These reflections cost me many tears, and I hastened to communicate their cause to Amabel and my sister. With their assistance, I soon discovered that it was absolutely necessary to quit the Bishop’s court without loss of time. Amalberga was not less anxious to avoid the Count of Torrenburg, than I was to quit the unjust Herman for ever. Its true, her gentle manners, her quiet and retired turn of mind had saved her from that prejudice against a child of Count Donat’s, which my gaiety had excited against me in the bosom of the Bishop’s nephew; but still her union with the man of her choice was equally impracticable, though on a different account.
The Count of Torrenburg was already betrothed to the youthful Helen of Homburg, whom I formerly mentioned in such advantageous terms. He had never seen her; of course she was totally indifferent to him, while what he felt for Amalberga.... Yet how was it possible for the noble Eginhart to break his knightly word? and even had he been resolved to break it, how was it possible for Amalberga to rob the friend of her youth of an husband so truly deserving, that scarcely could Helvetia produce his equal?
Amalberga and Eginhart had never exprest their mutual sentiments in words: but it appeared to me, that they had long understood each other sufficiently to render any verbal explanation needless.
Our departure was determined. Our next letters hinted to our father, that he had but little reason to expect, that the Bishop of Coira would assist his views respecting us; and we soon received an order to return to Sargans. Amalberga and Eginhart made their adieus rather by looks than words: as for myself, I thought it unnecessary to take any formal leave of Count Herman. I felt sentiments in my heart towards him, which I insisted upon terming aversion, and grief that I had ever thought favourably of him; but Amabel assured me, that I felt nothing of the kind—she said, the whole was nothing more than a misunderstanding, which was greatly to be lamented; and she vowed never to rest, till she had justified me in the opinion of a man, who by his endeavours to detach himself from the woman whom he adored, because he believed her unworthy of his love, had proved sufficiently, how totally his soul was devoted to the cause of virtue.
We had managed ill respecting our hints to Count Donat. They excited his suspicions against the Bishop of Coira, and he insisted upon a full explanation. This it was impossible to give, without betraying all our own secrets; and the embarrassment, with which we answered our father’s questions, drew down a considerable share of his suspicions upon ourselves.
We had soon the grief to witness the renewal of hostilities between Count Donat and the Bishop, and to accuse ourselves of having furnished the occasion. At the same time we were watched with the utmost strictness, and on the pretence of suspecting us of carrying on together some secret intercourse, (though with whom was not mentioned) we were separated. I had always been in a slight degree a greater favourite with Count Donat than my unfortunate sister, and my beloved Amabel was suffered to remain with me. Amalberga was confined alone in this chamber, which I at present inhabit, and ordered to resolve upon taking that step, which she had formerly been forbidden to think of; and which now was only insisted upon, because it was fancied, that she discovered some symptoms of unwillingness.
A day was already fixed, when Amalberga was to take the veil in the Convent of St. Roswitha. She discovered more repugnance to this measure with every succeeding day, though for what reason I know not. Her love for the Count of Torrenburg was hopeless; what then remained for her, except a cloister? the Abbot of Curwald past several hours daily in endeavouring to persuade her to obey her father’s commands; and the dislike, which I feel myself towards this man, makes me think it probable, that his interesting himself in the business made her still more unwilling to comply. Besides this, she received a letter from Gertrude Bernsdorf, which Amabel found means of delivering secretly, and which probably was not favourable to the Convent of St. Roswitha. However, I am still ignorant of its contents; since though whenever I was permitted to pass a few moments with my sister, she endeavoured to find means of communicating something to me which lay upon her heart, so many spies surrounded us, that the attempt was always made in vain.
I have already informed you, my kind protectress, on the last time that I saw my sister, how I threw myself at my father’s feet, and implored for gentler treatment both for her and for myself; how I entreated in vain to be at least permitted to pass that one night with her; and how I had the agony of being informed the next morning that she was torn from me, without the least information being given as to whither she had been conveyed, or the least hope held out of our ever being re-united.
Since that time my situation has become more painful in many respects. My friend, my Amabel was compelled to abandon me, because it became evident that Count Donat thought her handsome enough to be raised, or rather to be degraded, to the rank of one of his favourites. You know well, that Amabel’s open nature never suspects villainy or danger, except where their existence is not to be mistaken; and therefore you cannot doubt, that she had good cause for her flight from Sargans; her departure and my sister’s disappearance, following each other so closely, robbed me of even that little share, which I possest in my father’s confidence. It was evident, that I had assisted Amabel’s escape, and from this he argued, that I was equally culpable respecting Amalberga’s. Would to Heaven, that this charge were just! willingly would I pay for the certainty that my sister is safe, by suffering twice as much as I do on Amabel’s account, and which I carefully conceal from my friend, that the knowledge may not pain her gentle heart.
Oh! Urania, you may chide as you will, but can I love such a father? think, that to him alone I owe the loss of my sister and my friend; think too, that his misdeeds were the sole cause, which robbed me of the heart of the man, on whom my whole earthly happiness depended! Herman hated and despised me only for being the Count of Carlsheim’s daughter; now (as I hear) he is the suitor of another maiden; and all those hopes, with which Amabel so fondly used to flatter me, of one day regaining his good opinion, are lost, and lost for ever.