"RACHEL VON MEYER" was on every box and case. In her father's mind she already bore another name.
"Rachel von Meyer!" said she, with a shudder. "My father denies me his name! Who, then, am I?"
A flush of modest shame overspread her face, as scarcely daring to articulate the words, she knelt, and murmured:
"I am Rachel Gunther. And if such be my name," continued she, after a pause of rapture, "I have no right to be here amid the treasures of the Baroness von Meyer. I must away from this house, which is no longer a home for me. Away, away! for Gunther awaits me."
And now she looked with despair at the locked doors and the lofty windows, so far, far from the ground.
"Oh, if I had but wings!—I, who am here a prisoner, while my heart is away with him!"
Suddenly she gave a start, for deliverance was possible. She looked from the window as if to measure its height, and then she darted through the rooms until she saw a table covered with silks. She took thence a roll of white, heavy ribbon, and, throwing it before her, exclaimed joyfully:
"It is long, oh, it is quite long enough. And strong enough to support me. Thank Heaven! it is dark, and I shall not he seen. A gold ducat will bribe the guard at the postern—and then I am free!"
She returned to her sitting-room, and, with trembling haste, threw a dark mantle around her. Then, looking up at her father's portrait, her eyes filled with bitter tears.
"Farewell, my father, farewell!"