Frederick heard every word with increasing amazement. In a voice of fury he demanded, that the proofs, of which the Monk had spoken, should be instantly produced.—Father Hilarius then gave Elizabeth’s letters into his hand, accompanying them with some reflections on the danger of teaching women the art of writing; at the same time reminding the Count, how strenuously and how frequently he had represented to him, that in the hands of so forward a girl as Ida, there could not possibly be a more dangerous instrument than a pen; and that to leave her to the full as ignorant as he found her, was an object most desirable both for the Count and for herself.—But his remonstrances had been disregarded; Ida was taught to write; and now see the blessed effects of it!
Elizabeth’s hand was not to be mistaken; and while the Count gazed upon the writing so well known to him, the malicious Priest inflamed his resentment still further by relating various passages of Ida’s early life, to which he well knew how to give that colouring, which suited best with his designs; he related, how during the time that she was believed to be Tell’s grand-daughter, Ida had greatly shocked her companions by her free and dissolute manners; he proceeded to state, that in consequence her guardians had been obliged to separate her from Constantia, lest the one should be perverted by the bad example of the other; that regret at finding all his efforts to reclaim her in vain, had broken the heart of her adopted father, and sent him with sorrow to his grave: that she had carried on an intrigue with a man of low birth, to whom she was still attached; and that in all probability it was her intention to enrich this peasant with the valuable inheritance, which she expected to derive from Count Frederick’s bounty.
—“And then” continued Father Hilarius, casting a malicious side-glance upon Ida’s claims; “and then how easy will it be for the young fellow to vamp up some fine story of an unexpected discovery, and of a relationship to some illustrious family long concealed, and thus qualify himself for assuming openly the proud name of Count of Torrenburg, in right of his wife, her generous uncle’s heiress!”—
The Count bit his lip: yet after a long silence he answered, that Ida’s parentage and claims admitted of no doubt; and that he wished most heartily, that she were any other person, in order that in pronouncing his judgement upon her conduct, she might have been entitled to less consideration and respect.
—“But in spite of all her faults,” said he, “I cannot deal harshly with a person, who is the daughter of my deceased friend, and of the woman whom I once adored. Yet on the other hand, such mean artifices, such acts of interested baseness, of such flagrant ingratitude, ought not to escape without due punishment.—Ida has destroyed the happiness, which I promised myself in marriage; it will be no more than a just vengeance, if I destroy hers in return.—Should she fail to exculpate herself, she shall either be immured for life within the walls of a Cloister, or give her hand without delay to the old Count of Montfort, from whom I this morning received proposals for her hand.”—
When he pronounced this sentence, the Count was standing in an open balcony: as the last words fell from his lips, he saw Ida with her attendants riding slowly towards the Castle. He hastily drew back; and feeling, that he was at that time too much incensed to give her cause an impartial hearing, he ordered Father Hilarius to fill his place—the Friar exulted at this command: he knew well the generosity of his patron’s nature, and dreaded that irresistible conviction, which ever accompanies the pleading of injured innocence: he therefore heard with Great satisfaction, that the cause was not to be tried by a judge, the goodness of whose own heart would naturally incline him to the side of mercy, justice, and compassion.
Ida had scarcely divested herself of her bridal robes, when a procession entered her chamber composed of the chief officers of the Count’s household, and headed by the reverend Father Hilarius. The formal manner of their entrance, and the gravity which reigned in every countenance, were alone sufficient to communicate to her mind some degree of confusion and alarm.—How greatly were these emotions increased, when the Chaplain began his examination, which was preceded by a terrible description of her guardian’s anger, and which consisted of questions so artfully worded, that taken by surprize and bewildered as she was, she found herself constrained either to return no answers at all, or such as were apparently to her disadvantage.—Sensible of this at length, she entreated, that time might be allowed her for recollection: the greatest part of her auditors were well inclined to the poor suppliant, and felt for her the most sincere compassion. The Monk therefore did not dare to act towards her with all the harshness, to which his heart prompted him; the further examination of this affair was postponed to three hours after sunrise of the next day, and Ida was left alone.
It was midnight.—Ida sat weeping, while a variety of unpleasant images crowded before her imagination, and retraced the many singular and painful transactions, of which that day had been a witness. Interesting as had been the events which took place at the Castle of March, still her mind was most occupied by those more recent ones, which surprized her at her return home.—“Her guardian Elizabeth’s rejected bridegroom.”—“Herself accused of having broken off his marriage.”—“Some offences laid to her charge, which were totally incomprehensible.”—“Others, of which she was conscious, that her unguarded conduct had made her but too liable to be suspected.”—“The Count’s violent resentment.”—“His threats.”—“Expulsion from the Castle of Torrenburg.”—“The only choice, allowed her, the cloister for life, or an union with the decrepit Count Egbert.”—Poor, poor Ida! how wilt thou find a clue to guide thy bewildered steps aright through such a labyrinth of dangers!
Buried in these melancholy reflections, she heard not the door unlocked, by which her apartments communicated with the public gallery.—At length a hand gently removed the handkerchief, with which she had covered her face. She looked up, and beheld Father Hilarius.
—“Alas! my dear child,” said the Friar, “what avails your weeping?—believe me, your affairs are not in so ill a state, as you may imagine; though I cannot but confess, that appearances are greatly against you. Your secret correspondence with Elizabeth has been intercepted: I have tried in vain to convince your guardian, that you were ignorant of his having any concern in the affair. Then he looks on your presence at the marriage, as a personal and designed affront. It appears indeed from one of her letters, that your friend herself was in great doubt, whether you would accept her invitation. At the very time of her giving it, she pointed out the inconveniences of your coming; she warned you, that you would incur your uncle’s anger.... And yet in defiance of this warning, you went!—As to the confusion, which your presence produced at the wedding, of that we can make out nothing; you either will not, or can not explain the mystery; one thing only I can collect from your account, which is, that you have made a number of enemies there, who will spare no pains to injure you, and to prevent your innocence from being made clear to the Count.—For that you are innocent, I have no manner of doubt; and I will venture to assert, that in process of time.... But time indeed, Heaven help us! that is exactly what is refused you—the punishment of your supposed offences will be immediate! the old Count of Montfort arrived here not an hour ago; and your guardian is determined, that to-morrow shall decide the destiny of your future life. Of your guilt he is thoroughly persuaded, and you will be compelled to-morrow to give your hand to Count Egbert, if he will condescend to accept it; or if the old man thinks that your conduct has now made you unworthy of such an honour, you will be immediately confined for life in the Convent of the Grey Penitents near Count Frederick’s Thuringian Castle.”—