“These hopes she concealed most sedulously from her tyrant; and so often had her sweetest dreams disappointed her, that despair still was able at times to regain his former influence over her mind. Yet she was now so accustomed to mark by some piteous sound, that there was a suffering creature buried in these caverns who implored assistance, that she continued her groans and cries, even when she had long given up the expectation of their reaching the ear of compassion. In truth, the workmen, during the intervals of their labours, had caught the faint murmurs of her complaints; but they put no other interpretations upon the sound, than such as were suggested by terror and superstition. Fortunately our enterprise necessarily brought us every day nearer the place of her seclusion; till at length some good Angel made me attentive to the cry of sorrow, and guided me to the performance of an action, which I shall never cease to consider as the most blessed and fortunate event of my whole life.”—
Herman of Werdenberg here ended his long narrative; the emotions which it had produced in Helen were so violent, that every similitude would fall short of expressing their strength.
—“Emmeline!” said she in that internal voice, which is only audible to the soul, “thou liv’st then, and I shall once more clasp to my bosom the poor forlorn orphan, the persecuted dove, the pious martyr of chastity and religion!—And Herman is your deliverer! that very Herman of Werdenberg, who once was unjust to your merits, and who now (if I may judge by every possible evidence) adores you with the warmest, purest affection, ever kindled in the bosom of a mortal! Oh! Helen, Helen, what unexpected joy! You will see two of the best of human beings made happy after long and cruel sufferings, and will yourself assist in forwarding their happiness! My own plans of worldly bliss have all been ruined; in reward for my not murmuring at their destruction, grant me, ye powers of mercy, that wisdom and that foresight, which may enable me to establish the felicity of my friend on the firmest foundations and with the least delay.”—
Herman was at a loss to comprehend the long silence of the Abbess, and the deep meditation, into which his narrative seemed to have plunged her. At length she recollected herself, and at her request he retired in search of the stranger, Helen having previously stipulated that he should not be present at their meeting. She was not certain, that in the first moments of emotion she should be sufficiently mistress of herself to conceal Emmeline’s name; and from what he had said, she collected, that it was not her friend’s intention at present to discover herself to her deliverer.
A few hours elapsed, before Emmeline appeared leaning on the good Abbot: Helen now was no longer surprised, that in her present situation she had not been recognized by her former lover. She was sadly, sadly changed. It was necessary to have been quite as lovely as Emmeline, in order not to have lost every charm of person during the long and cruel period of her captivity; it was necessary to have possest as wonderful a strength of mind as hers, in order to escape with her senses unimpaired from the fearful shipwreck of all that was then most dear to her. Ah! Herman, Herman! that youthful vivacity, which appeared to you so high a crime, and for which you so unjustly blamed the innocent girl, was now fled for ever; its place was supplied by a mild and serious look of resignation, whose melancholy it’s true was sometimes illumined by a benevolent smile; but the smile was but momentary, and its lustre soon faded away. Yet thus it was, that you wished her to be; and thus must Emmeline needs appear to you a thousand times more pleasing, than while she yet shone with all the brilliant powers of unfaded youth, vivacity, and beauty. Beautiful in truth was Emmeline no more; but Emmeline was still interesting beyond expression. A slight frail nymph-like form, so light that it seemed as if air could have sustained her; a face, robbed of its roseate colour, but so dazzling fair, that she resembled a marble statue; a countenance, from which a painter might have formed a portrait of Christian Humility, and to which the consciousness of heroic self-denial and of long abstraction from all earthly hopes and pleasures, had given a saint-like expression that was almost supernatural; such now was the once brilliant Emmeline of Sargans!
But Helen did not make these observations during the first moments of their meeting; she could attend to nothing but the joy of once more embracing her persecuted friend, whom she prest to her bosom with pleasure too great for utterance. Emmeline was more composed; it was long since she had seen Helen, who had never been to her more than a beloved play-fellow, whom she sometimes remembered with a wish to meet again, and sometimes quite forgot in contemplation of nearer interests and impending dangers: but much more was she to Helen. The sufferings of amiable persons, with whom we have ever had even the slightest acquaintance, give them an extraordinary value in our eyes; and they inspire us with an affection for them which rises to the highest pitch, if we feel that it is at all in our power to show them kindness, and to repair in some degree the past injustice of their fate.
What happened at this interview between the re-united friends; with what rapture Emmeline was received by the infirm Urania, whose life was now drawing towards its close; the recapitulation of what had past during their separation, and the plans which they arranged for the future; all this I shall pass over in silence, and shall only relate so much of the latter, as may be absolutely necessary. Time and grief had made alterations in Herman’s appearance scarcely less surprising than in Emmeline’s. His assumed name; his gentle manners softened by melancholy recollections and by compassion for the invalid, so different from the sternness and contempt with which he had ever treated her at the Bishop’s court; the dimness of her still-enfeebled sight; the darkened chamber, whose half-light only afforded her an indistinct view of her deliverer, when he visited her; these circumstances had contributed to conceal Herman from her knowledge, and she only entertained a suspicion, that the sound of his voice was not totally unknown to her. But she remarked his growing affection; and being unwilling to encourage it, she abstained from making those enquiries, which might perhaps have satisfied her curiosity, but which also might have led him to believe, that she was interested respecting him.
She was perfectly ignorant of all, that had passed during her captivity. She had given her gaoler’s assertions implicit credit, and firmly believed, that the few persons whom she loved were numbered among the dead.—With what joy did she hear from Helen’s lips the assurance, that Amalberga was alive and happy, and that she herself was indebted for her release to no other than Herman of Werdenberg!—In truth, she had hitherto been resolved to discourage the attachment of this unknown warrior; but this resolution only lasted, till she discovered his real name. Present gratitude and former affection now gave him a double interest in her heart: yet did it not so totally overpower all other feelings, as to determine her to forget entirely the injustice of his former conduct. She was resolved to put him to a severe trial; she was besides not quite certain, that his ancient prejudices might not still have some influence over him; but a few conversations with the Knight were sufficient to efface every suspicion on this subject. He frequently visited his unknown mistress at the Convent-grate, where (the better to elude a discovery) she never appeared without a veil: with every visit his attachment evidently increased in strength; yet even in her presence he frequently bestowed a sigh upon the rejected Emmeline, whom he never mentioned but in terms of interest and compassion. This conduct was not without its advantage, and when he was soon after compelled to fulfill his vow of assisting in the crusade against the infidel Albigese, he did not depart without hopes of being welcome at his return.
During his absence the meeting took place between Emmeline and her beloved sister. Helen had at length gained such perfect mastery over her feelings, as to endure without agony the presence of Torrenburg and the happy Amalberga; and she and Urania were the delighted witnesses of a scene, which appeared rather calculated for the regions of light beyond the grave, than for the habitation of wretched mortality. Amalberga, clasped in the arms of that sister, whom she had so long numbered with the dead; Torrenburg, Urania, and Helen, the spectators of and the partners in their joy; and then the relation of Emmeline’s cruel sufferings; and then the description of Amalberga’s unclouded happiness; and then the brilliant prospects for the future which displayed themselves to both, and which for this time were no illusions.... No, I will not trust my feeble pen with the description!
The report soon circulated through the country, that the lost daughter of Count Donat was still in existence. The sisters shared the inheritance amicably, like two lovers dividing some scarce and delicious fruit, each anxious that the other should receive a full proportion. From every quarter of the free and happy Helvetia thronged the ancient friends of the family of Sargans to congratulate the co-heiresses. At length came also Herman of Werdenberg in quest of his unknown mistress, whom he understood to be resident at Sargans; he returned from his expedition, crowned with glory, and rewarded by the Pope with absolution from his sins; a favour, of which the pious warrior stood but little in need. Count Torrenburg proffered him the hand of his sister, of the rich heiress of Sargans, of her whose beauty had formerly fascinated his eyes; but his heart was now possest by the poor and friendless stranger, and the hand of the rich heiress was respectfully declined. Indignation at this refusal was the reason assigned by Amalberga for the non-appearance of her sister; the stranger however was not equally invisible, though her veil was not yet laid aside; and her consent to become his bride soon repaid him for his constancy. It was not till the espousals had taken place, that she revealed to him her real name, which Herman now grown wiser heard without repugnance; for his early prejudices had at length lost their influence in his bosom, and Emmeline’s past sufferings left him no doubt respecting the purity of her future conduct. He believed, that he had plighted his faith to a needy friendless orphan; and the orphan in giving him her hand made him the powerful Lord of Upper-Carlsheim, of Ortenstein, and of many other fruitful territories. Happy were their days; happy was she through him, and he through her! He had found once more the long-lost jewel, of whose value he was so long unconscious; he had found the attachments of his early youth and of his maturer manhood, the choice both of his heart and of his head, and had found them all united in the person of his adored Emmeline!