“We gave her every possible assistance, and after some time she gained strength and recollection enough to enable her to comprehend the favourable change, which had taken place in her situation. Tears of joy, and her clasped hands raised in gratitude to Heaven, were her only answer. She strove to thank us for the service which we had rendered her; but emotion choaked her utterance, and to express her sense of our kindness by looks was not in her power, since the beams of the sun (who was now risen) were so painful to her eyes, that she had been obliged to cover her face with a thick veil to save herself from relapsing into insensibility.
“We therefore carefully excluded day-light from her chamber, and left her to repose. While she slept, we resolved to take the opportunity of making Luprian explain a business, which we conceived to be of some importance, and respecting which our curiosity was raised to the highest pitch by hearing some of the Monks assert their persuasion, that Luprian’s features were not unknown to them. The last Abbot of Curwald, who was supposed to have perished in the conflagration, had borne that name, and in spite of his pale countenance and meagre form they verily believed my prisoner to be no other. We were now all impatience to ascertain this point; but we found, that in order to effect our object we ought to have been more upon our guard. Occupied by the melancholy situation of the lady, which excited universal interest and compassion, not one of us had paid the least attention to her gaoler: now that we recollected him, he was not to be found. It appeared probable, that he had forsaken us immediately upon our entrance into the subterraneous dungeon, since no one remembered to have seen him since that time, nor indeed to have bestowed a thought upon him. We had now nothing left for it but to rail at our inattention, and to lay the blame upon each other. However, we did not think our loss of any material consequence, since we doubted not the lady’s ability to clear up the mystery; and at all events the captive was at liberty, and we had effected a good deed.
“She awoke, greatly strengthened by her refreshing slumber: her first request was to be removed from the society of men, and committed to the charge of persons of her own sex. We had already agreed with a respectable widow in one of the neighbouring villages, that the invalid should be taken to her house, as soon as she was able to bear the removal. The good woman soon made her appearance, and the stranger’s impatience to quit the Monastery was so extreme, that we judged her likely to suffer less detriment from the journey than from delay. The distance was not great; she was placed in an easy litter; and her nurse took such good care of her both during her removal and afterwards, that she was quickly pronounced out of all danger. Her eyes again became accustomed to day-light; her hearing was no longer hurt by the loudness of human voices, and she could speak without difficulty: yet has she never thought proper to disclose her name either to myself, or to the Abbot who visited her daily.—But let it still remain concealed; there is at least one title, which after hearing the brief relation of her sufferings I know well to be her proper right; the title of the purest and most heroic of virtuous martyrs, a name which deserves to be engraved on marble, and employed to add sanctity to altars!
“You are surprised, holy Lady, to hear the cold and serious Herman speak with such enthusiasm; but let it not injure me in your opinion. The rescued prisoner perhaps was once beautiful, but now she is so no longer. Sorrow and confinement have robbed her person of every charm, which could inspire the voluptuary’s heart with passion: yet were I ever to love again, my soul should be devoted to the perfection of female virtue, not of female loveliness. Emmeline, the enchanting Emmeline, with all her train of charms and graces, perhaps, I may in time cease to remember; but never, oh! never shall I forget the form of my pale emaciated captive, sinking into the grave the victim of her principles; never while he has breath, shall that interesting countenance fade from the recollection of Herman of Werdenberg!
“But I have wandered widely from the object of this long discourse; I came hither to make a request, to which all that I have said is but an introduction: the health of this noble persecuted creature, of my friend, my sister, my preserved one, is now almost re-established. She begins to consider, what it will hereafter be most expedient for her to do; and as she says, that she has no relation in the world to whom she dares confide her interests, she has condescended to ask my advice respecting her future proceedings. We both agreed, that a convent is the most proper retreat for her in her present circumstances; and on my mentioning to her that, which is under your direction, holy Mother, she received the proposal with rapture.
—“Oh! surely,” she exclaimed, “my mind cannot yet be quite itself again, or I could not have hesitated a moment respecting my choice.—Helen of Homburg!—the Convent of Zurich!—Heavenly powers, how could I have forgotten those dear dear names so long?”—
“She then enquired eagerly, whether Urania Venosta still lived within these walls; and when I answered in the affirmative, she discovered such strong emotion, as her gentle despondent manners had little led me to expect her being capable of feeling. She clasped her hands in ecstacy; a shower of tears rolled down her pale cheeks, while she sank on her knees, and returned thanks to Heaven; she then entreated me to leave her without delay, and prepare a reception for her in your Convent. I would willingly have first ascertained, whether she was already known to you; but her impatience would not admit of my postponing my journey for an instant, and I was compelled to depart unsatisfied.
“Now then may I hope, that my request will not be rejected? Shall I be authorised to assure my friend of a welcome reception within these walls? Speak but one gracious word, and a few hours will be sufficient to bring her to your feet. Conducted by the good Abbot she has followed my steps hither, and I need only your permission to deliver her up to your protection,”—
It is superfluous to say, that Herman’s request was granted with readiness; but how great was the emotion, which his narrative had excited in his auditress, how ardent her impatience for the arrival of the unhappy lady! She was unable to restrain her tears, and a thousand joyful exclamations escaped her lips, whose import was unintelligible to Herman.
—“Am I right,” said he, “in supposing, that my friend is not unknown to you?”—