leaving him in such haste?—Besides our wish to relieve Count Ethelbert from his apprehensions without loss of time, we alleged as an excuse the impropriety of our remaining in a camp without any other females.
—“Oh!” replied Donat, “this last reason can be none for your departure; and if you have no better, I flatter myself, that I shall not lose your company, till after I have been presented by you to-morrow to my long-estranged father in the Castle of Sargans. You are not the only ladies in my camp; I have a wife and sister with me, who will be delighted to welcome you, and who (to confess the truth) pleaded with me in your behalf most urgently, ere I was yet decided, what answer I should make to your request.”—
It is impossible to express the various causes of satisfaction, which we discovered in these few words. It is no trifling comfort for bashful timid women to meet with persons of their own sex in a place, where they expected to find only rude turbulent soldiers; and here we found two benevolent beings, whose kind hearts had already induced them even without knowing us to interest themselves in our behalf. But that which above all seemed music to my ear, was the information, that one of these unknown ladies was Count Donat’s wife. In the course of our conversation, our conqueror’s eyes had frequently dwelt on Minna’s face with an expression by no means equivocal; I was strongly inclined to attribute his unexpected lenity entirely to my companion’s charms. Minna was the betrothed of another. Donat was a tyrant. My heart foreboded from these circumstances a long succession of difficulties and dangers; all of which were banished as phantoms existing only in my imagination, as soon as I understood, that Donat was already married, and that he hesitated not to place the young creature, whom he looked upon with so much interest, under the protection of his wife.
We were presented to the ladies, who composed Count Donat’s family. We were graciously received: yet we could not help remarking, that the behaviour of the young Countess of Carlsheim rather exprest that condescension which is only used with inferiors, than the friendly openness which marked our reception by Count Donat’s sister, who was made known to us by the name of Adelaide, Lady of the Beacon-Tower.
Besides this, it must be confest that the appearance of the Countess Mellusina (such was the name of Donat’s wife) was by no means such, as prejudiced us in her favour. The best that could be said of her, was that she was not ugly; and the haughty manners, which she thought proper to assume, were but ill calculated to make her person appear to advantage.—Oh! how different was Mellusina from the interesting Lady of the Beacon-Tower!
—“Can this lovely woman,” I said to Minna, as soon as we were left alone, “can she be Lucretia’s daughter, and the sister of Count Donat? I vainly endeavoured to find in that heavenly countenance a single feature, which resembled her nearest relations.”—