CHAPTER V. THE OATH OF FIDELITY.
Long after nightfall the nurse heard her mistress rapidly pacing her room, and talking aloud to herself. Soon, however, Sleep spread her soothing wings over Louisa, and she heard no more the rapid steps and loud talking of her mistress, nor the rolling of a carriage which stopped before the door, and the quick, vigorous steps of a man mounting the stairs. But Wilhelmine heard them. Breathless she stood, listening to the approaching footsteps, for she felt that they had to decide her future—the weal and woe of her children! Was it he, her beloved, the father of her children? or was it the king’s bailiff who had followed her, and came to seize her?
Nearer they came; the bell was hastily, violently rung. Wilhelmine uttered a cry of delight. She recognized the voice, the commanding manner, and rushed through the anteroom to open the door. The prince encircled her in his arms, pressed her to his beating heart, and, lifting her up, bore her into the room.
“Why did you leave Potsdam, Wilhelmine? Tell me quickly, why did you do it?” asked the prince, tenderly kissing her, as he sat her upon the divan at his side. Overcome with her tears, she could not answer. “What mean these tears? Has any one dared to wound your feelings or injure you?”
“Yes, Frederick, and he who injures me hazards nothing—for it is the king! I met him in the park at Potsdam this morning. He has crushed me with his scorn and anger. He has threatened me with a fearful punishment—no less than the house of correction at Spandau! He has told me that the spinning-wheel is in readiness for me if I excite his further contempt.”
A cry of fury escaped the prince. Springing up, he paced the room with rapid strides. Wilhelmine remained upon the divan, but her tears did not prevent her following the prince with a searching glance—to read his face, pale with rage. “I must bear it,” he cried, beating his forehead. “I cannot protect those that I love!”
A ray of joy lighted up Wilhelmine’s face as she listened, but it disappeared with the tears which flowed afresh. “I am a poor, unfortunate child,” she sobbed, “whom every one despises, and fears not to injure, who has no one to counsel or protect her, and who is lost if God does not have compassion upon her.”
The prince rushed to her, seizing both hands. “Wilhelmine, do not drive me mad with sorrow,” he cried, trembling with excitement and anger. “Is it my fault that I cannot protect you against him? Have I not defended you from all the rest of the world? Have I ever allowed any one to treat you with contempt?”
“I have never given occasion for it, dearest. I have studiously avoided all men, to escape their contempt and scorn. Shame is hard to bear, fearfully hard. I felt it today, as his beautiful eyes flashed upon me with contempt, as his haughty language crushed me to the earth. This is the yoke, Frederick William, that I and my children must bear to our graves!”