One evening in March, when the snow lay deep around the castle, and, except the woods of leafless beech, or here and there a clump of dark green pine, every thing was mantled over with it; I sat at one of my windows, which I had opened to see more clearly the prospect of the Sound, where many a ship lay frozen in, with her high poop and snow-mantled yards casting a long shadow on the expanse of ice.
I was buried in reverie; my mind was endeavouring to pierce the clouds that rested on the future; for though the progress of my love affair was indeed most fortunate, the chances of a happy conclusion were, as yet, distant and vague; and, of all things in this world, there is nothing I dislike more than suspense.
The sun was setting, and its cold yellow lustre fell upon a stone terrace immediately below my window; there, in a sheltered place, and well muffled up in dresses of warm red cloth, trimmed with ample furs of Muscovite sable, Ernestine sat with Gabrielle, conversing in low and earnest tones. They had been there for a considerable time, before a sudden exclamation of the first made me aware of their vicinity. I had not the least intention of listening, for I had too keen a sense of honour to do so, though we have known it to be the favourite resort of romancers and players, to make even their best bred cavaliers acquainted with what it was never intended they should know; but a burst of surprise and anguish from Ernestine, and its tenor, chained me to the spot, and, think of it what you will, I was compelled to remain and listen.
"Gabrielle! oh, Gabrielle! what is this you tell me? I will leave this place at all risks—we must—we shall! Nay, nay! talk not of danger or of difficulty; for we will launch a boat and put forth together, rather than expose you to this humiliating—this miserable infatuation!"
"Oh, spare me, dear sister!" urged the plaintive voice of Gabrielle.
"I do not reproach you, Gabrielle!" said Ernestine, affectionately drawing her sister's drooping head upon her breast, and embracing it with her arm.
"Ernestine, is it a sin to love?"
"Not as your spotless heart loves!" replied the elder sister, kissing her; while a bright smile of affection sparkled in her mild dark eyes.
"It must be—else whence this sense of mingled shame and mortification?"
"We shall leave this ill-omened island, Gabrielle. We must depart for Vienna—I have still money enough; but oh, what a distance to travel alone! Surely, we shall find some safe conductor, at least, to the opposite shore, where the Imperialists have garrisoned every town. At all risks, my poor little dove, I will free you from this danger; so dry your tears, Gabrielle, and weep no more."