Adelaide was aware of it also; and she trembled, if not for her unknown step-mother, at least for her unfortunate father, who (tyrant as she believed him to be) she still thought possest from Nature an authority over his children, which no conduct of his could forfeit, however criminal. The distrest daughter would have suffered still more severely from apprehension, founded on reasons but too strong; had she not seized a lucky moment of unusual good humour to obtain a solemn oath from Donat, that Ethelbert’s life should be held sacred by him, and that she never should endure the agony of seeing her brother’s hands stained with the blood of their common father.
Dreadful is it to think, that such a promise should have ever been reckoned necessary! In truth, Count Donat himself felt the bitter reflection conveyed in Adelaide’s request; and while he yielded to her importunity, he chid her with severity for harbouring such ungrounded suspicions. I am persuaded, that Donat was not quite the monster at that time, which he appeared to be when seen in his moments of frantic passion; nay, I am inclined from a variety of motives to ascribe to him a very trifling share in that melancholy transaction, whose real circumstances are covered with a veil of impenetrable obscurity, and whose execution was too barbarous for me to attribute it even to the base Guiderius himself. Doubtless Count Ethelbert’s miserable end was effected by a sudden burst of frenzy; in a moment of terror and despair his own hand inflicted on himself the punishment of former errors, and (I fear!) of former crimes!
You appeared at Count Donat’s camp, Urania, to solicit the pardon of your wretched guilty husband. To see you was sufficient to obtain for you Adelaide’s affection, and to annihilate every prejudice, which had so carefully been instilled into her mind against you. She endeavoured to make you aware of the dangers which threatened you; but obstacles both visible and invisible interposed, to prevent your preservation. Your friend’s unwillingness to speak ill of a brother; Mellusina’s unexpected intrusion and persevering stay in your tent; and above all, that singular and inexplicable occurrence which made the whole society separate in such terror, all combined to retain you in the road, destined to lead you into long captivity.
Never could Adelaide mention without shuddering the mysterious adventure of that night. She ever anxiously avoided speaking on the subject, and referred me to you for more accurate information. However, the account which in compliance with my request you forwarded to me, was nothing more than that, which I had already heard from my sister-in-law: anxiety to unravel this mystery made me even have recourse to Mellusina, but without success. Her account of the matter was no less obscure, strange, and unaccountable.
The next morning, her brother thought it adviseable to prevent Adelaide from accompanying you to the Castle of Sargans, and therefore gave out, that she was taken ill unexpectedly. In truth, this was no pretended indisposition. The supposed interference of a spiritual being had made the strongest impression upon her imagination; and when Count Donat’s attendants delivered her up to my charge (he was then ignorant, how closely she was connected with the Abbess of St. Mary’s) her situation was such, that you cannot easily picture it to yourself too melancholy—The return of the messenger, whom she had dispatched to you, only served to increase her illness; he communicated to her without sufficient precaution the news of her unfortunate father’s miserable death, and added to it the account of your ill-treatment and captivity. Like all who are possest of sensibility too acute, she loaded herself with reproaches for not having taken measures to prevent these heavy misfortunes; and it was long, before the soothing of friendship could succeed in pacifying her. To complete her distress but one thing more was necessary, and it arrived: a report prevailed (and was universally credited) that her husband had fallen a victim to the Emperor’s resentment. As Superior of St. Mary’s cloister, I could have afforded my poor sister a secure and agreeable shelter within these tranquil walls; but the desire to weep over her husband’s grave, and her anxiety to rescue you from the dungeon in which you languished, compelled her to return once more into the hated world. She was conscious, that you were the captive of a man, whose cruelty was but too well known to her; and she vowed solemnly never to rest, till she had broken the chains imposed upon you so unjustly.
She saw too plainly, that the united forces of the Counts of Mayenfield and Homburg would be unable to force you out of the power of the mighty Lord of the domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, besides both Edith and her daughter were persuaded of your death, and looked on Adelaide’s assertions of your existence in Donat’s dungeons, as being the mere effusions of that enthusiastic affection, which easily believes whatever it wishes to be true. But no representations, no neglect could induce your protectress to lay aside her hopes of effecting your deliverance; and she addrest herself to the Emperor Rudolf’s daughters, whose powerful interference she trusted would easily obtain your release.
Of all those powerful Princesses, the Duchess of Saxony alone (the virtuous Matilda, whose own domestic misfortunes might have furnished her with a sufficient excuse in the world’s estimation, for declining to embarrass herself with the affairs of others) exerted herself seriously in your behalf. Her sister Euphemia, retired in a convent and forgotten by the world, had little to offer toward your release except good wishes; yet what little she could offer, she offered gladly, and shared her sister’s joy at the news of your deliverance. I understand, that this royal Nun will soon exchange her convent at Tull for that which you inhabit, solely from the wish to end her life in your society. Oh! Urania, how greatly does all that I hear of you increase my desire to know you personally! What unusual merit must that woman possess, who could obtain so warm and unabating an interest in the hearts of three of the noblest of created beings, Euphemia, Matilda, and my poor Adelaide!
Yet I forget too long the heroine of my history, while occupying myself with Urania; I resume the thread of my narrative. Adelaide found at Emperor Albert’s court, (whither she repaired to plead in your behalf in person) that an happiness was reserved for her, which she had never expected to enjoy again on this side the grave: her husband was still living. The same false report, which had persuaded her of his death, had taken no less pains to persuade Rodolpho, that she was faithless. Her journey to Italy for the purpose of persuading her brother to interfere in behalf of her imprisoned Lord; the expedition to Sargans, in which she was obliged to accompany Count Donat; the length of time, which elapsed without his knowing what had become of her, and which she had past in my convent almost at the point of death; these and a variety of other circumstances had all been represented to Rodolpho in the most odious light. In his dungeon (whence he had but lately been released on the reconciliation between the Emperor and his sons) it was impossible for him to detect the falsehood of these reports; but Adelaide needed but to shew herself to the man who loved her with such unbounded affection, and all his injurious suspicions were annihilated at once. A few words were sufficient to persuade him of the truth; a truth, which was confirmed by the testimony of those, under whose eyes she had been residing.
What tongue is capable of describing the reunion of two lovers long separated; it is a fore-taste of that reunion, which we expect to enjoy with the objects of our affection beyond the grave, in another world better and happier. The one saw her belief in the untimely death of her beloved dissolved like a painful dream; the other saw those stains removed, which had sullied her purity on whom his soul doated; both felt, that the turbulent raptures of their early love were less sweet, than this renewal of their long-tried affection! Forgive me, Urania; a cloistered Nun ought not to describe such emotions, though she cannot help feeling them: doubtless, you understand such things better than we do, who have been confined from our earliest years within the walls of a convent, and shut out from the most precious rights of human nature.
From this moment began the most fortunate part of our friend’s life. Adelaide found her husband improved by years and corrected by adversity; absence and misfortune had made him still dearer to her; and she now first felt towards him the whole excess of love, of which her affectionate heart was capable. She now had no other wish, than to enjoy her happiness in quiet and retirement. The Lords of Eschenbach had new-built the fortress of Ravenstein, and proffered it to her husband (who had long been united with them in amity) as a fit residence, should it be no longer agreeable for him to remain at the Court of the offended Emperor. Gladly would Adelaide have hastened thither; but Rodolpho had contracted obligations, which at that time prevented him from immediately quitting the Court. He was indebted for life, for freedom, for opulence, to the favour of a princely youth, whom it was only necessary to see in order to admire; and whose situation it was only necessary to know, in order to feel interested for him, even had Rodolpho not been so closely bound to him by the ties of gratitude. This man was the cause, why Adelaide’s husband found it impossible to comply with her request.