"This must—must be some dreadful dream or fantasy!" said Anna, pressing her hands upon her temples.
"I have seen his bride."
"Is she beautiful?"
"Yes, singularly beautiful, and gentle, and winning."
"Hah!" muttered Anna sharply through the teeth, which were set like a vice.
Her face was pale and colourless. An expression of jealous bitterness, of anger, and reproach, were on her forehead, and sparkling in her eyes, which were almost white with an aspect of passion, such as Konrad had never before witnessed in her usually calm features; and, taking her hands in his, he said tenderly—
"Be composed, dearest Anna! for I never will forsake thee while hie remains; and even were I to die, my spirit, I am assured, will hover near thee still."
"Thou!" said she bitterly, as she snatched away her hands; "what art thou to me?"
The young man trembled, for at these cruel words a heavy palsy seemed to fall upon his heart.
"And where is his castle, Konrad?" she demanded abruptly.