"She shall be the last one," commanded Ilse. "None of you shall attempt to go upon it, for it will not bear the pressure long."
Her father came up.
"The flood will subside to-night if fresh rain does not fall; but the injury it has done will long be remembered. Below, at Rossau, it appears still worse; it has overflowed the fields. Mr. Hummel has hastened down, as he is anxious about the bridges on the road on which his daughter is coming. In the village the water has entered some of the houses; the people are preparing to move to our farm-yard. Go down and help them," he said, turning to some laborers, and continued, in a low tone, to his daughter: "The Prince has gone to the village to examine the damage there. He wishes to speak to you; would you like to see him now?"
"I am ready," said Ilse.
She went towards the village with her father; there she ascended to the churchyard.
"I shall remain in the neighborhood," said he. "When the Prince leaves you, call me."
She stood by the side of the wall, looking at the grave of her dear mother and at the spot where the old Pastor reposed with his wife. The branches of the trees which she had planted here hung over her head. She remembered how fond her old friend had been of dilating on the fact that everything was just the same in the great world as in his village, the nature and passions of men were everywhere alike, and that one might make the same experience in their little valley as amidst the tumult of the Court.
"Here my father is master," she thought, "and the people are accustomed to obey us, his children, and to regard us as we do our rulers. And their children, too, might experience what others have had to experience, were their master an evil-minded man. Yet they may ask for justice at any moment and find protection.
"How will he, the proud man, bear that his wife should not find justice or protection from the injury which has been done to both her and him? We ought to do good to those who injure us. If the wicked Sovereign should now come to me sick and helpless, ought I to receive him in my house? and ought I to place myself by his couch, when such a mark of kindness might expose me to fresh insult? I have worn a white mantle; the stain which he has cast upon it, I see every hour, and no tears wash it away. He has taken from me my pure robe; shall I also at his bidding give him my gown? O high and honorable precept, taught me by my departed friend, I tremble to obey. It is a struggle between duties, and the thought of my Felix says to me, 'No.'
"I have done with the young Prince too, however innocent he may be. I know that he once sought encouragement from the simple woman with all the warmth of his heart, and my vanity has often told me that I have been a good friend to him in his high yet lonely life. Fearfully have I atoned for this vain pride. He also from henceforth must be a stranger to me. What can he still wish from me? I imagine that he thinks exactly as I do, and only wishes to take leave of me for ever. Well, I am prepared for it."