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 K/yfl*. */**-*-«— w isvs-s^- w 
 
 THE 
 
 BANDIT'S BRIDE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 TEE MAI© ®]F ^ATONT. 
 a Stomasttf « 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 By LOUISA SIDNEY STANHOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 .V9STBRAZIL ABBEY, Dl MOXTRANZO, NVN OF SANTA MARIA 
 DI TISDARO, TREACHERY, <*c. $c. 
 
 Thou hast torn me 
 From the dear arms of my lamenting friends, 
 from my soul's peace, and from my injur'd Jove, 
 
 And driven me to the brink of black despair. ROWE. 
 
 JECONT) EDITION. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 fLonfcran : 
 
 Prmttdat the Mir-.frva Fran for 
 
 A. K. KB W MAN ANDCO. L E A D E XHAL L-STR F ET,
 
 > 
 2. 
 
 - 
 
 /sit 
 
 THE 
 
 BANDIT'S BRIDE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JL HANK Heaven for the blessings we 
 enjoy !" exclaimed Dusseldorf, drawing 
 his chair near the fire ; and as the wind 
 sounded in hollow blasts around the cot- 
 tage, with cheerful gratitude, and honest 
 exultation, he surveyed the comforts of 
 his humble dwelling. From the service 
 of his country, and the toils and dangers 
 of war, he had retired, with his aged part- 
 ner, to pass his remaining days in peace. 
 Agatha's heart, though no less virtuous, 
 was less courageous than Dusseldorf 's ; 
 
 vol. I. B and
 
 ( Z THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 and as that hoary veteran composedly list- 
 ened to the storm, trembling with fear 
 and apprehension, his companion sat 
 dreading the effects of the tempest. 
 
 Agatha had been twice a mother, truly 
 an unfortunate one — her youngest child 
 was dead : happy babe ! its fate was to be 
 envied. Alas ! her daughter, her first-born 
 darling, had been lured from her home ; 
 and she knew not but at that moment 
 might be exposed, unsheltered and un- 
 protected, to the bitterness of the storm. 
 
 It was one of those nights in the month 
 of March, when the equinoctial winds 
 howl in the rocky cavities, and the 
 waves, in tempestuous violence, dash tre- 
 mendously against the cliff — when the 
 terrified beasts, trembling at the con- 
 flicting elements, creep for shelter to 
 their coverts, and men, less timid, talk 
 over the havock of the storm ; it was in 
 such a night as this, when pitying those 
 unfortunate beings who might be expo- 
 sed to its violence, Dusseldorf and Aga- 
 tha
 
 THE bandit's bride. :i 
 
 tha sat listening to the distant roaring of 
 the sea. For a few moments the wind 
 abated, and a deep moan sounded through 
 the cottage — D usseldorf started . Again 
 the wind arose, and again the pitiless rain 
 beat in torrents against the window. 
 
 " Hark !" exclaimed Agatha, as a faint 
 murmur reached her ear — it was the 
 voice of distress — never had D usseldorf 
 been deaf to its call : he sprang from his 
 chair, and taking the light, approached 
 the door. Agatha, trembling with ter- 
 ror and dismay, closely followed ; but 
 the strong current of air extinguished the 
 light. Dusseldorf, regardless of the en- 
 treaties of the dame, proceeded ; and in 
 an audible voice, demanded if any one 
 sought a refuge in the cottage ? A deep 
 sob, which sounded near, was the only 
 answer he received. Again he repeated 
 his inquiry, when a voice, breathed in 
 the accents of female softness, exclaimed 
 — " Help, for Heaven's sake, help, or my 
 child will perish!" 
 
 B 2 " Where
 
 4 THE BANDITS BRIDE. 
 
 " Where art thou ?" asked Dussel- 
 dorf, in compassionating accents. 
 
 " Here," sobbed the stranger. " Alas ! 
 hasten — my cherub — my poor Rosalthe." 
 
 Dusseldorf approached the spot from 
 whence the voice proceeded, and distin- 
 guished a female leaning against the wall, 
 and closely pressing to her bosom a sleep- 
 ing infant. He extended his arm to as- 
 sist the stranger, who, cold and wretched, 
 had nearly sunk to the earth. Agatha, 
 meeting them at the door, started at the 
 appearance of a tall female figure, sup- 
 ported by the arm of her husband. Her 
 head was without covering; her hair, 
 loose and dishevelled, hung upon her 
 shoulders; her garments dripped with 
 rain; and her pale but lovely counte- 
 nance spoke distress and misery. An 
 infant slumbered on the bosom of its 
 wretched mother, whose white arm with 
 difficulty supported the burden it encir- 
 cled. Fixing her dark eyes on the sym- 
 pathizing Agatha, and holding forth her 
 
 child,
 
 THE BANDIT S BRIDE. 5 
 
 dhild, she exclaimed, as she deposited it 
 in her arms — " Be careful of this father- 
 less babe, oh God !" she murmured, and 
 faintly shuddering, burst into tears. 
 Deep and convulsed sobs agitated her 
 bosom ; her hands were clasped, and in 
 broken and incoherent sentences she 
 pronounced — " Spare him ! merciful Hea- 
 vens, spare him ! — barbarous father ! — 
 art thou gone, my Leopold ?" 
 
 Agatha, much affected, listened to her 
 wanderings, and with gentleness be- 
 sought her to be composed. 
 
 V Composed !" repeated the stranger, 
 raising her hands and eyes to Heaven ; 
 " alas ! composure can never more reach 
 my heart." 
 
 Her head sunk upon her hand, and in 
 a vacant stare she gazed round the apart- 
 ment. Dusseldorf viewed her with pity, 
 but was unwilling to interrupt her re- 
 flections. At length the faint cry of the 
 little Rosalthe recalled her wretched mo- 
 ther to recollection. 
 
 B 3 " Poor
 
 6 THE BANDIT'S BttlDE. 
 
 " Poor child!" she sobbed, as she press- 
 ed it to her heart ; " innocent offspring 
 of an unfortunate father ! — precious rem- 
 nant of my Leopold's love ! — sole darling 
 of the widowed Adela ! — may Heaven's 
 mercy shield thee from sorrow ! — may 
 no untoward calamity blight thy expec- 
 tations ! — mayst thou live innocent and 
 happy, a stranger to De Lindenthal's 
 hate — a stranger to the persecutions of 
 thy murdered parent ! — I could wish," 
 turning to Agatha, " to find an asylum 
 for my child — I could wish her not to 
 feel the loss of her mother — soon, very 
 .soon, will my woes be forgotten." 
 
 Agatha wept. 
 
 " Thy heart is softened," continued 
 the stranger; " wilt thou pity the or- 
 phan? — wilt thou protect her infant 
 state? — wilt thou guard her from the 
 trials ©f the world ? — wilt thou sooth her 
 in the path of sorrow ? — wilt thou direct 
 herin the hourof joy ? — wilt thou lead her 
 to the grave in which my remains will 
 
 moulder,
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 7 
 
 moulder, and say — f That dust, Rosalthe, 
 presses on the bosom of thy parent; and 
 that parent, in the agony of a broken heart, 
 consigned thee to Heaven and to me ?" 
 
 Agatha sunk on her knees — " I will," 
 she solemnly replied ; " and may Hea- 
 ven's reward or punishment await the 
 discharge of my duty T 
 
 Dusseldorf pronounced, " Amen!" and 
 sealed with a kiss the tender forehead of 
 his adopted daughter. 
 
 The stranger appeared more composed; 
 and in compliance with the wishes of 
 Agatha, exchanged her costly robes for 
 the humble, but more comfortable habi- 
 liments of her hostess. Once more was 
 the child placed on the lap of the good 
 dame ; and Dusseldorf, to divert the at- 
 tention of the stranger from her own 
 sorrows, entreated her to draw nearer 
 the fire—" It is a dreadful night — hark, 
 how the rain beats !" 
 
 " Dreadful indeed!" she repeated, 
 
 gazing wildly on Dusseldorf; " but it is 
 
 B 4 calm
 
 8 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 calm and peaceful to the storm which 
 rages in my breast. — Once," she mourn- 
 fully sighed, "life was desirable; but the 
 soother hope is fled, and why should I 
 struggle with the burden ?" 
 
 Agatha held forth the sleeping Rosal- 
 the : at the sight, maternal affection sof- 
 tened her countenance — " Yes, there is 
 a tie," she murmured ; " and for the 
 child of the murdered Leopold, even 
 Adela will endeavour to live. But 
 should my father find us — ah, merciful- 
 Heaven ! the innocent, the precious life 
 of my babe may be sacrificed to his re- 
 sentment." 
 
 Shuddering at the idea, she burst into 
 tears : her strength appeared subdued by 
 emotion, and Agatha, unresisting, led 
 her to a bed : she suffered herself to be 
 placed upon it, and overcome by fatigue 
 and sorrow, soon sunk into the arms of 
 sleep. But even there, when weariness 
 weighed down he* eyelids, and her ex- 
 hausted form sought renovated strength 
 
 from
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 9 
 
 from repose — there, where affliction is 
 forgotten, where the pang of remem- 
 brance ceases to torment the unhappy — 
 there, even there, this wretched wan- 
 derer lost not her grief; agitated and 
 convulsed, she sighed heavily, and in 
 quick and despairing accents articulated, 
 " See, see how he bleeds ! help, oh help ! 
 My father, I am his wife — Heaven has 
 witnessed our vows ! Alas, he dies ! how 
 pale ! how cold! Ah, Leopold! my soul's 
 lord! my beloved — my murdered hus- 
 band ! what now will become of the be- 
 reaved Adela ?" 
 
 For several moments she remained 
 quiet, but again starting, " See that bleed- 
 ing dagger — see, it is reeking in the 
 hand of my father ! — father ! — no — no — 
 monster, hide it from me !" 
 
 Her exertions were here so violent, 
 that with a deep groan she awoke. Aga- 
 tha hastened to the bedside, but every 
 object was alike unknown : a burning- 
 fever had seized on her brain, and in the 
 B 5 quick
 
 10 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 quick voice of delirium she exclaimed — 
 
 * Wouldst thou take my child from 
 me? — wouldst thou deprive me of my 
 only consolation ? No, thou shalt not go, 
 my babe ! thou wert my comfort in the 
 storm ; and when the rain fell I warmed 
 thee in my bosom, and when the thun- 
 der roared I lulled thee to repose. Hush ! 
 hush ? lie still, sweet innocent, and Bar- 
 nard will not find thee. Why dost thou 
 cry so piteously ? thy voice will betray 
 us. Oh God ! see yonder is my father: 
 his poniard is covered with Leopold's 
 blood. He will murder my child too. 
 Barbarian! cruel, inhuman parent! will 
 nought but Rosalthe's life satisfy thee?" 
 Then fixing her eyes sternly on the agi- 
 tated countenance of Dusseldorf, " Take 
 it, but take it through the heart of 
 Adela :" and then, lowering her voice, 
 
 * lay her on my bosom, and place us in 
 the grave with Leopold." 
 
 Dusseldorf, approaching the bed, at- 
 tempted to speak; but the stranger, 
 
 loudly
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 11 
 
 loudly shrieking, hid her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 " What dost thou fear? why dost 
 thou tremble?" gently inquired Agatha. 
 " Here are no enemies, no poniard ; thy 
 babe slumbers in safety, and in this cot* 
 tage only friends surround thee: look 
 up then." 
 
 " Methought I heard my father's 
 voice," answered the stranger. " Hark ! 
 that noise ! now — now he is at the gate." 
 
 • What noise?" inquired Agatha; 
 " compose thy spirits, lady, 'tis only the 
 rain." 
 
 " Only the rain !" repeated Adela, with 
 increasing wildness; " but dost thou 
 know that the rain falls on Leopold ! — 
 see, it washes the blood from his wounds ! 
 —oh that I could warm thee in my 
 heart, love ! oh that I could die to save 
 thee! But thou speakest not — thou art 
 dead — and never, never wilt thou awake 
 to bless me f ^ 
 
 Her voice softened into tenderness, 
 b 6 and
 
 12! THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 and sinking back on her pillow, she 
 burst into a flood of tears. Agatha con- 
 tinued by the bedside, silently behold- 
 ing her agony, fearing to move, lest, 
 alarmed by the sound, the stranger 
 should relapse into frenzy : but, nature 
 nearly exhausted by contending passions, 
 balmy sleep once more weighed down 
 her eyelids. Agatha, gently quitting 
 her station, placed a log on the fire ; and 
 taking the infant on her knee, watched 
 anxiously the remainder of the night. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 X.ONG and heavy was the sleep of Adela. 
 The little Rosalthe awoke, and smiling, 
 repaid the cares of the dame, ere her mo- 
 ther threw off its shackles. Sweet babe ! 
 a stranger to misfortune, well mightest 
 thou smile: no sorrow for the past, no 
 
 dread
 
 THE BANQIT'S BRIDE. 13 
 
 dread of the future embittered thy hours: 
 an unconscious fellow-sufferer, thou so- 
 journed with thy parent, and knew not 
 that, forlorn and helpless, thou wert 
 thrown upon the bounty of strangers ! 
 
 At length a convulsed sigh drew Aga- 
 tha to the bed. Adela had awakened, 
 and languidly extending her hand, tried 
 to express her obligations ; but the at- 
 tempt was vain — -weakness checked her 
 utterance, and the word " gratitude" died 
 on her lips. Sleep had removed the 
 strong delirium which in the night had 
 exhausted her strength; and her coun- 
 tenance, no longer flushed by fever, 
 wore the pale cast of death. She mo- 
 tioned for her child, and exerting her 
 feeble efforts, received the blooming che- 
 rub from the arms of Agatha : with un- 
 utterable anguish she pressed it to her 
 heart, and moistened its little face with 
 her tears. Softened by the scene, the 
 dame sunk on her knees — " My heart 
 is cold," faintly articulated Adela; J 
 
 feel
 
 14 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 feel the approach of death ; but I do not 
 tremble — misfortune has robbed it of 
 its terrors; religion has chastened my 
 mind ; and was it not for my infant, I 
 should behold with joy the opening pros- 
 pects of futurity. But who will occupy 
 my place ? who will be to her a mother ? 
 who will guide her mind to virtue ? who 
 will shield her innocence from artifice — 
 her heart from sorrow ?" 
 
 "I will," sobbed Agatha; "I had 
 once a daughter — Rosalthe shall be as 
 Jacquilina — Rosalthe shall be my charge 
 — Rosalthe shall be dear to me as to her 
 mother." 
 
 " The Holy Virgin reward and bless 
 thee !" said Adela, raising the hand of the 
 dame to her lips " But that is not all," 
 she continued, taking from her neck a 
 miniature studded with diamonds — 
 ** This," in a low but energetic tone, " is 
 the resemblance of Rosalthe's father; 
 preserve it for the orphan, but hide it, 
 carefully hide it, from the world: — let 
 
 not
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 15 
 
 the baron de Lindenthal behold it, else 
 his vengeance to the parents may de- 
 scend to their offspring. A mystery 
 hangs over the birth of my infant; I 
 dare not give her the name of her father, 
 nor, while De Lindenthal lives, must she 
 know the house from whence she springs. 
 My mother's name was De Stellenheim ; 
 in that Rosalthe must conceal her own, 
 and by so doing, escape persecution and 
 distress. And now, humane and excel- 
 lent woman, I wish to perform a painful 
 task : I wish, for the satisfaction of my 
 child, to retrace my own sufferings, and 
 to occupy my last hours in writing a few 
 lines, for the future perusal of my daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 Agatha immediately supplied her with 
 implements for writing, and supporting 
 her with pillows, took Rosalthe from her 
 arms, and left her to perform her last 
 duty. In the course of a short time, 
 Adela had concluded and sealed the 
 packet, addressed to Rosalthe de Stctten- 
 
 heim ;
 
 16 
 
 helm; and on the back was written a 
 strict and solemn charge for the letter to 
 remain unopened, during the life of 
 Gustavus baron de Lindenthal : this, to- 
 gether with the picture, was placed in 
 the care of Agatha, whilst Adela, ex- 
 tending her emaciated hand towards the 
 dame, pointed to an elegant bracelet 
 which encircled her wrist. 
 
 " This bracelet," she said, in a voice of 
 agitation, " in a few short hours, when 
 I am no more, may be removed; but 
 while the stream of life flows round my 
 heart, I will preserve this precious trea- 
 sure of my parent's love : — yes, sainted 
 Beatrice, dear and regretted mother! 
 never, till death stiffens the altered form 
 of Adela, will she resign what by thee 
 was so fondly cherished ; and then, my 
 good dame, place it with the picture; 
 and when the hour arrives for breaking 
 the seal of the packet, give them to Ro- 
 salthe, and teach her to value the last, 
 the only bequest of an unhappy mother." 
 
 Overcome
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 17 
 
 Overcome by her exertions, she sunk 
 upon her pillow, and, for several mo- 
 ments, life appeared suspended : — again 
 she slowly revived, and Dusseldorf, alarm- 
 ed at her danger, quitted the cottage, 
 and repaired to the convent of St. Flo- 
 rensia, to make known the situation of 
 his inmate, and to claim assistance of the 
 lady abbess. 
 
 The superior of this holy community 
 was adored by the surrounding peasan- 
 try; her liberal hand relieved their wants, 
 whilst her sympathizing heart commi- 
 serated their afflictions. Often had her 
 bounty reached the humble dwelling in 
 which Adela had sought an asylum; 
 and Dusseldorf felt assured, the instant 
 she should hear the state to which the 
 stranger was reduced, every aid which 
 humanity could give would be adminis- 
 tered. Happy in the purity of his own 
 heart, it might have been said he passed 
 his days in peace, did not the recollec- 
 tion of Jacquilina, his long-lost, long-re- 
 gretted
 
 18 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 gretted Jacquilina, often obtrude on his 
 mind. She had been seduced from her 
 home by a villain; the thought fired 
 the heart of the good old soldier : soften- 
 ed by remembrance, the tears would 
 chace each other down his cheek; and 
 to behold her penitent was now the only 
 consolation to which he looked forward. 
 Dusseldorf had nearly reached the 
 foot of the hill, on the top of which 
 stood the convent; he looked towards 
 it with religious awe, and as he viewed 
 its grey walls in his " mind's eye," be- 
 held Jacquilina, his frail, ungrateful 
 daughter, dedicating her life to her God, 
 and passing her days virtuously in that 
 holy retirement. — " Ah, would to Hea- 
 ven it had been so !" he sighed — his lips 
 quivered — again he quickened his pace, 
 and soon reached the gate. With a 
 trembling heart he raised his hand to 
 the bell ; it was opened by the portress. 
 Dusseldorf inquired for the lady abbess, 
 and was shewn into the parlour. The 
 
 sisterhoQd
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 19 
 
 sisterhood had just met for prayers; Dus- 
 seldorf impatiently awaited their conclu- 
 sion ; and at length the superior stood be- 
 fore him. The heavenly smile which irra- 
 diated her countenance inspired his heart 
 with courage. Without hesitation he 
 made known his little storv, and entreated 
 her assistance : her tears flowed as she lis- 
 tened to the tale of woe he related ; and 
 praising the benevolence of the cottagers, 
 proposed returning with Dusseldorf, and 
 having conveyed from the convent every 
 necessary which the situation of the un- 
 fortunate Adela might require. 
 
 Agatha, with the infant in her arms, 
 met them at the door. 
 
 " How is the stranger?" hastily inquir- 
 ed the abbess. 
 
 The dame shook her head — u Alas ! I 
 fear she has but a few moments to live ; 
 the hand of death presses heavy on her." 
 
 The superior crossed her bosom, and 
 entering the cottage, approached the bed. 
 Adela lay as if asleep— a deep lethargy 
 
 benumbed
 
 W THE BANDITS BRIDE. 
 
 benumbed her senses. The arm on 
 which the bracelet was fastened was 
 thrown on the counterpane — it attracted 
 the attention of the abbess ; grief, hor- 
 ror, and surprise, were depictured on her 
 features. She started back, and raising 
 her eyes to Heaven, uttered a piercing 
 shriek, and sunk senseless on the floor. 
 All was consternation and confusion — 
 the abbess was removed from the cham- 
 ber; and the nun who attended her from 
 the convent, remained watching over, 
 and endeavouring to recall her suspend- 
 ed faculties. Agatha, with the little 
 Rosalthe, continued by the side of the 
 sufferer. Nature feebly struggled, and 
 for a moment the warm pulse of life re- 
 animated the wasted form of Adela: her 
 eyes were fixed mournfully on Rosalthe, 
 from her they rested on the packet, and 
 from thence on the child again: but 
 speech had fled; the cold damp of death 
 bedewed her forehead, and in a sudden 
 impulse she clasped her hands as if in 
 
 prayer.
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 21 
 
 prayer. Agatha held the infant towards 
 her, and, to sooth her parting agonies, 
 again vowed to protect and guard Ro- 
 salthe — " And the packet shall be sa- 
 cred!" she exclaimed ; " never, while the 
 baron de Lindenthal exists, shall the seal 
 be broken." 
 
 A soft and heavenly composure irra- 
 diated the countenance of the expiring 
 Adela : it was a calm which guilt can- 
 not wear — a calm which religion alone 
 produces — a calm which might have 
 shone on the features of a dying martyr. 
 
 u What is wealth or ambition ? what 
 are the pursuits, the joys of life ? An- 
 swer, ye sons of sensuality, will they 
 calm us in the hour of death ? will they 
 sooth us in the day of sorrow ? will they 
 lessen the pangs of retrospection, or glad- 
 den the prospects of futurity with hap- 
 piness and peace? Ah no! short-lived and 
 unsubstantial, they are like the gay sun- 
 beams dancing on the water, which the 
 first passing cloud obscures !" 
 
 Such
 
 22 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Such were the reflections of Agatha, 
 as her eyes rested on the awful object 
 before her. 
 
 " Give me, merciful Providence," she 
 piously whispered, " in the hour of dis- 
 solution, the same resignation, the same 
 support ; direct my steps in the path of 
 life ; and though an erring mortal, shield 
 my heart from sin !" 
 
 Again did the lips of Adela move, 
 but the sound died in an indistinct mur- 
 mur : she raised her head from the pil- 
 low — she fixed her dim eyes on the in- 
 fant — Agatha extended it towards her — 
 she pressed her lips upon its forehead, 
 but ere she could seal it with a parting 
 kiss, her spirit fled ; and falling back, a 
 cold and senseless corse was all that re- 
 mained of the young and beauteous 
 Adela. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As the reanimating warmth of life re- 
 turned, the lady abbess started from 
 the couch, and, looking eagerly round 
 the apartment — " Is it a dream ?" she 
 inquired of the nun, " or have I really 
 beheld the fatal pledge of love and past 
 sorrow ? Ah, holy Virgin ! that brace- 
 let, that dear, that invaluable bracelet, 
 given in joy, cherished in anguish, lost 
 in death ! what long dormant passions 
 has the sight awakened ! Horror, rage, 
 and despair, alternately rack my senses, 
 and tell me, that though estranged from 
 the world, dedicated to religion, my 
 heart has not lost the frailties of huma- 
 nity. But why do I tarry ? let me fly 
 to the sufferer," she continued, rising; 
 " let me ease my aching bosom : let me 
 
 ask
 
 24 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ask — mysterious Heaven! what can I 
 ask?" 
 
 She turned pale, and leant on the arm 
 of the nun — " Why do my limbs refuse 
 their office ? — why does my heart trem- 
 ble ? — Thou great and supreme Ruler of 
 universal beings ! Thou, who has sup- 
 ported me in the hour of grief and dis- 
 traction! Thou, who abateth the tem- 
 pest's fury, who stilleth the raging sea, 
 and calm eth the boisterous winds! pour 
 into my heart the meekness of thy spi- 
 rit; teach me, in humble adoration, to 
 bow to thy mandates ; and teach me, oh, 
 painful, painful lesson ! to 'subdue my own 
 feelings." 
 
 Again she slowly approached the door, 
 but Agatha, coming from the adjoining 
 chamber, stopped her at the entrance. — 
 " Forbear, lady," she exclaimed ; " go not 
 in ; the sufferer sleeps in peace." 
 
 The abbess sighed, and for a few mo- 
 ments reclined on the shoulder of the 
 nun. Her heart appeared to hold com- 
 munion
 
 THE bandit's bride. 25 
 
 munion with Heaven; and when she 
 looked up, despair had fled, and resigna- 
 tion sat enthroned on her countenance. 
 " Father of mercy, I thank thee !" she 
 piously ejaculated : " Adela is removed 
 from the sorrows and persecutions of 
 this life — Adela rests in Heaven! — I 
 must go, I must see her — Nay, do not 
 hesitate, my good dame; I have pray- 
 ed for fortitude, and it is given me ; I 
 feel my heart can sustain the shock; I 
 feel I can gaze on the wan form of Adela, 
 and praise the works of my Redeemer." 
 
 The door was thrown open, and the 
 abbess approached the bed; she kissed 
 the cold lips of Adela, and moistened 
 her pale cheek with tears. * Sweet 
 flower !" she sobbed, bending over her, 
 " how early art thou cut from life! a 
 frost, a killing frost has nipped the heart, 
 ere the blossom had unfolded : so young, 
 so lovely — but thou art gone, and my 
 regrets cannot reach thee !" 
 
 vol. i. c Her
 
 S26 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 Her whole form became convulsed as 
 she viewed the mysterious bracelet; a 
 cold damp hung upon her forehead, and 
 her heart seemed swollen to bursting. 
 Agatha and the sister endeavoured to 
 draw her from the chamber; but regard- 
 less of their solicitations, she stood im- 
 moveable, her eyes resting on the same 
 object, and still grasping the lifeless hand 
 of the departed. — " Did she express no 
 wish, no desire, in her last moments ?" 
 fearfully interrogated the abbess ; " did 
 she not speak of her family — her parents? 
 did she not name the father of her in- 
 fant?" 
 
 " No, never, lady," replied Agatha; 
 " she said a mystery hung over the birth 
 of her babe ; that she dared not give it 
 the name of its father ; but that under 
 the name of her departed grandmother, 
 Rosalthe must conceal her own." 
 
 " Tell me, oh, tell me the name of 
 that parent ?" inquired the abbess, with 
 
 breathless
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 27 
 
 breathless impatience. Agatha fetched 
 the sealed packet, and gave it to the su- 
 perior. 
 
 " It is the same !" she exclaimed ; 
 " Rosalthe de Stellenheim — Ah, hea- 
 venly Father ! every doubt is removed ; 
 and the measure of thy iniquities, barba- 
 rous De Lindenthal, runs over. Myste- 
 rious interdiction !" she continued, per- 
 using the last desire of Adela: " wretch- 
 ed Beatrice ! thy woes are accumulated 
 on the head of thy offspring. ( While 
 the baron de Lindenthal exists, the or- 
 phan's fate must remain involved in 
 mystery.' — But," recollecting herself, 
 and turning to Agatha and the nun, 
 " leave me, my good friends ; my heart 
 has received a severe blow ; I knew the 
 parents of Adela — I am interested in the 
 fate of Rosalthe ; prayer alone will re- 
 lieve my agitated feelings : leave me to 
 myself, and in a short time I will join 
 thee in the outer chamber." 
 
 Agatha and the sister found Dussel- 
 c 2 dorf
 
 28 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 dorf gazing on the infant, who still slum- 
 bered in his arms : already did his ex- 
 cellent heart yearn towards her ; and as 
 he wept at the misfortunes of the mo- 
 ther, he vowed to cherish her orphan, 
 and to fulfil most scrupulously, the pro- 
 mise to which he had bound himself the 
 night previous to her dissolution. The 
 nun kissed the blooming cheek of the 
 infant, who awaking, smiled in her face, 
 and extended her tender arms. 
 
 " Sweet babe !" she exclaimed, pressing 
 it to her bosom, " lovely and innocent as 
 the angels, may thy heart remain un- 
 corrupted ! mayst thou untainted tread 
 the path of life!" 
 
 Again the sister restored her to the 
 arms of Dusseldorf, who with heartfelt 
 pleasure pressed her soft hand to his lips. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" he gratefully ex- 
 claimed, " thou was not lost in the storm ; 
 thou shalt no more be exposed to its vio- 
 lence, nor ever, whilst I live, want a pro- 
 tector; I will be a father to thee, my lit- 
 tle
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 29 
 
 tie darling, and in return, thou wilt be 
 the consolation of my declining years." 
 
 " And yet," said the nun, gazing 
 mournfully on Dusseldorf, " we should 
 not rest our hearts upon any thing so 
 fragile : look but in the next room, and 
 there we read a lesson that strikes home; 
 there we see how transient are the joys 
 of life, how soon the sweetest blossom 
 may be cut off and withered. — Place not 
 thy affections upon things below," she 
 continued, in a solemn voice, " lest, in 
 binding our hearts too firmly to the world, 
 we prepare not for the summons that 
 sooner or later must attend us: thou 
 mayst perform for the orphan all that 
 compassion, that humanity requires, but 
 suffer not thy mind to be too deeply en- 
 gaged." 
 
 Agatha in silence listened to the ad- 
 vice of the nun, but her warm heart re- 
 futed the doctrine she would have incul- 
 cated. 
 
 " I have been disappointed," replied 
 c 3 Dusseldorf,
 
 30 THE BANDIT'S BllIDE. 
 
 Dusseldorf, wiping off the starting tear; 
 " I have felt the futility of worldly de- 
 pendance ; I once freighted my hopes in 
 the same slender bark, and they were 
 wrecked." 
 
 Agatha sighed deeply, whilst Dussel- 
 dorf, pointing to the little Rosalthe, con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " And yet, who can look in the face 
 of innocence — who can see the eye of 
 helpless infancy raised towards them, 
 and not feel the warmth, the anticipation 
 of future comfort ? like ivy mantling the 
 firm oak, they receive support from our 
 strength; but when time hollows and 
 decays the trunk, the tender fibres shel- 
 ter us in the storm." 
 
 u May the blessed Virgin shield thy 
 heart from blighted expectation !" replied 
 the nun, crossing her bosom, " and may 
 the orphan live, a comfort to the guar- 
 dians of her youth, and a firm follower of 
 the tenets of our holy faith ! may vice, 
 the destroyer of all happiness, never lurk 
 
 in
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 31 
 
 in her breast — may she sink quietly in the 
 vale of years, resisting the insidious at- 
 tacks of passion — and may her heart be 
 capable of the heroic acts of virtue !" 
 
 They were now joined by the abbess; 
 the tear still trembled in her eye, and 
 her efforts to conceal her sorrow were 
 fruitless : she had lost the alarming wild- 
 ness which before marked her conversa- 
 tion ; but despair hung upon her brow, 
 and her sable veil but half concealed her 
 dejected countenance : with maternal af- 
 fection she gazed on the infant, and as 
 she kissed its polished forehead, her lips 
 murmured the name of " Adela." 
 
 In the hope of its proving of future 
 benefit to the orphan, she undertook to 
 preserve the miniature and bracelet, to- 
 gether with the written testimony of 
 her parent's misfortunes ; which, when 
 the hour arrived for breaking the seal, 
 might contain proofs sufficient to disperse 
 the mystery, and establish the little Ro- 
 salthe in her family and birthright. 
 
 c 4s Having
 
 32 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 Having arranged every necessary pre- 
 paration for the removal of the body to 
 the convent, attended by Dusseldorf, 
 and supported by the arm of the sister, 
 the abbess quitted the cottage. 
 
 Long after the sun had sunk beneath 
 the horizon, and the shades of evening 
 had obscured the landscape, the corse of 
 Adela was placed on a litter, and in so- 
 lemn silence conveyed across the plain : 
 Agatha remained at the cottage with 
 her charge, but Dusseldorf walked 
 mournfully by the side. The murmur 
 of a distant waterfall rushing from the 
 rocks, and the plaintive rustling of the 
 wind among the leafless branches of the 
 forest, were the only sounds which stole 
 upon the ear ; night rolled its vapours 
 over the adjacent hills, and the scattered 
 hamlet, in the vale below, could no longer 
 be discerned ; the peasant had returned 
 from his daily labour, and now gladden- 
 ed his thatched roof with his enlivening 
 presence. 
 
 As
 
 THE bandit's bride. 33 
 
 As they ascended the hill on which rose 
 the monastery, the mellow notes of the 
 organ undulated in the breeze : it was 
 the hour for vespers ; a stream of light, 
 issuing from the high and storied win- 
 dows of the chapel, reflected on the^pines 
 and cypress that waved beneath, and al- 
 ready spoke the assemblage of the sister- 
 hood for divine service. Scarce had the 
 procession reached the summit, when 
 the voices of the nuns, in soft and celes- 
 tial harmony, chanted a requiem for the 
 repose of Adela: Dusseldorf paused; 
 the enthusiasm of religion elevated his 
 soul above the world — it seemed to give 
 him a foretaste of the immortal joys of a 
 future state: again the sound died in si- 
 lence, and again it swelled in soft rever- 
 berations. The men who conveyed the 
 departed Adela caught the infection; 
 they rested the litter on the ground, and 
 listened, in mute adoration, to the sacred 
 strains which proceeded from the chapel. 
 Soon did the portress unbar the massy 
 C 5 gate,
 
 34 the bandit's bride. 
 
 gate, which, creaking on its hinges, clo- 
 sed upon them : they silently passed 
 through the outer courts of the convent, 
 and at length deposited the body in 
 the chamber assigned. The room was 
 hung with black, and lighted by wax ta- 
 pers, whose faint and yellow gleam seem- 
 ed to increase the shadowy horrors of 
 the apartment. 
 
 Dusseldorf in the parlour awaited the 
 conclusion of the service ; he wished to 
 see the abbess, previous to his quitting 
 the convent, to make known to her his 
 adoption of Rosalthe, and to obtain her 
 approbation for the continuance of the 
 orphan at the cottage. 
 
 It was late when the lady abbess ap- 
 peared: a dignified composure marked 
 her countenance ; her eyes were still hu- 
 mid with tears, and the dark mantle 
 which shrouded her limbs appeared in 
 unison with the feelings of her heart. 
 Having attentively listened to the re- 
 quest of Dusseldorf, she replied — 
 
 " During
 
 THE bandit's bride. 35 
 
 " During the infancy of Rosalthe de 
 Stellenheim, she shall be thy charge; 
 but when her mind requires cultivation* 
 I must have her at the convent : it would 
 be a cruel fondness to deprive her of the 
 benefits of education, and such as the hu- 
 mane Dusseldorf could never form : be- 
 sides, I could substantiate a claim even 
 greater than thine ; but my heart feels 
 thankful for the protection thou hast af- 
 forded her departed mother, and Rosal- 
 the, I trust, will live to repay the obli- 
 gation." 
 
 Dusseldorf bowed, and having promi- 
 sed the lady abbess to visit St. Florensia 
 in the morning, once more bent his steps 
 to the cottage. 
 
 The wind blew cold and tempestuous, 
 and as the dark clouds passed over the 
 moon, her silver light faded from the 
 sight: the melancholy image of death 
 was impressed on the mind of the vete- 
 ran ; and as he hastened across the plain, 
 ever and anon the last mysterious words 
 c 6 of
 
 36 THE bandit's buide. 
 
 of the abbess recurred to his memory. — 
 Soon did the little Rosalthe chase away 
 the recollection ; already did he antici- 
 pate years to come, and in her future af- 
 fection, picture a sweet and endearing 
 substitute for the fugitive Jacquilina. 
 He had forgotten the lesson of the holy 
 sister, and, hurried on by the perturba- 
 tion of his spirits, allowed himself to 
 look forward to scenes of happiness, 
 which the reflection of a moment must 
 have pointed out as visionary. The 
 deep gloom of the forest, the hollow 
 murmur of the wind, and the distant 
 roaring of the water, were alike unheed- 
 ed : Dusseldorf passed on, and ere his 
 air-built castles crumbled into space, 
 found himself at the door of his dwelling. 
 The countenance of the dame bright- 
 ened at the return of her husband : Ro- 
 salthe had long since sunk to rest, and, 
 dejected and alone, Agatha had sat by 
 her side, reflecting on the strange inci- 
 dent of the preceding night. Nume- 
 rous
 
 THE bandit's bride. 37 
 
 rous were her questions respecting the 
 abbess, for already had her futile mind 
 pictured wonders concerning her myste- 
 rious knowledge of the stranger. Dus- 
 seldorf smiled at her garrulity ; he knew 
 her heart was good, and his own stronger 
 judgment ever framed excuses for the 
 weakness of his beloved partner. The 
 uncultivated mind of Agatha laboured 
 under the influence of superstition, 
 which the gloomy retirement of her re- 
 sidence, and her constant attendance on 
 the solemn and enthusiastic rites of her 
 religion, assisted not to subvert; the 
 flight of a bird was a portentous omen, 
 and the dismal voice of the screech-owl 
 would fill her with terror and dismay. 
 
 The apartment in which lay the 
 shrouded form of Adela adjoined the 
 cell of the abbess ; thither would she re- 
 pair, and pass whole hours in bending 
 over the coffin. The night previous to 
 the interment of the body, her stay was 
 unusually lengthened; and whilst she 
 
 yet
 
 38 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 yet indulged the transports of her grief, 
 the door was slowly opened, and sister 
 Claudia, the nun who had accompanied 
 her to the cottage, stood before her. 
 
 " Pardon, holy mother," she exclaim- 
 ed, taking the hand of the superior, and 
 bowing mournfully upon it, "one who 
 is no stranger to sorrow, and who warm- 
 ly sympathizes in your affliction; but 
 can our sighs restore breath to the lifeless 
 clay, or recall the past hours of enjoy- 
 ment? can our tears blunt the shaft of 
 death, or retard the moments of over- 
 ruling destiny ? — Ah no ! our days are 
 numbered, and shall we disgrace our holy 
 function — shall we waste the precious 
 moments in unavailing lamentations? 
 Rather let us raise our souls above the 
 perishable possessions of this world, and 
 prepare our minds for the blessings of a 
 future state." 
 
 The abbess stood reproved ; she raised 
 her dark eyes to Heaven, gazed tenderly 
 on the coffin, extended her hand to sis- 
 ter
 
 the bandit's bride. 39 
 
 ter Claudia, and suffered herself to be 
 led from the apartment. 
 
 Towards the close of the following 
 day, the awful ceremony commenced ; 
 the nuns followed in procession, each 
 bearing a wax taper ; the. chapel was 
 hung with black, and the full notes of 
 the organ, in unison with the voices of 
 the sisterhood, rose in a solemn dirge. 
 Every religious rite being performed, 
 the corse was consigned to its kindred 
 dust; and a plain marble slab marked 
 the spot in which mouldered the mo- 
 ther of Rosalthe. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The blest hours of infancy fled rapidly 
 away, and the orphan Rosalthe attained 
 her seventh year beneath the thatched 
 roof of Dusseldorf's cottage. It was 
 
 there
 
 40 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 there that the rudiments of virtue were 
 instilled in her mind, by those who had 
 fostered her helpless infancy ; and there 
 did the worthy Agatha behold the child 
 of her adoption, rich in the promise of 
 future loveliness and perfection. Her 
 regrets for the loss of Jacquilina became 
 less severe ; she still mourned the Mag- 
 dalen, but pardoned the offender. Often, 
 as she returned with her youthful charge 
 from the convent of St. Florensia, did 
 she pause at the foot of the hill, and ga- 
 zing with pious ardour on its consecrated 
 walls, whisper the name of Jacquilina, 
 deploring the mystery which involved 
 her fate. — " Ah, would that Heaven had 
 taken thee to itself!" she would exclaim; 
 " then might I with pleasure dwell on 
 thy memory, and weep over the mar- 
 ble which enclosed the remains of my 
 child !" 
 
 Rosalthe, unconscious of the good 
 dame's sorrow, would run sportively to 
 gather some simple wild-flower, or in 
 
 pursuit
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 41 
 
 pursuit of the gaudy butterfly, as it flew 
 from shrub to shrub — now, with her bon- 
 net in her hand, endeavouring to chase 
 it from the blossom, and the next mo- 
 ment, pausing to recover breath, with 
 her fingers comb back the luxuriant 
 ringlets, which flowing from her auburn 
 locks, nearly shadowed her fair features. 
 Happy Rosalthe! well mightest thou 
 bound like the playful goat upon the 
 mountain : thou hadst neither wants nor 
 wishes — neither pain nor sorrow; and 
 when the scorching sun exhausted thy 
 little strength, thou wouldst seek a rest- 
 ing-place on the bosom of Agatha ; con- 
 tent and peace were thy portion, and 
 though an orphan, thou felt not the loss 
 of parents. 
 
 Sometimes the good Dusseldorf would 
 meet them at the garden-gate; some- 
 times he would cross the plain, and meet 
 them at the ruined chapel, a spot sacred 
 to melancholy and reflection — the sad 
 owl found a shelter in the mouldering 
 
 arches,
 
 42 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 arches, and the rooks built their nests in 
 the mantling ivy. It was called the cha- 
 pel of St. Florensia, because it stood with- 
 in the precincts of the convent ; and ma- 
 ny a legendary tale of rapine and murder 
 was repeated, and believed by the sur- 
 rounding peasantry. Thither, at the close 
 of day, would Agatha repair, and kneeling 
 at the broken altar, teach the little Rosal- 
 the her Paternoster. But from these vi- 
 sits the dame would return more than us- 
 ually depressed : it was once the favourite 
 haunt of Jacquilina — there, enriched with 
 innocence and virtue, did she pour forth 
 her prayers to the throne of grace; in every 
 sighing of the blast her voice seemed to 
 speak — her form was present to the mind 
 of Agatha, and stood in each corner of 
 the building. 
 
 Fifteen summers had scarce matured 
 the blossom, when a villain rifled its 
 sweets; and the deluded Jacquilina, 
 quitting the protection of her parents, 
 left them struggling beneath the double 
 
 blow
 
 THE BANDIT'S BHIDE. 43 
 
 blow of dishonour and affliction. Alas ! 
 little were they prepared for the destruc- 
 tion of their hopes : in her they believed 
 perfection, and, with the beauty, fancied 
 she inherited the innocence of an angel ; 
 in her were their earthly joys, their 
 earthly wishes, centered, and through her 
 were they convinced of their futility. 
 The dangerous acquaintance she had 
 formed was carefully concealed from her 
 parents ; and in the ruined chapel, at the 
 very foot of the altar, did the credulous 
 Jacquilina hear and believe the vows of 
 her seducer. It was early in the month 
 of March, that Dusseldorf, surprised at 
 the long absence of Jacquilina, went to 
 seek her at the chapel. As he came with- 
 in sight of the ruin, he beheld his daugh- 
 ter, his beloved, his tender child, leaning 
 familiarly on the arm of a man : she cast 
 not one look towards the cottage — her 
 eyes rested on the face of her betrayer: 
 once she raised her hand, as if to chase 
 away her tears, but the soothing voice of 
 
 the
 
 44 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 the stranger appeared to reconcile the step, 
 and unresisting, she entered a carriage 
 that waited at a short distance. Wild, 
 frenzied at the sight, the distracted father 
 felt not the decrepitude of age, nor the in- 
 firmities of long-inflicted wounds : like an 
 impetuous torrent breaking away the 
 dams, and carrying all before it, he rush- 
 ed towards the carriage; he called on 
 Jacquilina — she heard her father's voice, 
 and loudly shrieking, extended her arms 
 towards him ; but ere he could reach the 
 spot, the chaise drove furiously away; 
 and Jacquilina, his age's darling, his once 
 dutiful and obedient child, was lost to 
 his sight — his home — his protection. A 
 sensation worse than fainting subdued 
 his strength, and, with a deep and heavy 
 groan, he sunk on the earth. 
 
 At length, slowly rising — " Fate, thou 
 hast done thy worst !" he exclaimed ; 
 " my child is lost, her honour sullied ! 
 and shall the villain live (his eyes glan- 
 cing fury) who has done the deed? — 
 
 shall
 
 THE BANDIT'S bride. 45 
 
 shall a soldier calmly endure the loss of 
 honour ? — No, no — I will pursue him to 
 the very verge of the habitable world. 
 I feel a soldier's injury — he shall feel a 
 soldier's vengeance ! I will — alas ! igno- 
 rant as I am, what will I do ? — whom can 
 I pursue ? I forget that the seducer of 
 Jacquilina is a stranger to her parents ; 
 I forget that until this very moment, I 
 knew not such a being existed. Must I 
 then leave her to her fate ? — Yes — (after 
 a long and painful struggle) Jacquilina 
 felt no sorrow in quitting me, why 
 should I mourn for her ? But how shall 
 I breathe the tale to her mother ? how 
 will my poor Agatha endure the loss of 
 her darling ? — It will break our hearts," 
 said the good old man, tears streaming 
 down his cheeks, " and then — and then 
 — Jacquilina may be happy." 
 
 Dusseldorf dreaded to return to the 
 cottage; he paused at the garden-gate 
 to compose his countenance; but Agatha 
 
 saw
 
 46 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 saw him from the window, and hastened 
 to open the door. 
 
 " Where is Jacquilina ?" was her first 
 inquiry. 
 
 Dusseldorf replied not, but his tearful 
 eyes and colourless cheeks augured a 
 tale of woe. 
 
 " Oh God ! what has happened ? 
 where is my child?" shrieked the terri- 
 fied dame. 
 
 Dusseldorf walked pensively into the 
 cottage, and throwing himself on a chair, 
 " Agatha," he said, grasping her hand, 
 " exert thy fortitude — we must comfort 
 each other; our affliction is great, but 
 there is a Being above, ' who tempers 
 the storm to the shorn lamb:' Jacquilina 
 has deserted us — we shall never see her 
 more." 
 
 Agatha, raising her clasped hands, ut- 
 tered a cry of horror. 
 
 " She has quitted the path of virtue," 
 he mournfully continued — " she has fled 
 
 with
 
 THE bandit's bride. 47 
 
 with her vile destroyer — she has murder- 
 ed her mother's peace, and will bend 
 the grey hairs of her father to the grave: 
 Curse !' 
 
 "Hold, hold, Dusseldorf !" interrupted 
 Agatha, " she was our darling — she is our 
 child — do not, do not curse her." 
 
 " Did I curse Jacquilina ?" said the 
 distressed Dusseldorf: " the holy Virgin 
 forgive me then ! I would not curse her 
 — no, her father would die to reclaim 
 her : may Heaven bless, and change her 
 heart to virtue !" 
 
 Days, months, years, fled rapidly 
 away, yet was the fate of Jacquilina in- 
 volved in mystery: her parents knew 
 not but she might be struggling with 
 guilt, wretchedness, and sorrow ; or per- 
 haps the silent grave had long since 
 yielded her a resting-place. Rosalthe 
 was now the comfort of their age; 
 they looked upon her as a gift from Hea- 
 ven, and in her tender sports renewed 
 the infancy of their daughter. Often 
 
 would
 
 48 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 would she sit for hours on the knee of 
 Dusseldorf, listening to the exploits of 
 his youth. The good old soldier felt for 
 her the fondness of a father ; his affection 
 originated in pity, and what is so forci- 
 ble to a feeling heart ? He remembered 
 the expiring moments of her mother, 
 and the solemn promise he had given of 
 protection to her orphan. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Agatha and Rosalthe, as was their 
 wonted custom, rose with the sun ; and 
 when the domestic concerns of the cot- 
 tage were adjusted, repaired to the cha- 
 pel of St. Florensia : from thence they 
 would ramble to the sea-shore, and as- 
 cending a romantic rock that hung over 
 the deep, inhale the fresh breezes of the 
 Baltic Sea. Sometimes Rosalthe would 
 
 wander
 
 THE bandit's bride. 49 
 
 wander on the beach in search of shells ; 
 — sometimes she would gather the pur- 
 ple blossom of the bugloss, which grew 
 almost to the water's edge, and with her 
 store, return delighted, to claim the as- 
 sistance of Dusseldorf in decorating the 
 cottage. 
 
 Such was the peaceful life of Rosalthe; 
 but, alas ! her first sorrow quick approach- 
 ed, in a separation from her foster-pa- 
 rents, for whom her young heart felt all 
 the tender partiality — the fond, the du- 
 tiful affection of an obedient child. 
 
 One morning, as they were enjoying a 
 social repast, a messenger from the lady 
 abbess entered the cottage, soliciting the 
 early presence of Agatha at the convent. 
 Her heart took the alarm, and as she rose 
 to depart, she cast a fearful glance on 
 Rosalthe. 
 
 " Shall I go with you ?" inquired the 
 child. 
 
 " No, no," said Dusseldorf; " 1 am 
 vol. L d going
 
 50 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 going to the beach to search for shell- 
 fish — you shall accompany me." 
 
 Rosalthe, pleased with the excursion, 
 ran to seek her bonnet, and the good 
 dame, anxious to learn the wishes of the 
 abbess, hastily bent her steps to the con- 
 vent. 
 
 On reaching St. Florensia, she was 
 shewn into the parlour, and was soon 
 joined by the superior. Agatha rose at 
 her entrance, and waited in silence her 
 commands. 
 
 " Here is a glorious morning, my 
 good dame," said the abbess : " but how 
 is our little Rosalthe ? why did she not 
 accompany thee?" 
 
 "Thank Heaven, she is well, lady," 
 answered Agatha; " but fearing her pre- 
 sence might be a restraint, Dusseldorf 
 took her to the beach." 
 
 " It is concerning Rosalthe that I 
 wish to speak," continued the abbess: 
 •' but be seated, my good dame ; thou 
 
 hast
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 51 
 
 tiast had a long walk, and must needs 
 want rest." 
 
 Agatha sunk on a chair, and fearfully 
 waited the result of the conference. 
 
 " It is now seven years," mournfully 
 repeated the superior, " since the dread- 
 ful night, in which Adela, the mother of 
 Rosalthe, sought shelter in thy cottage." 
 
 " Yes — well do I remember it," inter- 
 rupted Agatha. 
 
 " To thy humanity she entrusted the 
 care of her orphan," solemnly continued 
 the abbess ; " thou accepted the charge — 
 thou lightened the dying pangs of a pa- 
 rent, and hast fulfilled it with the con- 
 scientious rectitude of a Christian." 
 
 Agatha bowed. 
 
 " It is not here that thou canst meet 
 a recompence," said the superior, in a 
 voice of agitation; " thy reward is in thy 
 own heart — thy reward is in heaven," 
 
 Agatha crossed her hands on her bo- 
 som, and continued to gaze attentively 
 at the abbess. 
 
 d 2 " But
 
 52 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 * But the task is not yet completed," 
 pursued the superior : " nature has libe- 
 rally endowed Rosalthe, and her mind 
 must not be less perfect than her person : 
 thou must renounce her society — nay, 
 do not weep, my kind Agatha — it is for 
 the benefit of our darling. I wish to see 
 
 the child of my the child of Adela, 
 
 with an understanding expanded by 
 knowledge, enriched by education : it is 
 now that the ductile mind, like wax 
 softened by fire, is susceptible of any 
 form ; and first principles are never en- 
 tirely effaced. Thou must let her reside 
 at the convent ; here she will attain ad- 
 vantages, which, at the cottage, she can 
 never acquire. It is to a heart as fondly 
 attached, as deeply interested as thy own, 
 thou confidest her — to one who will guard 
 her helplessness with the anxious solici- 
 tude of a parent, and teach her to shun 
 those errors incident to inexperienced 
 youth." 
 
 " But shall we not sometimes see 
 
 her?"
 
 THE bandit's bride. 53 
 
 her ?" inquired Agatha, in a voice of tre- 
 pidation. 
 
 " Yes, thou shalt often see her, my 
 good dame," rejoined the abbess, " at the 
 convent, and at the cottage: Rosalthe 
 appears to possess the amiable softness of 
 her departed mother: gratitude is an 
 emotion peculiar to a feeling heart, and 
 gratitude will lead her to visit her more 
 than parents." 
 
 " It is to affection, not to gratitude, I 
 wish to attribute her visits," said the 
 dame, struggling with her emotion. " I 
 have but fulfilled my duty — I have but 
 assisted a fellow-creature in distress ; for 
 that I deserve neither commendation nor 
 return : but if my heart does not deceive 
 me, Rosalthe will yet repay my anxiety." 
 
 " She shall — she will repny it, excel- 
 lent woman !" exclaimed the superior; 
 " Rosalthe will ever revere the preserver 
 of her mother, will ever be the dutiful 
 child of Agatha and Dusseldorf." 
 
 The image of Jacquilina crossed the 
 d 3 recollection
 
 54 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 recollection of the dame, and with a deep 
 sigh she resumed — 
 
 " I have felt the sorrow of a thankless 
 child — I have lived to be deserted by 
 my daughter : sure, if there is a pang on 
 earth, it is in the parent's heart, who 
 finds their offspring selfish and disobedi- 
 ent : and yet, if thy life has been spared, 
 Jacquilina, thou wouldst not thus long 
 have persisted in silence : ah no ! thou 
 wouldst have remembered the anxious 
 fears of thy mother, and in pity have re- 
 moved the veil that concealed thy des- 
 tiny : thou art gone, my child — the grave 
 has received thee, and thy unfortunate 
 parents are about to lose the only object 
 that could reconcile them to their loss." 
 
 The abbess was affected. — " Say not 
 so, Agatha," she replied ; " there is a 
 Being above, who will reconcile us to 
 his decrees: the consolation of religion 
 is our support, or else, oh God ! who 
 could endure their afflictions ? It is that 
 which cheers our hearts, and confirms 
 
 our
 
 THE bandit's bride. 55 
 
 our better thoughts; it enables us to 
 combat with misfortune, and robs the 
 hour of death of its terrors. Time has 
 been, when, struggling with calamity, I 
 have murmured at the dispensations of 
 Providence, and have even dared to ar- 
 raign his decrees : my heart has survived 
 its fondest ties — its dearest expectations ; 
 I have been lost to the world, though in 
 the warmth and vigour of life — I have 
 been dead to my child, and now my 
 child is dead to me." 
 
 Agatha looked anxiously at the abbess, 
 who bursting into tears, turned hastily 
 away. 
 
 " And yet, Heaven knows," she re- 
 sumed, " I bow to the rod that chastens 
 me. It is not in the hour of joy our 
 souls can shew their energy — our hearts 
 and principles are crampt in prosperity ; 
 but when adversity blackens our pros- 
 pect, 'tis then we have space for action 
 — 'tis then we may exclaim, ' Father, I 
 have erred in thy sight, yet be not un- 
 D 4 mindful
 
 56 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 mindful of thy creature !" — The abbess 
 paused, but in a few moments continued 
 — " Thou hast suffered from ingratitude, 
 I from treachery ; the blow to each was 
 severe, because it was aimed by those we 
 trusted : we have both, my good dame, 
 endured affliction ; but, thank our holy 
 Mother, we have risen superior to the 
 trial — But we waver from the point. — 
 Wilt thou, Agatha, give me Rosalthe ? 
 — wilt thou entrust her education to my 
 care? My heart, I have already told 
 thee, is deeply, deeply interested : it 
 shall be my study to call forth her vir- 
 tues, to repress her errors ; I will produce 
 Rosalthe to the world, rich in innocence; 
 in prosperity, humility will not forsake 
 her, for in the school of adversity she 
 will have learnt how to feel. I will be 
 to her a mother, and well have I studied 
 the extent of those duties that sacred 
 name imposes. We know not," pursued 
 the superior, " to what situation Rosalthe 
 may hereafter be called; for until the 
 
 hour
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 57 
 
 hour for opening the mysterious packet 
 arrives, her name, her family, her expec- 
 tations, are left to conjecture ; and that 
 hour is beyond our weak computation — 
 that hour awaits the death of the baron 
 de Lindenthal." 
 
 The abbess, silently awaiting a reply, 
 Agatha faintly articulated — " I will 
 shew myself worthy the confidence of 
 Rosalthe's mother; I will renounce every 
 selfish wish, and yield the orphan to thy 
 care : I know the want of education, 
 and will not, for my own gratification, 
 live an enemy to the child I love : and 
 yet, lady, I must solicit — I must expect, 
 at times, to see Rosalthe at the cottage 
 — not the visitor of a day, but for weeks 
 to gladden our dwelling, and cheer our 
 hearts with pleasure." 
 
 " All this I promise, and will most sa- 
 credly perform," said the abbess, rising, 
 as the bell for prayers summoned her to 
 the chapel. — " But now other duties call 
 D 5 me;
 
 58 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 me ; I must leave thee, Agatha, and in 
 three days expect to receive Rosalthe at 
 the convent." 
 
 She, bowing, quitted the parlour, and 
 the dame, with a sad heart, retraced her 
 steps to the cottage. 
 
 " See what a treasure, my dear mo- 
 ther !" exclaimed the sportive Rosalthe, 
 meeting her at the garden-gate, with a 
 basket of shells hanging on her arm. 
 u We came home through the forest, and 
 my good father has gathered such a 
 nosegay ! there are blue-bells, and wood- 
 bines, and roses, and " 
 
 * Peace, little prattler," said Dussel- 
 dorf, reading in the dejected countenance 
 of Agatha some fresh cause of uneasiness; 
 " thy dame is tired, and cannot talk to 
 thee." 
 
 " Art thou tired ?" inquired the un- 
 conscious child, looking tenderly in her 
 face : " come, lean on my arm ; thou hast 
 but a little way to go." 
 
 Agatha'*
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 5Q 
 
 Agatha's heart was full : she rested on 
 the shoulder of Rosalthe, and walked si- 
 lently into the cottage. 
 
 " The period we have dreaded is ar- 
 rived," she at length said, sinking on a 
 chair : " in three days we must lose our 
 child, our beloved Rosalthe." 
 
 Dusseldorf looked anxiously at Aga- 
 tha, and Rosalthe dropped her basket of 
 shells. 
 
 " Lose me !" she repeated, her serene 
 countenance, like an April sunshine o'er- 
 shadowed by a passing shower; " why 
 must you lose me?" 
 
 " Because the lady abbess will have 
 you at the convent," answered the dame : 
 " but if we please, I know we can keep 
 you; for your mother, the night she 
 died " 
 
 " My mother !" eagerly repeated Ro- 
 salthe ; " are you not my mother ?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said Dusseldorf. « I< 
 
 is for your good, my child, you remove 
 
 to the convent: the lady abbess will 
 
 d 6 kindly
 
 60 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 kindly take charge of your education : 
 as yet you are too young to know the 
 value of a cultivated mind, but the hour 
 will come, when you will bless the hand 
 that withdraws you from our protection." 
 
 " The blessed Virgin forbid Rosalthe 
 should ever be so ungrateful !" warmly 
 interrupted the dame. 
 
 " My dear Agatha," said Dusseldorf, 
 " your feelings are wounded at the ap- 
 proaching separation, and you speak from 
 their impulse, not the mature delibera- 
 tion of your judgment : a little reflection 
 will alter your sentiments — But, for the 
 present, we will wave the subject. Come, 
 Rosalthe, pick up your shells; let me 
 see you smile, and then we will deck the 
 cottage." 
 
 Although the spirits of Dusseldorf un- 
 derwent no apparent change, yet his 
 heart failed as the appointed day drew 
 nigh : already did he feel the loss of his 
 companion ; no longer did he hear her 
 enlivening prattle — no longer see her as- 
 sisting
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 6l 
 
 sisting Agatha in her employments, or 
 sportively playing in the garden. 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" he would exclaim, as 
 these ideas crossed his mind, " in this 
 world there is little more than sorrow !" 
 and then look hastily round, to see if his 
 exclamation had been overheard. 
 
 Burying his uneasiness in his own 
 breast, he taught Agatha to believe she 
 was only fulfilling her duty, and that the 
 departed Adela, could she look down on 
 this world, would bless her renunciation 
 of her child. To the fertile mind of Ro- 
 salthe he pictured future scenes of happi- 
 ness in her visits to the cottage, and led 
 her to look forward to content and peace, 
 in the calm society of the sisterhood of 
 St. Florensia. 
 
 Thus silencing every care but his own, 
 the third morning, enlivened by the 
 cheerful rays of the sun, dawned upon 
 him, and he arose but little refreshed by 
 a night of broken and unquiet slumbers. 
 His imagination had been tormented by 
 
 unpleasant
 
 62 THE BANDIT'S BUIDE. 
 
 unpleasant dreams. He had seen Ro- 
 salthe torn from him by the powerful 
 arm of a stranger — not, as Jacquilina, un- 
 resisting, but struggling and shrieking : 
 her voice still vibrated on his ear — still 
 did he see her soft eyes raised to heaven 
 — still did he hear her plaintive accents 
 supplicating for mercy. — " Barbarian! 
 villain !" he exclaimed, striving to rescue 
 her from the ravisher : the effort broke 
 the shackles of sleep, and starting erect 
 in his bed, he looked fearfully around, 
 dreading a confirmation of his visionary 
 horrors. 
 
 Carefully concealing the terrifying 
 dream of the night from the knowledge 
 of the superstitious Agatha, he decked 
 his brow with a cheerfulness foreign to 
 his heart. 
 
 The day passed heavily away, and the 
 hour for quitting the cottage arrived. 
 Dusseldorf and Agatha took each a hand 
 of Rosalthe, and proceeded silently 
 through the garden : the child, weeping, 
 
 hung
 
 THE bandit's bride. 63 
 
 hung her head on her bosom, while her 
 auburn locks, flowing unadorned on her 
 shoulders, half concealed her fair features. 
 
 Slow and mournful was their progress 
 across the plain : the sun's dying splen- 
 dour tinged the ethereal canopy of hea- 
 ven with a brilliant ray, and reflected a 
 thousand tints upon the variegated fo- 
 liage of the forest. Here and there, the 
 white blossom of the chesnut relieved 
 the deep gloom of the pine and holly ; 
 whilst the mountain-ash and towering 
 cypress waved gracefully in the breeze. 
 
 But the beauties of nature had no 
 claims on the attention of the dejected 
 cottagers ; disregarding the fragrance of 
 the flowering shrubs which perfumed the 
 air with their sweets, they passed on, 
 nor paused till, at the foot of the hill, 
 they beheld the lofty towers of St Flo- 
 rensia, frowning on the vale below. 
 The tears streamed down the furrowed 
 cheeks of Agatha, and a heavy sigh 
 swelled the breast of Dusseldorf. 
 
 « I shall
 
 64 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 " I shall count the hours until I see 
 you to-morrow, my dear father and mo- 
 ther," sobbed Rosalthe, looking tenderly 
 in their faces : " but perhaps the lady 
 abbess will let me go in the morning — 
 Oh, how I will run across the plain, to 
 our dear, dear cottage !" 
 
 Dusseldorf drew his hands hastily 
 over his eyes. 
 
 "Yes, my beloved child," said the dame, 
 stooping to kiss her rosy cheek, " we 
 will meet in the morning : while yet the 
 blades of grass are weighed down with 
 the dew, your father and I will hasten 
 to the convent, to bless our darling — our 
 tender, affectionate Rosalthe." 
 
 " And when shall I go to the cot- 
 tage?" eagerly inquired Rosalthe. " I 
 am sure I shall not be half so happy at 
 the convent. See, yonder is the ruined 
 chapel," pointing to the foot of the hill : 
 " will you walk there by yourself, mo- 
 ther ? How I shall miss going to say my 
 prayers at the broken altar !" 
 
 They
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 65 
 
 They had now reached the convent ; 
 Dusseldorf rang the bell, and they pass- 
 ed through the folding gates. The lady 
 abbess met them in the parlour; she 
 pressed Rosalthe to her heart, and kissed 
 away the tears which bedewed her fea- 
 tures. 
 
 * Why do you weep, my child?" she 
 inquired ; " you are surrounded by those 
 who love you, and we shall often see our 
 kind friends from the cottage " 
 
 " And at the cottage, I hope," inter- 
 rupted Agatha. 
 
 " Certainly, my good dame : I have al- 
 ready told you Rosalthe shall pass whole 
 weeks at your dwelling, and my word is 
 sacred." 
 
 A momentary smile dimpled the fea- 
 tures of Rosalthe, while the abbess, pla- 
 cing her on her knee, continued — " I have 
 a little companion for you, my child — 
 Go, sister Margaret," turning to a nun, 
 " and bring hither the lady Angela de 
 Lunenberg." 
 
 The
 
 66 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 The nun quitted the parlour, and pre- 
 sently returned, accompanied by a child 
 of an engaging aspect, about the size of 
 Rosalthe. 
 
 " Come hither, Angela," said the ab- 
 bess ; " here is a friend for you; love each 
 other, my children, and years of happi- 
 ness may dawn from an affection so pro- 
 pitiously begun." 
 
 The large clock in the chapel now 
 struck eight: Agatha and Dusseldorf 
 rose to depart, and again the tears stream- 
 ed down the cheeks of Rosalthe. 
 
 " Heaven bless my child !" sobbed 
 Agatha. Dusseldorf spoke not ; he ea- 
 gerly pressed her to his breast, and 
 mournfully quitted the parlour. With 
 sad hearts they returned to the cottage, 
 and Rosalthe continued to weep on the 
 bosom of the abbess. At length she be- 
 came more calm ; she listened attentive- 
 ly to the soothing voice of the superior, 
 and even smiled at the sallies of the live- 
 ly Angela. 
 
 The
 
 THE bandit's bride. 67 
 
 The vesper-bell summoned them to 
 the chapel, and the abbess, taking a hand 
 of each of the children, repaired to her 
 evening's duty : but scarce had the so- 
 lemn notes of the organ reached the ear 
 of Rosalthe, when her young heart ap- 
 peared convulsed with sorrow; deep sobs 
 agitated her bosom ; and calling loudly 
 on her beloved friends at the cottage, 
 she threw herself on the stone floor, and 
 her head rested on the white marble 
 which covered the dust of her mother. 
 
 The abbess trembled — she looked fear- 
 fully at the child, and her tears fell on 
 the crucifix she held in her hand : the 
 name of Adela escaped her lips, and 
 motioning to a nun who knelt near her, 
 sister Josepha arose, and taking Rosalthe 
 in her arms, conveyed her from the cha- 
 pel. But even on her pillow the child 
 continued to weep, and refused all con- 
 solation. — " I must go to my dear mo- 
 ther — if you keep me here, my heart will 
 break," were the only answers which the 
 
 endearments
 
 68 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 endearments of the sister called forth. 
 Her strength sinking beneath her exer- 
 tions, balmy sleep weighed down her 
 eyelids; and yielding to nature's soft 
 restorative, her little sorrows were soon 
 lost in a peaceful slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 About half a league from the convent 
 of St Florensia, upon a rocky height, 
 whose base was washed by the green bil- 
 lows of the Baltic, stood the lofty towers 
 of Lunenberg Castle. The deep moat 
 and wide battlements declared it to have 
 been a fortification of vast extent : but 
 no longer did the watch -word pass from 
 sentinel to sentinel ; civil discord had 
 ceased, and though the towers bore 
 strong marks of former resistance, when, 
 sternly combating with the foe, from its 
 
 embrasures
 
 THE bandit's bride. 69 
 
 embrasures it had hurled destruction on 
 the marauders, now, through the bless- 
 ings of peace, it flourished unmolested. 
 
 The surrounding prospect was calcu- 
 lated to inspire the most sublime ideas : 
 the range of rocks, on which the castle 
 was erected, bulged out in bold and ir- 
 regular forms ; here and there, the steep 
 acclivity w r as blackened with groves of 
 spiry pine, whilst the silver-rinded birch, 
 the ever-verdant laurel, and rugged elm, 
 grew almost to the edge of the water. 
 To the east point of the castle, an exten- 
 sive lawn, interspersed with clumps of 
 oak, chesnut, and accacia, spread its soft 
 carpet; while, as far as the eye could 
 reach, mountain rising above mountain 
 lost their tops in the clouds. The play- 
 ful chamois, browsing on the rough sur- 
 face, skipped from rock to rock, whilst 
 the careful shepherd, collecting his flocks 
 in the dusk of evening, slowly wound 
 his steps round the steep acclivity. Pa- 
 rallel with the sea, a thick and extensive 
 
 forest
 
 70 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 forest closed the prospect; and on its 
 border rose the curling smoke of the far- 
 spreading hamlet. 
 
 Such was the hereditary dwelling of 
 the baron de Lunenberg, whose heart 
 and gate were ever open to the persecu- 
 ted and distressed. Generosity formed 
 the outline of his character, and those 
 who sought refuge within his walls de- 
 parted not till cheered by his bounty. 
 But, alas ! joy no longer echoed from the 
 gilded roof — no longer did the loud 
 laugh or animating song gladden the 
 banquet ; despair sat heavy on the 
 hearts of its inhabitants, for the baroness, 
 the best of wives, the tenderest of mo- 
 thers, the faithfullest of friends, slum- 
 bered in the vault of her ancestors. Still 
 were the extensive chambers of the castle 
 hung in sable — still did the pompous es- 
 cutcheon, bearing the honours of the 
 house of Lunenberg, proclaim the de- 
 cease of its mistress. Three months had 
 but slowly passed, since, rich in health, 
 
 youth*
 
 THE bandit's bride. 7J 
 
 youth, and beauty, she was summoned to 
 the tomb. 
 
 The baron continued inconsolable; 
 secluding himself from the intercourse of 
 society, he encouraged all the luxury of 
 grief. In the dead of night, when every 
 eye was closed, he would pace, with fold- 
 ed arms, his solitary apartment, and che- 
 rish the deluding remembrance of former 
 joys. Sometimes he would moisten with 
 tears the pillow so lately pressed by the 
 head of his lost Angela; sometimes, for- 
 getful of his affliction, extend his arms, 
 and clasp the vacant air. The vivid 
 bloom of health fled from his counte- 
 nance, and a slow consuming fever prey- 
 ed on his constitution. At length the 
 tears of his children, who hung weeping 
 o'er his couch, roused him to exertion. 
 
 He tenderly gazed on the animated 
 features of the young count Adelbert, 
 and folded to his aching bosom the little 
 Angela, the sweet miniature of her 
 sainted mother. — " For your sakes, my 
 
 beloved
 
 72 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 beloved children,'' he exclaimed, " I will 
 struggle with affliction. My angel An- 
 gela, in the soft pleadings of those pled- 
 ges of her love, speaks to my tortured 
 heart, and bids me live for their welfare. 
 Hear me, blessed spirit •" raising his eyes 
 to heaven, " when I swear to live solely 
 for their benefit, and never to form a tie 
 that shall call my memory from the cold 
 urn which contains thy precious dust !" 
 At this solemn appeal, Adelbert turn- 
 ed to conceal his emotion, and Angela 
 wept at the mention of her mother : but 
 the impression was soon chased away ; 
 she was of an age, when sorrow, like the 
 light bark, skimming across the liquid 
 bosom of the lake, leaves a momentary 
 trace, but is soon seen no more. She 
 was in her eighth year, warm, tender, af- 
 fectionate, possessing an uncommon de- 
 gree of vivacity and sense, untinctured 
 by the keen edge of satire, or the danger- 
 ous propensity of wit. I er form was of 
 the most delicate order : her complexion 
 
 dark
 
 THE bandit's bride. 73 
 
 dark, but activity and exercise had en- 
 livened it with the bloom of health, which 
 rendered it almost transparent. Her fea- 
 tures were small, animated, and regular; 
 her hair, like the glossy plumage of the 
 raven, flowed in natural curls, shading 
 her high forehead ; and her black eyes 
 expressed every movement of her soul. 
 
 The young Adelbert was five years her 
 senior, tall, and finely proportioned ; his 
 expressive countenance denoted benig- 
 nity and condescension ; yet still there 
 was a dignity in his deportment which 
 commanded respect. His spirit was no- 
 ble, but impetuous; tenacious of injury, 
 he could ill brook restraint, and yet ten- 
 der and flexible. In the death of the ba- 
 roness he had sustained an irremediable 
 loss; to her arguments and admonitions 
 he had ever implicitly yielded; he be- 
 lieved her the most perfect of beings, and 
 felt for her a love bordering on adora- 
 tion. Whilst life remained, even when 
 hope was no more, smothering every ap- 
 
 vol. i. E pearance
 
 74 THE bandit's bride, 
 
 pearance of grief, he watched by her side; 
 neither prayers nor commands could draw 
 him from the apartment, and when the 
 baron could no longer conceal his an- 
 guish, he gently reproved his want of for- 
 titude, and soothed her last moments 
 with endearing affection. But when re- 
 lentless death had seized its victim, when 
 the fear of disturbing the serenity of his 
 beloved mother no longer existed, then 
 did he yield to the anguish of his soul ; 
 his feelings had been too long, and too 
 highly wrought ; he could only strike his 
 hand on his forehead, and, with a pier- 
 cing groan, sank senseless by her side. 
 
 Housed by the distraction of his father, 
 lie once more succeasfully exerted him- 
 self, and when in his presence, no trace 
 of sorrow could be seen ; yet in his heart 
 did he fondly cherish her memory, and 
 with pensive sadness retrace those paths 
 once the favourite haunt of the baroness. 
 A grotto, at the extremity of a chesnut 
 avenue in the park, was often the retreat 
 
 of
 
 THE bandit's bride. 75 
 
 of his mother from the scorching rays of 
 a meridian sun ; its prospect was exten- 
 sive — on one side bounded by the ocean, 
 whose salubrious breezes rendered it cool 
 in the heat of summer, and the other 
 commanding the rich fertility of the 
 circumjacent country, where pastures, 
 mountains, and forests were interspersed, 
 
 Thither, at the close of day, would 
 Adelbert repair, and rest his limbs on 
 the same bench which had often support- 
 ed his mother. Her form seemed to 
 glide through the deep foliage of the 
 trees ; her voice to speak in the gentle 
 murmur of the waves which laved the 
 foundation of the rock ; in a word, his 
 heart was susceptible of every soft emo- 
 tion — he was the most affectionate of 
 brothers, and the most attached of sons. 
 
 The baron, with delight and exulta- 
 tion, beheld the union which subsisted 
 between his children : in Adelbert, the 
 heir to his honours, he saw the sincere 
 friend and future guardian of his lit J? 
 e 2 Angela.
 
 76 THE BANDITS B1UDE. 
 
 Angela. u When death shall have closed 
 upon me the sorrows of this life," he 
 would exclaim, "and in the silent tomb, 
 I shall moulder by the side of their angel 
 mother, then will his more matured 
 judgment guide the steps of his sister, 
 and his heart cherish in her the brightest 
 ornament of his house. Blessed pros- 
 pect ! surely, if the unincumbered spirit 
 is sensible of the occurrences of this 
 world, it must feel an increase of felicity 
 from such a union." 
 
 But the hour of separation drew near; 
 the limited advantages of Lunenberg Cas- 
 tle were insufficient to complete the stu- 
 dies of the youthful Adelbert. It was 
 necessary he should be more conversant 
 with men and manners, and the many 
 accomplishments requisite to finish the 
 education of a nobleman. For this pur- 
 pose the baron intended removing to Vi- 
 enna, and, during their absence, to place 
 the lady Angela at the convent of St. 
 Florensia, He knew the lady abbess to 
 
 be
 
 THE BAXDIT'S BItlDF. 2? 
 
 be an elegant, well-informed woman, and 
 one to whom he might confide this pre- 
 cious trust. The departed baroness had 
 frequently visited her at the convent, and 
 had ever expressed pleasure and admira- 
 tion in her society. 
 
 The evening previous to their journey, 
 the baron and Adelbert accompanied An- 
 gela to the convent. The parting was 
 painful on all sides : — struggling with 
 emotion, the baron clasped his darling 
 girl in his arms, and resigning her to the 
 care of the superior, re-entered his car- 
 riage. In the morning, long ere the 
 mists had rolled from the hills, the equi- 
 page was at the castle gate ; and quitting 
 with a sigh the seat of their ancestors, 
 late on the following day the baron and 
 the young count passed the confines of 
 Lower Saxony. 
 
 Long and dreary was the journey ; the 
 wild sublimities of nature called them 
 not from themselves ; the bursting cata- 
 ract, the frowning mountain, the dark 
 E 3 and
 
 78 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 and overhanging forest, the Jeep and 
 frightful precipice, were alike disregard- 
 ed ; and if at times they noticed the 
 prospect, 'twas when the opening coun- 
 try disclosed the riches of fertility, when 
 fields of yellow corn waved in the ripen- 
 ing sunbeams, and the vine's purple clus- 
 ters hung on the supporting walls of the 
 clay -built cottage. 
 
 " Happy and innocent people !" would 
 the baron exclaim, as the smiling pea- 
 sants approached the road to view the 
 passing strangers : n hid from the tur- 
 moils of public life, their days glide away 
 in peace on their native plains ; they are 
 insensible to the storms of ambition— 
 the pangs of envy ; they are free froni 
 sin, because without temptation ; their 
 days are passed in labour, their nights in 
 repose. Blessed simplicity ! Alas! how 
 little, how very little, are the luxuries of 
 the great to be coveted !" 
 
 " And yet, my father," inquired Adel- 
 bert, " would those who have experien- 
 ced
 
 THE bandit's etude. 79 
 
 ced the enjoyments of riches be content 
 to change situations ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the baron ; 
 " the infant "which is fostered with the 
 tenderest care could not endure the 
 hardships and difficulties of one scarce 
 sheltered from the inclemencies of the 
 weather. By the same rule, the healthy 
 peasant, after the toils of the day, will re- 
 turn cheerful to his cottage, and smile 
 upon his family; his wishes extend not 
 beyond its walls — fatigue softens his bed 
 of straw, and after a night of uninter- 
 rupted repose, he returns at break of day, 
 with a light and happy heart, to his la- 
 bours. But the being fostered in indo- 
 lence, whose every wish has been gratis 
 tied almost before expressed — see him be- 
 reft of fortune, and the necessaries of life 
 depending on exertion, would he not ra- 
 ther sink beneath the blow, than thus 
 cheerfully contend with poverty ? And 
 yet. my son, Ave are all born with the same 
 propensities and passions ; it is educa- 
 e 4 tion
 
 80 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 tion alone which gives to the same be- 
 ings such various casts of character ." 
 
 Towards the close of the twelfth day, 
 they beheld the lofty towers of Vienna, 
 and the silver waves of the Danube, glit- 
 tering with the dying rays of the sun, 
 rolling majestically on its borders. The 
 baron sighed ; and as he gazed from the 
 window of the carriage, a tear trembled 
 in his eye. To the sons of sensibility his 
 feelings may be known: 'twas in that 
 city he had first beheld his Angela ; 'twas 
 there propitious destiny had made them 
 one ! For a moment he forgot that she 
 was no more — he remembered only the 
 scenes of past happiness, and turned to 
 point out the beauties of the prospect ; 
 but his eyes, resting on his mourning ha- 
 bit, checked the impulse. Once more 
 did his thoughts return to the shades of 
 Saxony, and again did they rest on the 
 dear, lost partner of his soul. 
 
 We shall not attempt following the 
 count through the mazes of abstruse 
 
 study,
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 81 
 
 study, but before we return to the con- 
 vent of St. Florensia, shall only say, that, 
 at the age of twenty-one, he was an or- 
 nament to society, and an honour to his 
 preceptors. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 It was the constant study of the lady abv 
 bess to improve and expand the under- 
 standings of Angela and Rosalthe : their 
 minds, alike fraught with every genuine 
 virtue, were rich fields for cultivation ; 
 their habits were strengthened with the 
 purest principles, and their hearts enrich- 
 ed with every valuable knowledge : and 
 yet, though educated in the same con- 
 vent, under the same instructress, and 
 tenderly attached to each other, still 
 their minds differed as much as their per- 
 sons, Angela we have already describ- 
 e 5 ed
 
 82 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ed as a lovely animate d brunette; whilst 
 Ilosalthe, promising to be rather above 
 the middle height, possessed a figure of 
 the most perfect symmetry; her com- 
 plexion wis of most dazzling fairness; 
 her eyes a dark blue, shaded by long 
 black lashes, of the melting softness oi 
 the dove ; her high and polished fore- 
 head adorned with a profusion of auburn 
 ringlets ; her countenance inclining to 
 oval ; an interesting pensiveness hung 
 upon her perfect but impressive features ; 
 it was marked by nature, but strength- 
 ened by education. Estranged from 
 every gaiety of life, and educated in the 
 severity of monastic retirement, her so- 
 ciety alone consisting of the venerable 
 sisterhood of St. Florensia, she acquired 
 a serene and thoughtful air, very foreign 
 to her age. Whilst Angela, in sportive 
 frolic, was running playfully in the gar- 
 den, she would pace a terrace at its ex- 
 tremity, reflecting on the lessons of her 
 beloved abbess, or listening, with pious 
 
 rapture,
 
 83 
 
 rapture, to the melancholy notes of the 
 sacred organ. And yet, though the nuns 
 pictured, in glowing colours, the calm 
 serenity of a religious life, and dwelt on 
 the joys of those who were dedicated to 
 the service of their Creator, llosalthe's 
 mind remained untainted by prejudice; 
 frequently would it, from the dark re- 
 cesses of the cloister, rest on the beloved 
 cottage of Dusseldorf, or picture, w r ith 
 imaginary pleasure, the gay-dressed 
 scenes of an unknown world. 
 
 Sister Josepha, who on the night of 
 Rosalthe's first entrance into the convent 
 unsuccessfully attempted to divert her 
 grief, saw with pain the slight impres- 
 sion which the enthusiasm of the nuns 
 effected : she loved her with a tenderness 
 almost maternal, would hangover her 
 ibr hours, and listen, with tearful eyes y 
 to the little incidents which, in infancy, 
 had passed at the cottage : often would 
 she sigh as she gazed upon her interest- 
 ing countenance : she v» ould have wish- 
 K 6 ed
 
 84 THE SaXDIT's EXUDE. 
 
 ed to have led her like a lamb to the 
 altar, and enclosed her beauty with the 
 veil of eternal seclusion. 
 
 " What pity," she would exclaim, 
 " that such innocence should be exposed 
 to temptation ! that the gay and licen- 
 tious should be suffered to pollute it by 
 their gaze ! Some fallaciously deck the 
 w r orld in flowers," she would continue : 
 " but, alas ! where one gathers the roses, 
 •thousands are goaded by the thorns." 
 
 The hours of relaxation were passed by 
 Angela and Rosalthe, in storing their 
 minds with the elegancies of female ac- 
 complishments. The abbess would'often 
 point out the dangers of grandeur, and 
 early endeavoured to plant the seeds of 
 fortitude in their bosoms, that springing 
 tip, in case of adverse fortune, they might 
 have a shield to guard them from its 
 malevolence. She taught them to be- 
 lieve that no situation was independent ; 
 that the rich were obliged to the labours 
 
 of
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 85 
 
 of the poor; that humility and conde- 
 scension were the true marks of great- 
 ness, and that they should ever bear in 
 mind the indispensable duty of sacrifi- 
 cing their own pleasure for the benefit 
 of their fellow-creatures. These pre- 
 cepts were not instilled by severe in- 
 junctions ; the abbess, knowing the pre- 
 valence of example, strove to be the mo- 
 del of those virtues she inculcated. Hap- 
 py Rosalthe ! happy Angela ! how few 
 in this wide world are taught to know 
 themselves ! how few in infancy possess 
 the blessed advantage of such a guide as 
 the abbess of St. Florensia ! 
 
 It was on the eve of Angela's attain- 
 ing her eighteenth year, that a carriage 
 from Lunenberg Castle stopped at the 
 convent ; it was sent for the lady Angela, 
 and a message informing her, that the 
 baron and count Adelbert were hourly 
 expected. Her heart beat high with joy ; 
 vshe had seen her father but four times 
 since his first quitting Saxony, and these 
 
 interviews
 
 SO THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 interviews had passed at St. Florensia.- 
 Perhaps in one short hour to be restored 
 to him — to embrace her beloved brother 
 — to see beyond the dark walls of the 
 convent, was happiness as perfect as un- 
 looked for. 
 
 " My dear, dear mother !" she exclaim- 
 ed, throwing her arms affectionately 
 round the neck of the abbess. " if I could 
 take you and the holy sisterhood to the 
 castle, I should be the happiest girl in. 
 the world." 
 
 " Thank you, my child, 5 ' said the ab- 
 bess, smiling — " but you forget that the 
 carriage of the baron is waiting." 
 
 Angela, kneeling, received the blessing 
 of the superior, and quitting theparlouiv 
 proceeded hastily to the gate : but as she 
 was entering the carriage, whilst her foot 
 rested on the step, she suddenly drew 
 back, and flying across the courtyard of 
 the convent, was out of sight in a mo- 
 ment : breathless she reached the terrace 
 on which Rosalthe was walking, her jetty 
 
 locks
 
 THE BANDIT'S ETUDE". 87 
 
 locks hanging in disorder about her face, 
 which glowed with the bloom of anima- 
 tion and health. 
 
 " I am going/' was all she could arti- 
 culate. 
 
 '• Where?" anxiously asked Rosalthe. 
 
 ** I am sent for," resumed Angela, 
 I anting to recover breath. 
 
 "Sent for!" repeated Rosalthe, in a 
 voice of trepidation. 
 
 * Yes, to see my father, and brother, 
 and — to the castle." 
 
 "Alas ! what shall I do without you?" 
 mournfully sighed Rosalthe, tears trem- 
 bling in her eyes. 
 
 Never, till this moment, was the pain 
 of separation felt by the lively Angela: 
 in an instant the bright glow of expecta- 
 tion sunk into sadness; her excellent 
 heart had caught the infection from her 
 friend ; her father, her brother, the castle, 
 the convent walls — all, all were forgotten 
 — her thoughts rested only on the sor- 
 row her absence would occasion Rosalthe, 
 
 and
 
 88 the bandit's bride. 
 
 and throwing herself into her arms, she 
 wept on her bosom. 
 
 They were soon summoned from the 
 garden — ■ Angela to repair to the eastle r 
 and Rosalthe to attend Dusseldorf and 
 Agatha, who impatiently awaited her in 
 the parlour. The abbess gently reprov- 
 ed their want of fortitude ; but her own 
 feelings, at the same instant, whispered, 
 that the weakness of human nature could 
 never be entirely suodued. 
 
 u I shall see you very soon, my dear 
 Rosalthe," said Angela, snatching a part- 
 ing kiss : again she flew to the carriage, 
 and was soon beyond the dark walls of 
 St. Florensia. 
 
 Rosalthe received her supposed pa- 
 rents with the tenderest affection : she 
 struggled to conceal the uneasiness which 
 the removal of Angela had occasioned; 
 but Dusseldorf fancied she looked pale, 
 and the eyes of Agatha rested anxiously 
 on her face. 
 
 " You must come very soon and see 
 
 US
 
 THE BANDIT'S BBIDE. 89 
 
 us at the cottage," said the dame : " I 
 have decorated your chamber with the 
 drawings you gave me the last time I 
 was at the convent ; and the woodbine 
 and jessamine are in full bloom, andcreep- 
 ing almost over the window; there 
 wants only your presence to make it 
 complete."' 
 
 Rosaline raised the hand of Agatha to 
 her lips, and looked doubtfully at the 
 abbess ; the eyes of the cottagers pur- 
 sued the same direction, and seemed to 
 plead her indulgence. 
 
 " Rosalthe shall visit you very soon, 
 my kind friends/' said the abbess ; " even 
 before the transient beauties of the wood- 
 bine shall fade. I think it very prob- 
 able, that to gratify the wishes of the 
 lady Angela, the baron may solicit the 
 society of Rosalthe at Lunenberg Castle: 
 in that case, she shall visit the cottage 
 previous to her return to the convent." 
 
 Rosalthe looked surprised, Dusseldorf 
 and Agatha delighted. 
 
 u The
 
 90 THE BANDIT'S BTIIDE. 
 
 " The holy Virgin bless and preserve 
 my child !" said the dame, as they arose 
 to depart. 
 
 No sooner had they quitted the par- 
 lour than the abbess, taking the hand of 
 Kosalthe, said- — " The bell, my daughter,, 
 will soon summon us to our devotions : 
 but leave not the chapel with the nuns ; 
 when prayers are concluded, remain there 
 until I join thee. Thou art now beyond 
 childhood, though thy mind, I am grate- 
 ful to say, retains all its purity : it is ne- 
 cessary thou shouldst know, what, for a 
 series of years,, has been carefully con- 
 cealed: I will unfold the secret, although, 
 for reasons I will assign, it must remain 
 one. But why dost thou tremble ? Go, 
 my beloved child," continued the abbess, 
 tenderly, " ccmpose thy spirits, and 
 know, that innocence, such as thine, is 
 the peculiar care of Heaven." 
 
 " A secret, carefully concealed for a 
 series of years!" repeated Rosalthe, as she 
 gained the solitude of her chamber ; "zrA 
 
 that
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. ' 9* 
 
 that secret it is necessary for me to know ! 
 — Prophetic Heaven ! from whence 
 springs this unlooked-for mystery ? — - 
 what means this agitation? — why cfefes 
 my heart falter? — why do my lim 1 s re- 
 fuse their office? — Assist me, holy Mou- 
 ther !" sinking on her knees, " inspire 
 me with fortitude to hear this tale of ter- 
 ror !'' 
 
 The hell now reached the ear of Bo- 
 salthe; she started up, and proceeding 
 to the chapel, met sister Josepha in the 
 passage. 
 
 The nun gazed mournfully on her— - 
 " Fie, Rosalthe !" she exclaimed, " to 
 mourn without a cause ! where now is 
 thy fortitude ? — where now the lessons 
 of our revered ahbess ? Alas, my child ! 
 if the casual absence of a friend occasions 
 all this grief, where, in the hour of real 
 affliction, canst thou look for consolation? 
 I have lost what can never be recovered, 
 yet do I not weep : — my views are closed, 
 but not my hopes: when the penitent 
 
 sues
 
 92 THE BANDIT'S BKIDE 
 
 sues for mercy, her prayers are not disre- 
 garded. At an early age, I lost all the 
 charms of life — I stood a solitary being 
 in the wide space; yet was a habitation 
 supplied to shield my woe- worn head, 
 and a friend, in father Anselmo, to hear 
 and mitigate my sorrows. Compare this 
 with thy own destiny, Rosalthe — thou 
 who possesseth tender friends — thou who 
 art rich in innocence, in the silent appro- 
 bation of thy own heart : compare this, 
 and learn to be happy." 
 
 Rosalthe sighed at the necessity of 
 concealment, but the abbess had told her 
 the secret must remain one: she was 
 therefore compelled, by silence, to suffer 
 the nun to attribute her emotion to the 
 absence of Angela. She wiped away 
 her tears, and as the bell had ceased, hast- 
 ened, with sister Joseph a, to the chapeL 
 
 When the service was concluded, and 
 the nuns had retired, Rosalthe looked 
 anxiously around ; her arm rested on the 
 iron railing which inclosed the shrine of 
 
 St.
 
 THE bandit's bkide. 93 
 
 St. Florensia, and her eyes fell on the 
 white marble, sacred to the memory of 
 Adela. The tapers, which were left 
 burning, threw a faint and yellow gleam; 
 the corners of the chapel were involved 
 in darkness, and the retreating steps of 
 the holy sisters could no longer be dis- 
 tinguished. 
 
 In a few moments the lady abbess en- 
 tered from the sacristy — " I am come, 
 my child," she said, in faltering accents, 
 " to perform a painful task, to remove a 
 bandage from thy eyes, to tell thee that 
 Dusscldorf and Agatha are thy parents 
 only by adoption." 
 
 A deathlike faintness chilled the heart 
 of Hosalthe ; her countenance became 
 pale as the marble which decorated the 
 shrine, and her eyes were fixed in wild 
 expectancy on the features of the abbess. 
 
 " Thou alarmest me,Rosalthe," said the 
 superior, taking her cold hand ; " exert 
 thyself: I had hoped that my words in 
 
 the
 
 9i THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 the parlour bad given thee reason to ex- 
 pect a tale of wonder." 
 
 " And of horror," faintly murmured 
 •Rosalthe. 
 
 " Why then art thou thus agitated?" 
 continued the superior ; " why do thy 
 eyes wander thus wildly around the cha- 
 pel? — why do they rest on that white 
 slab of marble ?" 
 
 " I know not," mournfully sighed Ro- 
 salthe ; " but my parents — oh i tell me 
 where they are? — tell me when I may 
 behold them ? — Do they not pant to see 
 their child?-— do they not sigh to press 
 her to their bosoms ?" 
 
 The abbess wept, and raised her eyes 
 to heaven, 
 
 " You do not speak," exclaimed Ro- 
 salthe : " perhaps I shall never know the 
 tenderness of my parents — perhaps, Al- 
 mighty Power! per iiaps I am an orphan ! ' 
 
 The abbess, shuddering, drew her veil 
 over her face. 
 
 " Direct
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 95 
 
 * s Direct me, holy mother," she conti- 
 nued, in a voice of entreaty, " to the 
 grave that contains their precious dust ! 
 I could wish to moisten the hallowed 
 spot with my tears ; I could wish to kneel 
 by its side, and supplicate their sainted 
 spirits to guard and watch over their 
 child !" 
 
 " Thou knowcst not what thou ask- 
 est," said the abbess : " alas, Rosalthe i 
 thy heart could not support the know- 
 ledge. Were I to inform thee, thou 
 wouldst linger on the grave, thou woulcfst 
 forget the duty thou owest thyself and 
 the world, wouldst vow to live and die 
 -near the spot. But the time will come, 
 my child, when thou mayst claim the 
 name of thy father, and vindicate the me- 
 mory of thy departed mother." 
 
 " Does my father live? — and does my 
 mother's memory require vindication ?" 
 fearfully inquired Rosalthe. 
 
 " No, my child, a black mystery in- 
 volves the fate of thy parents ; and till 
 
 the
 
 96 the bandit's mum:. 
 
 the ever-watchful eye of Providence dis- 
 closes their persecutor, we must let it 
 rest. I cannot tell thee the name of thy 
 father ; I can only tell thee,, that, in a cold 
 and tempestuous night, thy frantic mo- 
 ther, with thee, then an infant in her 
 arms, sought shelter in the cottage of 
 Dusseldorf ; he received her with huma- 
 nity, he treated her with kindness ; but 
 the greater part of the night she conti- 
 nued to rave, earnestly entreating the 
 cottagers to save her from the dagger 
 which had murdered her husband, and 
 pathetically imploring their protection 
 for his orphan. They vowed to protect 
 thee as their own child — to cherish thee 
 in the place of their daughter Jacquilina 5 
 who had unfeelingly deserted them." 
 
 Kosalthe silently raised her eyes to 
 heaven ; she seemed to invoke a bless- 
 ing on them, but her feelings denied ut- 
 terance. 
 
 " In the morning," resumed the ab- 
 bess, u she became more composed ; and 
 
 as
 
 THE bandit's bride. 97 
 
 as she kissed thee, in the arms of Aga- 
 tha, she drew this miniature from her bo- 
 som. — " Preserve it carefully," said the 
 sufferer, " until Rosalthe is of an age to 
 know its value ; it is the resemblance of 
 her father." 
 
 Rosalthe, seizing the portrait from the 
 hand of the superior, sunk on her knees; 
 and as she perused the features, her tears 
 fell on the crystal. 
 
 " The hour is come, my daughter," 
 continued the abbess ; " take it, but wear 
 it next thy heart — let no eye behold it, 
 for the same cause of secrecy remains. 
 This packet she likewise left," taking it 
 from the casket in which the miniature 
 had been preserved — Rosalthe started 
 up, eager to elucidate the mystery : — "but 
 mark the interdiction," said the abbess, 
 checking the impulse—-" Whilst the ba- 
 ron de Lindenthal exists, the seal must 
 not de broken. — And this bracelet," she 
 continued, her bosom heaving with con- 
 vulsive agony, " was taken from her arm 
 
 vol. i. F when
 
 98 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 when death had silenced her sorrows ; it 
 was drawn for her no less unhappy 
 mother." 
 
 " You knew her then ?" hastily in- 
 quired Rosalthe. 
 
 " I knew her well," replied the abbess; 
 " but many years of pain and misery are 
 past, and the remembrance must not be 
 indulged." 
 
 " And my mother, my persecuted un- 
 fortunate mother, died at the cottage," 
 mournfully sighed Rosalthe, " and was 
 interred — in this convent," fixing her 
 tearful eyes on the pale features of the 
 abbess. 
 
 " She was," solemnly repeated the su- 
 perior ; " and that white marble slab 
 marks the spot." 
 
 Rosalthe tottered a few paces; her head 
 turned dizzy, the blood receded from her 
 heart, and she sunk deprived of motion 
 on the grave. Long and anxiously did 
 the abbess watch the return of life; 
 she pressed her to her bosom, she chafed 
 
 her
 
 THE bandit's bride. 99 
 
 her cold temples, she called tenderly 
 upon her; and, from the amazing like- 
 ness, could almost fancy that the grave 
 had yielded up its dead, and that the de- 
 parted Adela was once more extended 
 before her. At length the warm tide of 
 life recoloured the cheeks and lips of Ro- 
 salthe; her eyes were again unclosed, 
 and again they wandered round the cha- 
 pel. 
 
 " Let us go, my beloved child," said 
 the abbess, endeavouring to raise her; 
 '* by to-morrow we shall both have ac- 
 quired strength and fortitude, I hope, to 
 be less agitated." 
 
 " The grave of my mother !" sobbed 
 Rosalthe, unmindful of the remonstrance 
 of the abbess : '-■ Holy Mary ! how often 
 has my sacrilegious foot pressed upon it! 
 how often have I stood by the hallowed 
 spot with indifference!" 
 
 '•' Rosaline," said the abbess, in a ten- 
 der, but commanding tone, " I had hoped 
 the powers of thy mind iar exceeded thy 
 r 2 Years ;
 
 100 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 years ; I had hoped to have seen in thee 
 a pattern of pious resignation : do not 
 disappoint my expectations ; do not in- 
 dulge unavailing lamentations, lest I am 
 compelled to regret the confidence with 
 which thou hast been entrusted.'^ 
 
 '" I will endeavour, holy mother," an- 
 swered Rosalthe, struggling with her 
 feelings, " to be all that you can wish — 
 to express my gratitude in more than 
 words for the advantages I have receiv- 
 ed beneath this sacred roof, and which 
 the utmost efforts of along, long life cart 
 never repay." 
 
 " One effort alone can repay them," 
 said the abbess, grasping the trembling 
 hand of Rosalthe — " let me see thy fea- 
 tures decked in smiles — let me see thee 
 happy ; this little effort is all I require. 
 Come, my daughter," leading her to the 
 door, " time glides swiftly, midnight 
 is near ; let us quit the chapel : but be- 
 fore we part," she continued, as they 
 passed down the cloisters, " remember, 
 
 what
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 101 
 
 what I have this evening unfolded must 
 remain a secret ; still must thou acknow- 
 ledge Dusseldorf and Agatha as thy pa- 
 rents, and carefully conceal the miniature 
 of thy unfortunate father, lest, being 
 recognised by the baron de Lindenthal, 
 his vengeance should be awakened, and, 
 from the grave of the devoted Adela,fall, 
 with tenfold rigour, on her offspring. 
 The bracelet and packet shall continue 
 my charge, until the arrival of the fated 
 hour, when every eye shall develop the 
 mystery, and Itosalthe," the features of 
 the abbess brightening with animation, 
 " appear to the world such as she really 
 is. But the exertions of the mind re- 
 quire rest, even more than the body : re- 
 tire, my child, and may the blessed Vir- 
 gin have thee in her holy keeping !" 
 
 The lady abbess quitted the gallery, 
 and llosalthe, agitated and perplexed, 
 entered her chamber : but sleep had 1-ed 
 her pillow ; her mind revolved the occm-t 
 rences of the last few hours ; her hand 
 f 3 pressed
 
 0:2 THE BANDIT'S EHIDE, 
 
 pressed on the miniature of her murder- 
 ed father; a thousand vague ideas filled 
 her imagination ; and when, towards 
 morning, exhausted nature sunk into 
 forgetfulness, the portentous packet, the 
 dagger reeking in a parent's blood, and 
 the wan form of her departed mother, 
 flitted before her. Once fancy carried 
 her to the rock, which in infancy she had 
 often visited with her beloved Agatha ; 
 suddenly, from the calm serenity of an 
 unruffled scene, the sky looked dark and 
 lowering, the billows rose, and sullenly 
 lashed the rocks. Rosalthe looked to- 
 wards the cottage — it receded from her 
 sight ; insurmountable difficulties arose ; 
 her flight was impeded by the firm grasp 
 of an unknown hand ; she shrieked, she 
 struggled, but was impelled forward ; 
 and as she entered the deep gloom of the 
 forest, a voice seemed to say — " Beware !* 
 A stranger stood forth her champion; 
 but even when her eyes rested in grati- 
 tude upon him, a hideous gulf yawned 
 
 at
 
 THE BANDIT S BRIDE. 10^ 
 
 at his feet, and he fell into its vortex. 
 Rosalthe, flying from the pestilential va- 
 pours which darkened the air, beheld a 
 being whose garments shone like silver ; 
 his light hair waved in the wind, and his 
 features, beaming with perpetual smiles, 
 were the same as the miniature which 
 hung on her bosom. In him she beheld 
 the spirit of her father: aw T e-struck she 
 sank at his feet 9 and as her eyes rested 
 on him, he waved his golden pinions, and 
 in an instant flew from her sight ; she 
 stretched her arms to clasp the vision, 
 but it was gone, and with it the 
 shackles of sleep. 
 
 Starting erect in her bed, she looked 
 anxiously around, fearful of seeing veri- 
 fied the dreadful forms which imagina- 
 tion had portrayed; but the chamber 
 wore an enlivening aspect ; the sun had 
 already reached the highest heaven, and 
 shone resplendent through the painted 
 glass of her window ; a thousand differ- 
 ent birds carolled in the extensive gar- 
 I 4 dens
 
 M4 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 i ;s of the convent, and, by their wild 
 melody, seemed to invite her to the dew- 
 bespangled shrubbery. 
 
 " Oh, then Eternal Providence !" she 
 exclaimed, raising her eyes in pious reve- 
 rence — " tlicu who in idest the heavens 
 and the earth, who directest the sun to 
 visit every corner of the globe, and shine 
 alike upon the meanest reptile, to exhale 
 the unwholesome damps, and crown the 
 face of nature with plenteousness and 
 joy— -tell me, wherefore is the heart of 
 man alone ungrateful? wherefore, en- 
 dowed with reason, and the strong ener- 
 gies of the mind, is he the only being*- 
 in this vast creation, who mnrmureth at 
 his lot ?" 
 
 CHAP
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since Angela 
 quitted the convent, and thepensive mind 
 of Rosalthe continued unusually depress- 
 ed. In that short interval, how were her 
 views, her expectations altered ! then rich 
 in the tender affection of two supposed pa- 
 rents — now, an orphan destitute of every 
 claim, save humanity. She felt the full 
 force of her situation ; and at times, 
 when kneeling at the grave of her mo- 
 ther, would seek to penetrate the mys- 
 tery by which she was surrounded. But 
 all was a wild chaos to her imagination 
 —all was uncertainty and doubt: her 
 eyes would rest on the portrait of her fa- 
 ther, which was now the inseparable 
 companion of her bosom ; and, as with 
 painful rapture she gazed upon the fea- 
 f 5 tures,
 
 106 THE bandit's bmde. 
 
 tures, her heart would shudder at the 
 knowledge of his sufferings, and the sus- 
 picion of murder fill her with despair. 
 Ts T o longer in fancy did she penetrate 
 the darkened walls of St. Florensia — no 
 longer sigh to become acquainted with 
 the world, or the pleasing intercourse of 
 society : her thoughts, her hopes, were 
 alike absorbed in the misfortunes of her 
 family; and to pass through life un- 
 known, to be placed by the side of her 
 angel mother, was now the only wish 
 her feeling heart could picture. 
 
 The abbess beheld with regret the de- 
 pression which hung on the spirits of 
 llosalthe ; she sought, by gentle admoni- 
 tions, to call her from herself, to point 
 out the blessed calm of resignation, and 
 inspire her with the hopes of future hap- 
 piness. 
 
 " Wherefore, my daughter," she would 
 inquire, "wouldst thou renounce a world, 
 whose toils and pleasures, whose delights 
 and sorrows, are alike unknown ? Thou 
 
 hast
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 107 
 
 hast not felt misfortune ; thou hast not 
 known the persecution of innocence, 
 the horror of misplaced confidence, or 
 the pangs of guilt: why then wouldst 
 thou bury thyself in eternal seclusion ? 
 why fly from those duties which Pro- 
 vidence directs us to fulfil ?" 
 
 " I would avoid temptation," timidly 
 replied Rosalthe ; " I would hide my- 
 self from those artful flatterers, who prac- 
 tise to deceive." 
 
 " And who has thus amply delineated 
 the qualities of the world ?" asked the 
 abbess. 
 
 " Sister Josepha," said Rosalthe, blush- 
 ing, V has pointed out its sorrows and 
 its dangers — she has told me it is full of 
 deceit, malevolence, and woe ; that vice 
 flourishes, whilst virtue is debased ; that 
 happiness is all delusion, a mere phantom 
 of the imagination ; and that the inno- 
 cent, each hour, become the prey of the 
 designing." 
 
 " Sister Josepha's enthusiasm is mis- 
 f 6 placed,"
 
 108 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 placed," said the abbess, gravely ; " she 
 speaks not from a knowledge of the world, 
 but from her own sufferings." 
 
 " Alas !" interrupted Rosalthe, " her 
 words are confirmed in the misfortunes 
 of my parents." 
 
 " Thou art young, my child/' resumed 
 the superior, " and would act from im- 
 pulse, not deliberation ; thou fanciest, be- 
 cause thy parents suffered, that the world 
 contains only misery. But thou art mis- 
 taken; happiness is the pursuit of aJL 
 though sought after in different man- 
 ners : the gay look for it in dissipation ; 
 the ambitious, in distinctions and ho- 
 nours ; the avaricious, in gold. But their 
 search is fallacious, for it dwells in our 
 own hearts, and virtue alone can direct 
 us to the path." 
 
 " And yet the virtuous are not always 
 happy," said Rosalthe. 
 
 f Noj" replied the abbess, with a sigh, 
 " life is but a state of probation ; its trials 
 are severe, but they are limited : often 
 
 do
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 109 
 
 do we see the most exemplary strug- 
 gling under the pressure of misfortune, 
 whilst the guilty deal the blow : but we 
 know that our hours are numbered, we 
 know that in heaven we shall find a 
 place of rest.*' 
 
 " On earth we may likewise find rest," 
 interrupted Rosalthe ; " in a retirement 
 like this, secured from the shafts of enw 
 and the allurements of vice, we may pass 
 our days in peace, and serenely meet the 
 fated hour of dissolution." 
 
 " Thou knowest not what thou sayest," 
 Rosalthe," replied the abbess ; " it is not 
 by immuring ourselves in a perpetual so- 
 litude, that we shew the strength or for- 
 bearance of virtue : ah no, my daughter 1 
 Heaven requires no such sacrifice. The 
 duties of the affectionate wife, the tender 
 mother, when properly fulfilled, are far 
 more sacred. Beauty will fade, youth 
 will pass away, strength will sink into 
 imbecility ; but amid the wreck, the pa- 
 rent, whose task has been strictly dis- 
 charged,
 
 110 THE r.AXIylT'S BHIDE. 
 
 charged, has an anchor to rest on ; in her 
 offspring she sees a renewal of her own 
 virtues, and from their affection receives 
 the heart-soothing sympathy of friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " And yet I could wish," said Rosal- 
 the, bowing on the hand of the abbess, 
 " to take the holy mother of St. Florensia 
 for my guide; I could wish to tread in 
 the same steps — like her, to be the gentle 
 reprover of error-— like her, to instruct 
 by example, and persuade by kindness." 
 
 " But those steps, Rosalthe, were not 
 the steps of peace," answered the su- 
 perior ; " the guide thou wouldst follow 
 has experienced calamity, has felt sor- 
 row: the hour may come when her mis- 
 fortunes may be revealed ; but till then, 
 know that persecution, not a disgust of 
 the world, drove her to seek security in 
 this holy seclusion." 
 
 Towards evening, as the sun, slowly 
 sinking in the west, tinged the vast con- 
 cave of heaven with his dying splendour, 
 
 Jtosalthe
 
 THE BANDIT'S BHIDE. Ill 
 
 Rosalthe hastened to the terrace, to re- 
 flect on the words of her revered precep- 
 tress : the scene was in perfect unison 
 with her feelings ; not a breeze could be 
 felt, not a sound heard, save the distant 
 tinkling of the sheep-bell, and the melan- 
 choly plaints of the nightingale: her 
 spirits sank into sadness, and the un- 
 checked tears trickled down her cheek — 
 " Oh, peace," she mentally ejaculated, 
 " where dost thou dwell, if neither the 
 bustle of the world, or the exercise of de- 
 votion, can insure thee? Yet where- 
 fore do I murmur? if thou, my dear and 
 excellent monitress, have experienced 
 calamity, have felt sor?vw, how can one 
 so prone to error as myself sc ek for hap- 
 ness? Direct my heart, pure spirits of 
 my sainted parents," raising her hands 
 and eyes to heaven, " in this painful 
 struggle ! teach it cheerfully to submit 
 to the will of its Creator, whether con- 
 cealed within these consecrated walls, or 
 
 exposed
 
 112 THE BANDIT'S BIUDE. 
 
 exposed to the vicissitudes and dangers 
 of an unknown world !" 
 
 A glow of satisfaction irradiated her 
 countenance, and as she drew the like- 
 ness of her father from her bosom, a 
 smile seemed to play on the features, 
 and the eyes apparently rested on her : 
 she hailed it as a harbinger of joy, and, 
 as she pressed it to her lips, heard her 
 name pronounced, and turning beheld 
 her esteemed Angela hastening to her. 
 Concealing the senseless image in her 
 bosom, she flew to the steps of the ter- 
 race, to meet her friend. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Rosal the," said Angela, 
 throwing her arms round her neck, " how 
 happy I am to see you ! — but why do you 
 look so pensive? When we get you to 
 Lunenberg Castle, we must try to banish 
 this cast of care from your countenance." 
 
 " To Lunenberg Castle!" repeated 
 Rosalthe, with astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, to Lunenberg Castle," smiling-
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 113 
 
 ly resumed Angela ; "lam come to the 
 convent on purpose to fetch you ; our 
 dear abbess has given her permission, 
 and to-morrow my father will send for 
 us. But we shall find it nearly as dull 
 as St. Florensia : I am sure I shall be 
 quite melancholy, now the prince de Lo- 
 benstein is gone." 
 
 " Who is the prince de Loben stein ?" 
 inquired Kosalthe, " and why, my dear 
 Angela, will you miss him ?" 
 
 " Because," replied Angela, " he is so 
 very pleasing. He has told me many 
 things I never heard before: he says, 
 it is quite a sin for me to be shut up in 
 this convent, and if I would suffer him 
 to take me to Dresden, he could teach 
 me a thousand things better than the 
 abbess." 
 
 iS How could you hear him speak so 
 disrespectfully of our holy mother ?" re- 
 proachfully inquired Rosalthe ; " I am 
 sure I shall never like him." 
 
 " Neither do I," said Angela, laugh- 
 ing;
 
 114 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ing; " but I like what he says, for this 
 very morning he told me I was an an- 
 gel." 
 
 * 1 thought angels were the spirits of 
 the just made pei feet,' I answered ; ' how 
 then can I be an angel ?' 
 
 ' You wear the semblance of one,' re- 
 plied the prince, I with the captivating 
 graces of a woman, and " 
 
 " Father Anselmo would call him a 
 very wicked man," interrupted Rosalthe, 
 " and I hope I may never see him." 
 
 " That you will not," answered An- 
 gela, " for he leaves the castle in the 
 morning: but yet, I think, Rosalthe, 
 you would like to hear him talk." 
 
 " No," said Rosalthe, firmly ; " he is 
 one of the flatterers sister Josepha has so 
 often cautioned me against, and I should 
 be afraid of him." 
 
 " So was I, at first," said the artless 
 Angela ; " but before I had been two 
 days at the castle, I felt only pleasure in 
 his society. — I trust, however, you will 
 
 love
 
 THE BANDITS BRIDE. 115 
 
 love my father and brother, for they have 
 never called me an angel" 
 
 " You are very kind, my dear Angela," 
 replied Hosalthe ; "but I am quite happy 
 at the convent. Since we parted, my 
 ideas are changed : — then, the supposed 
 gaieties and allurements of the world 
 swam before my sight — now, peace seems 
 to dwell beneath the consecrated dome; 
 and to be a nun, to be a sister of St. Flo- 
 rensia, is my heart's warmest wish/' 
 
 " A nun !" repeated Angela, with un- 
 usual earnestness ; " I would not be a nun 
 for the whole world." 
 
 " And why not ?" asked Rosalthe. " I 
 think their lives display piety and peace ; 
 no cares, no ideas draw their thoughts be- 
 yond their walls ; if calamity overtakes 
 them, they baffle its effects by resigna- 
 tion ; and our creed teaches us to hope 
 for mercy there," raising her mild eyes to 
 heaven ; " for the prayers of the penitent 
 are wafted to the Throne of Grace." 
 
 " All this I allow," resumed Angela .; 
 
 w but
 
 116 the bandit's bridi:. 
 
 " but yet, Rosalthe, would you like to be 
 a nun ? — would you like to look at those 
 thick and high walls, and say, ' here I may 
 live for years, but beyond that barrier I 
 must never go, must never see the inha- 
 bitants of the world, must never see a 
 single being, but our confessor, father 
 Anselmo, and the sisters of St. Floren- 
 sia?' No, no, Rosalthe! I cannot be- 
 lieve it; you would be like me — you 
 would pray for the wings of a bird, to 
 fly for ever from your frightful prison." 
 
 " Ah no !" said Rosalthe, fervently, 
 ** this convent can never be a prison to 
 me ; it will ever contain the same object 
 of my adoration — will ever afford an asy- 
 lum to the child of persecution and sor- 
 row (? 
 
 " The child of persecution and sor- 
 row ! — what mean you ?" anxiously in- 
 quired Angela. 
 
 " Alas ! do not ask me," said Rosal- 
 the, fearing she had already betrayed 
 her secret ; " my spirits are depressed, 
 
 and
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 117 
 
 and I know not what I say. But see, 
 yonder comes sister Josepha; methinks 
 she knows of my removal from the con- 
 vent, for an unusual melancholy o'er- 
 shadows her features." 
 
 " Peace be with yon, my children !" 
 said the nun, as she ascended the terrace, 
 " and content, great as this transitory 
 state can yield, glow within your hearts ! 
 But wherefore this dejection? — where- 
 fore these tears, Rosalthe ?" she conti- 
 nued, with a half-suppressed sigh : u to- 
 rn oitow you leave the convent — to-mor- 
 row you seek for happiness in gaiety : 
 vain, deceitful search ! Ah no, my daugh- 
 ter ! pleasure is but a feverish dream ; it 
 is like the serpent's speckled skin, shin- 
 ing in the rays of the sun, and attracting 
 the unwary traveller with a thousand 
 beauties : its touch is baneful, its venom 
 death !" 
 
 " Is pleasure, then, incompatible with 
 innocence ?" inquired Angela. 
 
 " When I was at your age, I thought 
 
 not,"
 
 118 THE BANDIT'S BRIBE. 
 
 not," sighed sister Josepha; " but woe- 
 fully was I convinced, that when a young 
 defenceless heart yields to pleasure, vir- 
 tue is but a chimera — love steals on the 
 soul ere its power is known, and influ- 
 ences our future lives : we are all open 
 to vanity, and well do the designing 
 know how to apply it. — Man can change 
 his character according to circumstances : 
 lie can call to his aid sighs, tears, vows, 
 indiscriminately ; and at the very mo- 
 ment that he swears inviolable fidelity, 
 his heart may perjure his lips : the young 
 and artless female, without a guide, save 
 a tender and susceptible mind, listens 
 and believes, and ere conviction flashes 
 on l>er brain, sinks the victim of his pre- 
 tended sincerity." 
 
 " It is in large cities those characters 
 are to be found," said Angela ; " we are 
 only going to the castle." 
 
 " They are to be found in the hamlet 
 as in the palace," exclaimed the nun, 
 raising her tearful eyes to heaven ; " nay, 
 
 even
 
 THE BANDIT'S BUIDE. 119 
 
 even the consecrated walls set apart for 
 devotion are profaned by their presence. 
 But your situation, Angela, places you 
 beyond their reach ; it is Rosalthe, whose 
 parents are poor, whose home is a cot- 
 tage, I would guard ; it is to her I would 
 point out the vices of the world, and 
 teach her to avoid a rock on which 
 thousands have split. But night's cold 
 dews have already chilled the atmos- 
 phere ; the sad owl hoots from the ivy^ 
 crowned walls, and the bat silently wings 
 her circles in the air ; the herds are re- 
 clining on the grassy surface of the mea- 
 dows, and the feathered choristers have 
 returned long since to their nests. Come, 
 my children, let us return to the con- 
 vent. This silent scene conveys a les- 
 son to the human heart, and forcibly 
 displays our unworthiness : the animal 
 creation are led on by an inward im- 
 pulse — they follow what we call instinct, 
 and they never err in the pursuit of what 
 is good for them. But man, the lord of 
 
 all.
 
 120 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 all, enlightened by reason, that particu- 
 lar mark of Providence which distin- 
 guishes him from other beings, obsti- 
 nately refuses to be conducted to happi- 
 ness, and treads the path to misery with 
 fatigue and labour." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In the morning the carriage of the baron 
 de Lunenberg stopped at the gate of St. 
 Florensia : Angela, elated, flew to seek 
 her friend, whilst llosalthe, scarce able 
 to suppress her tears, threw herself on 
 the bosom of the abbess, and silently 
 kissed her cheek. How various are the 
 emotions which arise from the same 
 source ! how different the springs which 
 actuate the human heart ! Angela was 
 all life, hope, and expectation — Rosal- 
 the pensive, dispirited, and foreboding. 
 
 The
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 121 
 
 The sublime and romantic prospect 
 which presented itself, as, emerging from 
 the gloomy walls of the convent, they 
 beheld the opening country, can alone 
 be conceived by those who have visited 
 the awful and picturesque wilds of Lower 
 Saxony. Rosalthe gazed from the win- 
 dow, as the winding road, now darken- 
 ed by the jutting points of rock, covered 
 with prickly holly and verdant arbutus, 
 which hung threatening over head, and 
 now on the brink of deep and terrific 
 precipices, from which the hollo w sound 
 of rushing waters died hke distant thun- 
 der on the err. 
 
 Angela, with persevering vivacity, 
 sought to reanimate the dejected spirits 
 of her friend : she spoke of the convent, 
 the castle, the prince de Lobenstein ; but 
 
 •; was Rosalthe absorbed by her own 
 reflections : at length, pointing from the 
 window with a sudden exclamation of 
 joy — " Ah ! yonder is the ruined chapel 
 of St. Florensia, where I have often ae- 
 
 vol. i. g comwanicd
 
 122 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 companied my beloved mother; and 
 there," gazing eagerly on the opposite 
 side, " is our dear, dear cottage, and my 
 father standing at the porch, and " 
 
 " As I live," interrupted Angela, " my 
 brother Adelbert with him !" 
 
 How pleasing are the scenes of early 
 youth ! how interesting those objects en- 
 deared by some infantine delight ! The 
 sensitive heart of Rosalthe felt the full 
 force of what I would convey ; and as 
 they approached the cottage, the tear of 
 sensibility trembled in her eye. 
 
 liich with the beauties of spring, the 
 little garden smiled with a thousand 
 blossoms : the golden clusters of the la- 
 burnum hung in wild profusion ; the li- 
 lac impregnated the air with its sweets ; 
 whilst the softer bloom of the apple, and 
 deep pink of the almond, relieved the 
 verdant green of their foliage. The 
 white-washed walls of the dwelling could 
 scarcely be discerned through the inter- 
 vening branches of the woodbine and 
 
 jessamine,
 
 THE BANDITS BRIDE. 123 
 
 jessamine, which, hanging in natural fes- 
 toons, nearly covered the casements. 
 
 The count hastened to the little wic- 
 ket to receive the fair friends, whilst the 
 aged Dusseldorf slowly journeyed down 
 the path. 
 
 No sooner was the door of the carriage 
 opened, than Rosalthe, unmindful of 
 every other object, rushed from it, and 
 passing Adelbert, threw her white arn.s 
 round the neck of her foster-father, and 
 pressed her rosy lips to his time-beaten 
 cheek. 
 
 f My beloved child !" articulated the 
 old man, wiping the tears of joy from 
 his eyes ; " my beloved, my affectionate 
 Rosalthe !" 
 
 " And where is my dear mother?" 
 inquired Rosalthe, looking tenderly in 
 his face. 
 
 Agatha had heard the voice of her 
 
 darling, and now appeared at the porch : 
 
 the impulse of affection was strong — it 
 
 could not be withstood : she beheld with 
 
 g 2 reverence
 
 124 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 reverence the count and his sister, but 
 joy subdued the cold formality of re- 
 spect, and with extended arms, and a 
 voice of rapture, she answered — " Here 
 she is, to receive her dearest child with 
 a thousand thousand welcomes !" 
 
 Such was the return of Rosaline, to a 
 dwelling which had received her in the 
 hour of affliction — -had sheltered her in 
 the years of infancy : her mind recapitu- 
 lated the dreadful scene of her mother's 
 dissolution, and she cast upon the serene 
 countenance of Dusseldorf a look which 
 seemed to say — " To thee, my more than 
 parent, am I indebted for the feelings of 
 this moment." 
 
 Dusseldorf felt the full import of that 
 look : the sensations arising from the 
 performance of a good action had long 
 since requited the obligation, or rather, 
 it had transferred it : for the transports 
 of the bestower of happiness and peace 
 far exceed the receiver — at least, such 
 were the ideas of Dusseldorf : he was un- 
 acquainted
 
 THE BANDITS BIUDE. 1£j 
 
 acquainted with the refinements of the 
 world — he had been educated in the 
 school of nature, and ever acted from the 
 impulse of benevolence. 
 
 A momentary blush heightened the 
 charms of Rosalthe, when, looking up, 
 she met the dark eyes of Adelbert, who, 
 with surprise and admiration, had been 
 a silent spectator of the scene. Angela 
 now presented him to her friend ; and, 
 with a tender but respectful air, he 
 pressed their united hands to his lips. 
 
 ? Remember, my dear child," said 
 Agatha, as Rosalthe re-entered the car- 
 riage, " that, in one fortnight, we expect 
 to see you at the cottage : the lady ab- 
 bess has given her permission, and I shall 
 almost count the hours as they pass." 
 
 •' Nay, not so soon, my good dame," 
 replied the count, smiling ; " we know 
 how to value perfection, and must strive 
 to retain it when in possession." 
 
 Agatha silently shook her head, whilst 
 
 Angela, leaning from the window as the 
 
 g 3 carriage
 
 126 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 carriage drove off, promised frequently 
 to visit the cottage. 
 
 During the ride, music and literature 
 were topics of conversation. Rosalthe 
 was not silent ; she discovered a correct- 
 ness of taste, and delicacy of sentiment, 
 which called forth the admiration and as- 
 tonishment of Adelbert. 
 
 " How unlike the daughter of a cotta- 
 ger !" he mentally ejaculated, as his eyes 
 rested on her glowing features ; " digni- 
 ty, sweetness, modesty, and innocence, 
 are all blended ; my sister taught me to 
 expect her charming, but I find her an- 
 gelic." 
 
 The carriage now rumbling over the 
 drawbridge, drove into the courtyard of 
 Lunenberg Castle. Rosalthe trembled 
 as Angela led her to the baron ; but her 
 fears were presently dissipated by his 
 polite and affectionate reception : he took 
 her hand with the cordial warmth of 
 friendship, and as the esteemed compa- 
 nion
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 127 
 
 nion of his daughter, welcomed her to 
 the castle. 
 
 The day passed in innocent gaiety ; 
 every countenance wore the smile of 
 good-humour; the baron was unusually 
 cheerful, and listened to the lively con- 
 verse of Angela, and the more serious 
 remarks of Rosalthe, with unfeigned 
 pleasure : the evening closed with a con- 
 cert ; ^achexerted their powers to please, 
 and each succeeded to the extent of their 
 wishes. Angela played on the virginal, 
 Ilosalthe swept the chords of the harp, and 
 Adelbert, with a masterly hand, touched 
 the soft notes of the flute. 
 
 The night brought repose, and the 
 succeeding morning was passed in a ram- 
 ble to the cottage. The evening was 
 spent on the water ; a gentle breeze un- 
 furled the sails of the pleasure-boat, which 
 glided swiftly upon the liquid bosom of 
 the deep. The varied prospect was wild 
 and beautiful : here and there grotesque 
 masses of rocks boldly projected over the 
 G 4t water,
 
 128 THE bandit's bkide. 
 
 water, now rich with flowering shrubs, 
 now opening to disclose verdant lawns, 
 embosomed with woods, climbing irre- 
 gularly up the sides of the mountains. 
 Ilosalthe was delighted with the scene : 
 the playful goat browsed on the rough 
 surface of the rocks, and the voracious 
 cormorant silently hovered in search of 
 prey. The rays of the setting sun added 
 a brilliancy to the scene, and Adelbert, 
 with the sweet tones of his flute, threw 
 over the whole an air of enchantment : 
 not a second of vacancy was experienced - 
 by any of the party ; the spirit of plea- 
 sure seemed to preside, and dilate their 
 hearts with innocent gratification. It 
 was late ere they landed, and w hen they 
 reached the castle, evening's deepest 
 shade had obscured the face of day. 
 
 On the third morning, Angela led Ro- 
 salthe through the lofty apartments and 
 expatiated on the merits of the tapestry, 
 and the valuable paintings which deco- 
 rated the walk. 
 
 "And
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 12<) 
 
 " And this chamber," she exclaimed, 
 with a sigh, as they entered a small but 
 elegant dressing-room, " was the chosen 
 retreat of my sainted mother ; these land- 
 scapes she painted, and the chords of this 
 harp she often swept in full and tender 
 harmony. But I do not remember her," 
 she continued, as an interesting sadness 
 stole over her expressive features. " I 
 often gaze upon her picture," directing 
 the attention of Rosalthe to a full-length 
 portrait which hung in the room ; "it was 
 taken when she was in health, and we 
 all were happy : see what a smile plays 
 on the countenance — alas ! when I look 
 at it, I envy every one who has a mother." 
 
 The ready tear trembled in the eye of 
 Rosalthe. 
 
 " But why are you sad, my dear, my 
 favoured Rosalthe ?" inquired Angela ; 
 '! you have never felt the loss : ah no ! 
 Heaven has smiled upon your virtues, and 
 made you doubly blest, for in the affec- 
 G 5 tk>n
 
 60 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 tion of our holy abbess of St. Florensia, 
 you possess a second mother." 
 
 Rosalthe sank upon a sofa; her full 
 heart laboured for utterance, whilst her 
 eyes were fixed on the portrait of the 
 departed baroness. Angela flew to her 
 friend; she threw her arms round her 
 neck, and entreated her to be composed. 
 
 " I wish I had not brought you to 
 this chamber," she said. " I too am sad 
 when I visit it ; and yet, when I am at 
 the castle, I would not miss a day. But 
 come, Rosalthe, let us go: I hear foot- 
 steps in the gallery ; if it is my father, 
 and he sees the traces of these tears, he 
 will chide me for occasioning them." 
 
 Rosalthe, struggling with her feelings, 
 affectionately pressed the hand of An- 
 gela, and as she attempted to rise, beheld 
 Adelbert standing at the door, with con- 
 cern depicted on his countenance. A 
 momentary blush suffused her cheeks, as 
 she hastily withdrew her eyes. 
 
 "Charming
 
 THE BAXDIT'S BRIDE. 131 
 
 " Charming sensibility !" he said, ap- 
 proaching the sofa; for having overheard 
 the words of his sister in the gallery, the 
 cause of Rosalthes sorrow was fully ex- 
 plained — " painful, pleasing effusion of 
 the heart ! This little apartment I ever 
 loved ; but henceforth it will be doubly 
 endeared, since enriched with the tears 
 of innocence, flowing to the memory of 
 departed worth. But let us not indulge 
 melancholy reflections ; the morning is 
 inviting, the sun enlivens every object — 
 why then should we look dejected when 
 nature herself is gay ? Come, my sister, 
 let us conduct our fair friend to the shrub- 
 bery, and in its intricate paths lose every 
 recollection of sorrow/' 
 
 The elegant parterre, adorned by the 
 nicest care of the gardener, was disregard- 
 ed : Rosalthe's eyes wandered over its 
 variegated beauties, and sought the stu- 
 pendous cliff which hung darkened by 
 evergreen shrubs; Adelbert's pursued 
 the same direction. 
 
 G 6 " How
 
 132 
 
 " How in unison are our ideas and feel- 
 ings I" he exclaimed : " like you* I can 
 appreciate the bounties of Providence, 
 and dwell, with gratitude and admira- 
 tion, on the wonders of creation. What 
 are the artist's proudest boast, compared 
 to nature's bulwark ?" pointing to a chain 
 of cliffs, whose cone- topped heads seem- 
 ed to touch the sky ; " and what scenes 
 can the bustle of cities produce, half so 
 soothing to the contemplative mind, as 
 yon expanse of water ?" 
 
 " How often have I watched the green 
 waves," said Rosalthe, "now agitated in 
 the swelling breeze, now smocihly glid- 
 ing, rich with the sparkling beams of a 
 setting sun !" 
 
 " I have sometimes tried to find out 
 its various beauties," exclaimed Angela, 
 " but to me it always wears the same 
 aspect ; and as for these rocks, gardens, 
 grottoes, and woods, I would give them 
 all for something new. — I wish my father 
 would take me to Dresden ! I long to 
 
 find
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 133 
 
 find out why the world is reckoned so 
 wicked." 
 
 * That, I trust, you never will," said 
 Adelbert. 
 
 " And why not?" hastily inquired 
 Angela. 
 
 " Because, my dear sister, experience 
 can alone direct you to the knowledge ; 
 and experience must be purchased with 
 innocence." 
 
 " Not always, neither," said Angela 
 warmly ; " for our dear abbess suffers 
 from guilt, and a better, purer soul never 
 breathed." 
 
 " Then it is from the guilt of others," 
 rejoined Adelbert; " and from that se- 
 vere, but lesser affliction, may Heaven 
 shield your heart ! You know not what 
 you wish, Angela : spirits, gay and hap- 
 py as your own, have been broken by 
 misfortune — like you have spoken lightly 
 of the evils of the world — and in the end, 
 disgusted, and worn by sorrow, have 
 
 sought
 
 134 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 sought shelter in the solitude of a clois- 
 ter." 
 
 " It is not affliction that alrcays in- 
 duces us to embrace the severities of a 
 monastic life," answered Angela, look- 
 ing archly at Rosalthe, " I know one 
 who has father, mother, friends, youth, 
 beauty, and accomplishments, and yet 
 she would selfishly take the impenetrable 
 veil ; and even to the arguments of the 
 abbess, who strives to point out the infa- 
 tuation, declares, that she can never be 
 happy unless she is a nun." 
 
 " A nun !" repeated Adelbert, with a 
 start of astonishment, for the blushing 
 cheek of Rosalthe had betrayed her ; H a 
 nun ! — Heaven forbid !" and an involun- 
 tary sigh escaped his bosom. 
 
 " And why not a nun?" inquired An- 
 gela : " solitude possesses a multitude of 
 charms ; it is preferable to the noisy bus- 
 tle of the world : for my part," said she, 
 laughing, " I would advise you to be- 
 come one of the holy fathers." 
 
 " And
 
 THE BANDIT'S B1UDE. 135 
 
 w And do you really purpose becoming 
 a sister of St. Florensia ?" fearfully in- 
 quired Adelbert, regardless of Angela's 
 question. " Do you intend, like a me- 
 teor, to surprise us with the dazzling 
 blaze of your perfections, and then to 
 vanish from our sight for ever ? — Ah, be 
 more merciful ! the priests, the nuns, 
 the very altar, would tremble at such a 
 sacrifice." 
 
 " I know not — I once wished it," re- 
 plied Ilosalthe, for the persuasive voice 
 of the count had already staggered her 
 resolution; " but the lady abbess " 
 
 " Will prevail, I trust, and remove all 
 your scruples," interrupted Adelbert. 
 
 Rosalthe blushed, and her eyes sought 
 the ground. " The lady abbess," she at 
 length resumed, " will think me incon- 
 sistent, and sister Josepha will despise 
 and condemn me." 
 
 " But your own heart will acquit you," 
 said Adelbert, "and that should ever be 
 the guide of our actions. — Will you pro- 
 mise,"
 
 136 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 mise," after a long but interesting pause, 
 " say, Rosalthe, will you promise never 
 to be a nun ?" 
 
 " Why should you wish such a pro- 
 mise ?" inquired Rosalthe, in a voice of 
 surprise. 
 
 " I know not," answered the count, 
 with embarrassment. 
 
 They had now reached the extremity 
 of the shrubbery, and ascended a cliff 
 that projected over the sea. 
 
 " What a delightful spot is here !" ex- 
 claimed Rosalthe, entering the favourite 
 grotto of the departed baroness. The 
 variegated passion-flower, the retiring 
 rose, and soft blowing myrtle, entwined 
 themselves round the fluted columns of 
 the entrance ; whilst on a marble pedes* 
 tal, beneath the deep shade of a lofty 
 cypress, stood a figure, emblematical of 
 Sensibility, weeping at the woes of the 
 suffering world. " How sublime the 
 prospect !" she continued, " how still, 
 how calm the scene !" 
 
 "It
 
 THE bandit's bride. 137 
 
 K It is a hallowed spot," said Adelbert, 
 as a tender melancholy stole over his fea- 
 tures — " a spot sacred to reflection — a 
 spot I never enter without gratefully 
 thanking Heaven I have a heart ! That 
 cypress was planted by the order of my 
 angel mother; it is an emblem of peace, 
 for the ringdove builds in its branches : 
 and here have I often listened to the 
 voice of instruction, flowing, like manna, 
 from a parent's lips." 
 
 " I thought we had quitted the castle," 
 said Angela, " for the purpose of reco- 
 vering our spirits, but methinks we have 
 found a spot to depress them " 
 
 " Indeed w r e have, my sister/' replied 
 Adelbert, " for when I am sad, I hasten 
 here to indulge reflection : happy, thrice 
 happy are they, who can find pleasure in 
 its indulgence ! Sensibility is the source 
 of all our joys, of all our pains; yet 
 would I not change with the being 
 whose days glide on in dull uniformity, 
 who is a stranger to the thrilling sensa- 
 tions
 
 138 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 tions of the soul. Pardon me, Heaven, 
 if the request is presumptuous, but let me 
 lose it and life together ! — Never can thy 
 possessor, divine passion ! hear the voiee 
 of sorrow with indifference; inexpressible 
 are the transports you inspire ! be it ever 
 my task to pour the tears of sympathy 
 into the wounded heart — -to receive the 
 tears of anguish into mine !" 
 
 Angela smiled at her brother's en- 
 thusiasm, but llosalthe had caught the 
 infection ; a tear stole from her eye, and 
 fell upon the myrtle sprig that blossomed 
 on her bosom. Adalbert had watched 
 the fugitive, and at that moment would 
 have exchanged a diadem for the posses- 
 sion of the precious flower. He raised 
 his hand to snatch it from its station, but 
 the impulse brought reflection. He 
 paused, fearful of betraying the secret of 
 his feelings, although his eyes, to any 
 other than Hosal the, must have disclosed 
 the sentiments he struggled to conceal. 
 I know not how long this scene conti- 
 nued;
 
 THE BANDIT'S BllIDE. 139 
 
 nued ; it should have lasted for ever had 
 it been in my power, for I would have 
 perpetuated it on the canvas. 
 
 A bell from the castle now summon- 
 ed them to the festive board. Adelbert 
 drew a hand of each through his arms, 
 and hastened from the grotto. Thus did 
 the hours glide swiftly away. 
 
 Hosalthe had already been three weeks 
 at the castle, and her heart acknowledg- 
 ed it the shortest she had ever passed. 
 Each day brought some new amusement 
 — each day appeared happier than the 
 former. Adelbert no longer sought di- 
 version in the sports of the field : when 
 he strayed from the castle, it was to at- 
 tend his sister and Rosalthe — to hear 
 the soft tones of her voice — to dwell with 
 admiration on the various turns of her 
 captivating countenance. 
 
 The baron suspected not his passion ; 
 he himself acknowledged her charming, 
 but he believed pride a sufficient security 
 to the heart of his son. Blind, mistaken 
 
 confidence !
 
 J 40 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 confidence! He forgot that love, like 
 an impetuous torrent, carries all before 
 it — that reason's self sinks beneath its 
 powerful influence ! Adelbert strove to 
 hide his sentiments from the knowledge 
 of his father ; in his presence he drove 
 every cast of care from his features, and 
 assumed the thoughtless gaiety of for- 
 mer hours. But when, in the solitude 
 of his chamber, he reflected on the ine- 
 quality of their birth, he would sigh at 
 the obstacles which impeded the possi- 
 bility of their union. 
 
 " I must fly from the castle/' he would 
 exclaim ; " family, fame, future happi- 
 ness, demand the sacrifice, ere j-et my 
 peace is destroyed. I must fly from the 
 dangerous infatuation : yes, Rosa! the, I 
 must forget the hours I have passed in 
 your society — must forget that the walls 
 of St. Florensia contain the only object 
 my fond heart had ever selected." 
 
 Night passed away, and with it all ideas 
 of quitting the castle, for the returning 
 
 morn
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 141 
 
 morn beheld Adelbert in the presence 
 of Ttosal the — her smiles dissipated each 
 painful reflection, and alone filled him 
 with hope and joy. Angela was a stran- 
 ger to love ; she knew not the thousand 
 doubts and fears which mark its progress; 
 she herself was happy, and dreamt not 
 that her brother was otherwise. 
 
 Rosalthe often thought of the convent, 
 but not with a wish to return. 
 
 "Sister Josephahas been unjust!" she 
 would exclaim ; " she must have spoken 
 from the impulse of prejudice: experi- 
 ence has already refuted her lessons — she 
 taught me to expect misery, but I have 
 found peace." — Alas ! little did she sus- 
 pect she had lost it ! — " If the whole 
 world is like Lunenberg Castle," she 
 would continue, " why should I wish to 
 be a nun ?" 
 
 CHAP-
 
 142 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Three weeks have already passed," 
 said Angela, as she walked in the shrub- 
 bery with Rosalthe, " since we quitted 
 the convent, and in another month we 
 are to return. Heigho ! how I detest 
 solitude ! — I wish — I do not know what 
 I wish." 
 
 " It will indeed be very dull/' said Ro- 
 salthe, with a sigh. 
 
 "Dull!" repeated Angela, warmly, "it 
 will be quite insufferable: it may do 
 very well for old age, or such as have lost 
 all relish for society ; but for girls like us 
 to be shut up, as the prince de Loben- 
 stein told me, it is quite a sin." 
 
 V And yet it will be our own faults if 
 we are not happy," said Rosalthe mildly : 
 " our dear abbess will be the indulgent 
 
 judge
 
 THE bandit's bride. 143 
 
 judge of our actions, and the sisters of 
 St. Florensia will enrich our minds with 
 instructive lessons." 
 
 " That will not make me happy 
 though," exclaimed the artless Angela ; 
 " nor you either." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Rosalthe : 
 " and yet," after a pause, " if we could, 
 at this moment, possess what we imagine 
 would complete our happiness, how do 
 we know but in the end it might be pro- 
 ductive of misery ?" 
 
 " To me it could not," said Angela : 
 " I only wish to be at Dresden, and 
 there, I am sure, I should be happy." 
 
 " If you were at Dresden," replied 
 Rosalthe, " you might, ere another week 
 passes away, anxiously desire to be again 
 at the convent." 
 
 " Not I indeed," said the incredulous 
 Angela : " the men would all talk to me 
 like the prince, and every thing would be 
 so delightful ! I am sure I should never, 
 never be tired : and for the convent, if 
 
 it
 
 144 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 it was not for you, the abbess, and the 
 holy sisters, I should never wish to enter 
 its walls again." 
 
 They now heard the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps, and turning, beheld 
 two figures among the trees. The blood 
 rushed to the cheeks of Rosalthe, as the 
 voice of Adelbert reached her ear: he 
 was accompanied by a stranger, whose 
 form and countenance were strikingly 
 handsome. 
 
 " Sigismar, count de Lindenthal," said 
 Adelbert, as he presented him. 
 
 " The count de Lindenthal! Prophetic 
 Heaven !" exclaimed Rosalthe, as from 
 the rosy bloom of health, her features 
 changed to an ashy paleness. She tot- 
 tered — she must have fallen, had not 
 Adelbert rushed forward, and supported 
 her in his arms. 
 
 * What means this emotion ?" he in- 
 quired ; " why this terror ?* 
 
 Rosalthe was unable to reply ; she had 
 not fainted, but a sensation, even worse, 
 
 had
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 145 
 
 had suspended her faculties ; her eyes 
 were fixed on heaven, whilst broken and 
 convulsed sighs burst from her bosom. 
 Anxiety and doubt marked the features 
 of Adelbert, as he, in the no less asto- 
 nished countenance of Sigismar, sought 
 an explanation. 
 
 " Here is some dark mystery," said 
 De Lin den thai, as he approached Rosal- 
 the : " hear me when I call Heaven to 
 witness, that, until this moment, I never 
 beheld this lady. — And yet," gazing 
 doubtfully on her, " these features are 
 familiar to me — surely I have before seen 
 this countenance." 
 
 " Seen Rosalthe," reproachfully ex- 
 claimed Adelbert, " and forget where ! 
 Ah Heaven ! is that possible ?" 
 
 The terrified Angela would have flown 
 to the castle for assistance ; but Adel- 
 bert, in a voice of joy, recalled her — 
 
 " She revives, my sister !" he exclaim, 
 ed ; " life's warm stream reanimates her 
 form — she will soon be better." 
 
 vol. i. h Angela
 
 146 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Angela returned ; she kissed the pale 
 cheek of her friend, and a tear trembled 
 in her radiant eye. Once more the count 
 de Lindenthal approached ; he took the 
 hand of Rosalthe; he would have spo- 
 ken, but she drew it hastily from him ; 
 a convulsive shudder crept over her, and, 
 hiding her face on the shoulder of An- 
 gela, she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 Shocked and disappointed, the count 
 drew back ; again did the eyes of Adel 
 bert rest inquisitively on him, and again 
 did he solemnly assert that he had never 
 before seen Rosalthe. 
 
 "And yet you know the countenance?" 
 inquired the impetuous Adelbert. 
 
 " I know it perfectly," rejoined Sigis- 
 mar; " for the portrait of that lady deco- 
 rates the stone gallery in Lindenthal 
 Castle." 
 
 " Here is indeed some mystery," said 
 Angela ; " for Rosalthe, excepting her 
 visit here, and at the dwelling of her fa- 
 ther.
 
 THE bandit's bride. 147 
 
 tlier, has ever been an inmate of the con- 
 vent of St. Florensia." 
 
 " I wish I could resolve it," said Sigis- 
 mar, mournfully : " but my presence oc- 
 casions pain ; I will return to the castle, 
 in the hope that we may soon meet with 
 less emotion." 
 
 Angela would have remained with 
 her friend, but the eyes of her brother 
 implored her to accompany De Linden- 
 thai. Ere yet she had quitted the path, 
 Rosalthe entreated her to return. 
 
 " Do you, my lord, follow the count, 
 and, in pity to my feelings, conceal what 
 has passed." 
 
 Adelbert looked disconcerted — " I will 
 obey you," he said ; " yet tell me, ere I 
 go, has the count de Lindenthal ever in- 
 jured you ?" 
 
 Rosalthe hesitated ; she knew not what 
 to reply ; the mysterious relation of the 
 abbess — her mother's sufferings — her fa- 
 ther's murder — all recurred to her me- 
 mory. 
 
 H 2 " Injured
 
 148 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 " Injured me !" she repeated — " Holy 
 Virgin !'' and her clasped hands were 
 raised to heaven. 
 
 Adelbert's eyes darted vengeance — 
 " Does the being live who has injured 
 Rosalthe?" he exclaimed, rushing from 
 her. 
 
 " Stay, for a moment stay !" shrieked 
 the terrified girl, as with the swiftness of 
 lightning she flew towards him — (i stay 
 and hear me, when I call the holy saints 
 to witness, that, until this hour, I never 
 beheld the count de Linden thai !" 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! what strange, 
 what inexplicable conduct ! What am 
 I to think ?" inquired Adelbert. 
 
 M What you please, my lord," replied 
 Rosalthe, proudly. 
 
 it was the impulse of the moment; she 
 felt herself wronged by the suspicions of 
 Adelbert ; her pure heart spurned at con- 
 cealments ; she wished to elucidate every 
 mystery, to unfold the secret of her birth, 
 and to appear, in his eyes, the being she 
 
 really
 
 THE bandit's bride. 149 
 
 really was. But she remembered the 
 promise she had given the abbess ; and 
 as honour whispered that promise must 
 remain inviolate, her countenance as- 
 sumed its former sadness. 
 
 Adelbert read the conflict passing in 
 her breast ; he was softened, he took her 
 hand — " Pardon my doubts, Rosalthe," 
 he said, in a voice of supplication : "hence- 
 forth preserve your secret; never, in 
 thought, wil I hover near it, or, for a 
 moment, lose sight of your perfections." 
 
 " Fly then," said Rosalthe, in a hur- 
 ried tone; " overtake the count ; let not 
 the baron hear of my agitation ; I cannot 
 bear interrogatories ; yet, for my own 
 justification, know that neither guilt or 
 fear directs my conduct ; and, however 
 strong appearances may be, my heart will 
 bear searching." 
 
 Adelbert believed her;, every syllable 
 
 she had uttered was transfixed upon the 
 
 tablets of his memory. He pressed her 
 
 hand to his lips ; and, as he hastened 
 
 h 3 through
 
 150 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 through the shrubbery — " My suspicions 
 have inj ured your innocence, Rosalthe," he 
 mentally ejaculated ; "but the study of my 
 future life shall be to make reparation." 
 
 Rosalthe, pale and agitated, leant on 
 the arm of Angela ; her head ached, her 
 eyes were swollen with weeping. 
 
 * Let us return to the castle," she said; 
 "and do you, my dear Angela, make my 
 excuses to the baron — I cannot join the 
 supper-table." 
 
 " Neither will I," said the affectionate 
 girl ; " I will tell my father you are ill, 
 and that will be a sufficient plea for my 
 absence." 
 
 " No, that must not be," replied Ro- 
 salthe ; " what would your brother — what 
 would the count de Lindenthal think ?" 
 
 " Adelbert would thank me," said An- 
 gela ; " and, for the count de Linden- 
 thai, I care not what he would think — I 
 only wish he had not come to the castle." 
 
 As they entered the hall, the supper- 
 bell sounded. Angela was unwilling to 
 
 leave
 
 THE BANDITS BRIDE. 1.51 
 
 leave her friend, but Rosalthe\s entrea- 
 ties at length prevailed. When alone, 
 she hastened to the retirement of her 
 apartment, and sought to reason herself 
 into composure ; but still did the dread- 
 ed name of De Lindenthal recall to her 
 mind the horrid recital of the abbess — 
 still did her heart shudder at the recol- 
 lection of murder. 
 
 " Father of Heaven !" she exclaimed, 
 as the tears streamed down her cheeks, 
 " am I beneath the same roof with the 
 relentless persecutor of my unfortunate 
 parents ? Have I indeed beheld the be- 
 ing who shortened their existence — who 
 exposed their offspring to all the horrors 
 of mystery, and made her what she is — an 
 orphan ? Oh that I had never quitted 
 the convent ! that I had never left my 
 guide, my friend, my monitress ! — then 
 had my heart been saved this shock, then 
 had I been content and happy : would 
 that I could now throw myself into the 
 arms of the revered abbess of St. Floren- 
 H 4 sia ! —
 
 152 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 sia ! — would that I could pour my griefs 
 into her bosom, and receive advice and 
 comfort from her counsels !" 
 
 Whilst yet she spoke, she heard the 
 voice of Angela in the gallery, who in a 
 moment after entered. 
 
 " Adelbert is quite disconcerted at 
 your absence, Rosalthe," she exclaimed ; 
 " he was so sad and silent at supper, that 
 he infected us all with melancholy." 
 
 Rosalthe' s heart felt a glow of satisfac- 
 tion at the intelligence — 
 
 " How pleasing to be remembered by 
 our friends !" she said : " and did you, 
 my kind Angela — did the baron conde- 
 scend to think of me ?" 
 
 " And to speak of you too," answered 
 Angela ; " it was the only subject that 
 at all commanded the attention of my 
 brother ; indeed, he intends going to see 
 you at Lindenthal Castle." 
 
 " At Lindenthal Castle !" repeated 
 Rosalthe. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Angela, " for the 
 
 count
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 153 
 
 count Sigismar says, there is a picture 
 there, which had you sat for, could not 
 have been more like." 
 
 " Tis very strange !" said Rosalthe, 
 timidly. 
 
 " I should like to see the picture," con- 
 tinued Angela, regardless of her friend ; 
 " I am sure, if Adelbert looks at it as 
 much as he does at you, it will be some 
 time before we get him at the castle 
 again." 
 
 The last sentence dyed Rosalthe's fair 
 face with scarlet; she looked anxiously 
 at Angela, whilst a half-suppressed sigh 
 heaved her bosom ; she wished to know 
 when the count departed, but she dared 
 not ask : her heart palpitated, her lips 
 trembled — every care, every idea was 
 lost in the anticipation of his absence ; 
 and at length, in faltering accents, she 
 articulated — " How you will miss him 
 at the castle !" 
 
 " My father will," replied Angela, 
 
 " although I shall not, for he does not 
 
 h 5 purpose
 
 154 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 purpose leaving it until our return to 
 the convent." 
 
 Any other than Angela must have 
 noticed the transition in the countenance 
 of Rosalthe, from disappointment and 
 doubt, brightening into the smile of hope 
 and joy. But she was a novice in the sof- 
 ter passion of the heart : she had ever felt 
 peace; never had she experienced the 
 turbulent emotions of love — never expe- 
 rienced a sensation warmer than friend- 
 ship, or filial and sisterly affection. Hap- 
 py Angela! her cares were of her own 
 creating — her sorrows were transient — 
 her sorrows were forgotten in the slum- 
 bers of innocence and peace ! 
 
 The deep-toned clock in the hall, which 
 now sounded eleven, was a signal for 
 Angela's departure ; but ere she quitted 
 her friend., she repeated many tender in- 
 junctions for her to be careful of her 
 health, and not to suffer despondency to 
 destroy her quiet. 
 
 " Remember the words of our holy 
 
 mother,"
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 155 
 
 mother," she continued, as she rose from 
 the sofa; " how often has she said, life is 
 a state of probation, in which the most vir- 
 tuous are exposed to misfortune. Should 
 we not rather then, my dear Rosalthe, 
 guard our hearts against the approach of 
 calamity, and not suffer ourselves to mag- 
 nify imaginary cares into real sorrows ?" 
 
 Rosalthe silently pressed the hand of 
 her young counsellor, who tripped light- 
 ly out of the apartment. 
 
 " To a heart like yours, beloved An- 
 gela," she sighed, as she approached the 
 window, " sorrow may be imaginary; 
 but to a being like myself, the sport of 
 fortune, orphanned in infancy, thrown 
 upon the bounty of strangers, without a 
 name, without one single claim to their 
 protection, it is a spontaneous effusion, 
 which the woes of my parents justify." 
 
 Rosalthe threw open the window to 
 gaze on the still serenity of the surround- 
 ing scene. The full moon was riding 
 majestically in the heavens, and her chaste 
 h 6 rays
 
 156 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 rays played on the white-topped waves 
 of the ocean : a gentle breeze waved the 
 thick branches of the forest, and wafted 
 the sweetest perfumes from the far-spread- 
 ing shrubbery. Fancy peopled the woods 
 with a thousand different images, and 
 ever and anon Rosalthe started at the 
 deception ; figures appeared to glide 
 through the deepening gloom, and 
 voices seemed to sound in the undula- 
 tions of the water. It was past midnight 
 ere she quitted the window ; and an- 
 other hour rolled sluggishly away, ere 
 she was lost in slumber. 
 
 In the morning, long before the hour 
 of assembling in the break fast- pari our, 
 Rosalthe quitted her chamber, and pass- 
 ing softly down the staircase, entered the 
 park. The dew yet hung upon the flow- 
 ers, and the blades of grass sparkled in 
 the sunbeams; every prospect smiled; 
 the birds, soaring in air, carolled forth 
 their wild melody, whilst the timid deer, 
 unmolested, browsed on the ricli pastur-
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 157 
 
 age. The freshness of the air, and the 
 beauty of the scene, conveyed to her 
 mind the most pleasing sensations : she 
 looked around with gratitude, and no 
 longer murmured at her lot. 
 
 " If we behold, with an unprejudiced 
 eye, the dispensations of Providence," 
 she exclaimed, " we shall find that the 
 sun rises on the wicked as on the good — 
 that the rain descends on the just as on 
 the unjust: if these were really the re- 
 wards and punishments of Heaven, those 
 who know affliction might mourn — those 
 who are happy might rejoice ; but we are 
 taught that sorrow often marks the foot- 
 steps of the virtuous, whilst the vicious 
 are upheld by prosperity. It is then in 
 another world we are to look for happi- 
 ness, although, even in this, transient as 
 it is, we may possess content, in the si- 
 lent approbation of our conscience." 
 
 Her steps were imperceptibly drawn 
 to the sacred retreat of the baroness ; it 
 
 was
 
 158 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 was a spot revered by Adelbert, and as 
 such, was dear to the heart of Rosalthe : 
 she paused at the entrance of the grotto, 
 for an indistinct murmur was heard from 
 within ; but attributing the sound to 
 the rippling of the waves, she proceeded, 
 but started at the appearance of Adel- 
 bert, vvho, in a pensive attitude, was re- 
 clining on the bench. She would have 
 returned, but springing forward, he 
 caught her hand. 
 
 " Why would you fly me, Rosalthe?" 
 he inquired, in softened accents, " Ah ! 
 tell me, how have I been so unfortunate 
 as to incur your displeasure ?" 
 
 " You can never incur my displeasure," 
 said Rosalthe, fervently; but checking 
 herself, and deeply blushing — " you ap- 
 peared lost in thought, and I feared to 
 disturb your meditations." 
 
 " Indeed I was lost in thought," re- 
 sumed the count ; " but it was a reverie 
 the most dangerous — the most pleasing : 
 
 think
 
 159 
 
 think then what must have been my 
 rapture, when I beheld the angel imagi- 
 nation had pictured standing before me !" 
 
 Rosalthe wished to return to the cas- 
 tle ; she attempted to withdraw her hand, 
 but disappointment in an instant sadden- 
 ed the features of Adelbert ; she suffered 
 him to retain it, and he led her from the 
 grotto. They paused to admire the pro- 
 spect; and again the eyes of Adelbert 
 beheld no other being than Rosalthe. 
 
 Whilst yet they stood beneath the 
 cypress, a vulture, which had long hover- 
 ed in search of prey, darted on a wood- 
 pigeon ; the feathered trembler uttered 
 a cry of anguish, and must have been 
 borne off in the pounces of its enemy, 
 had not the count, by a well-directed 
 aim, thrown his hat, and compelled the 
 spoiler to take to flight. Rosalthe hasten- 
 ed to the wood-pigeon ; she took it gent- 
 ly from the ground ; one of its wings 
 was broken, and its little heart beat with 
 pain and terror. 
 
 " Poor
 
 160 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 " Poor flatterer!" she exclaimed, as 
 she deposited it in her bosom, " hence- 
 forth thou shalt be my care ; and when 
 I look at thee, I will remember, that 
 though the weak are often oppressed by 
 the strong, yet a moment may turn the 
 scale of their sorrows, and, like thine, 
 brighten their prospects with joy." 
 
 " The vulture followed only the dic- 
 tates of nature," said Adelbert, " and, 
 like other animals, sought for support. 
 Tt is man should be condemned when 
 he preys on his own species — man, who 
 ennobles his mind by cultivating his 
 understanding — who feels disinterested 
 love, and in every part of the crea- 
 tion finds an exercise for virtue. And 
 yet how often reason is defeated ! how 
 often the bounties of Providence are 
 slighted, and the follies of the world 
 preferred !" 
 
 " I wish we were at the castle," inter- 
 rupted Rosalthe, quickening her pace: 
 " I would bind up the wing, and per- 
 haps
 
 THE BANDIT'S BIUDE. 161 
 
 haps it might recover. Poor little bird !" 
 she continued, caressing the wood-pi- 
 geon, " what a lesson of forbearance 
 mightst thou convey to the mind of 
 thousands ! how patiently dost thou lie, 
 although thy tender form is racked with 
 pain !" 
 
 As they emerged from the shrubbery, 
 they met Angela and the count de Lin- 
 denthal. Rosalthe beheld him with more 
 composure ; she still felt repugnance in 
 his society, but she no longer shrunk 
 horror-struck from his gaze. 
 
 " What a pity," she sighed, " that a 
 figure so noble, a countenance so benig- 
 nant, should veil a heart capable of such 
 enormities !" But she checked the im- 
 pulse of sorrow which the idea occasion- 
 ed — " He was the destroyer of my pa- 
 rents, and as such, merits not the com- 
 miseration of their orphan." 
 
 The wood-pigeon was placed on a bed 
 of cotton, and was the peculiar charge 
 of Rosalthe; she carefully watched and 
 
 administered
 
 162 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 administered to its wants: the little 
 creature* as though sensible of gratitude, 
 chirped at the approach of its benefac- 
 tress, would perch upon her shoulder, and 
 eat the grains of corn from her hand. 
 
 " Sweet bird," she would exclaim, 
 " where'er I go, thou shalt be my com- 
 panion ; whether beneath the sacred roof 
 of St. Florensia, or in the more cheer- 
 ful haunts of men, thou shalt ' eat of my 
 bread, and drink of my cup ;' and when 
 I look at thee, I will remember the being 
 who saved thy life, and, for his sake, 
 cherish thee as the dearest appendage of 
 
 CHAP-
 
 THE bandit's bride. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " To-morrow," said the count, with a 
 dejected air, " to-morrow you leave the 
 castle ! — Alas ! how solitary will it ap- 
 pear !" Rosalthe forced a smile, but a 
 tear quickly followed : Adelbert seemed 
 not to notice her emotion ; he took her 
 hand — " Every aspect will be changed," 
 he continued ; " the shades will no lon- 
 ger sooth, the birds will no longer en- 
 liven — nature herself will droop, for Ro- 
 salthe will be absent." 
 
 The tone of sadness with which these 
 words were uttered destroyed the com- 
 posure she had been striving to attain ; 
 she felt all he would convey, and fearful 
 of betraying her weakness, rose from her 
 chair, and walked quickly to the win- 
 dow. Adelbert would have followed, 
 
 would
 
 164 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 would have thrown himself at her feet, 
 and in the warmth of the moment un- 
 veiled the sentiments of his heart — he 
 pined to receive from her lips a confir- 
 mation of his hopes — to remove at once 
 the painful necessity of a separation. 
 He thought not of his father, of his fa- 
 mily, of one obstacle inimical to love ; 
 and as he hastened to the window, at 
 the very instant he seized her hand ; at 
 the very instant his eyes rested on her 
 features, the door opened, and Angela, 
 all life and joy, flew towards them. 
 
 Absorbed in her own ideas, she per- 
 ceived not the embarrassment of her 
 friend, or the disappointment of her bro- 
 ther. — " Congratulate me, Rosakhe," she 
 exclaimed, " my wish will soon be 
 gratified ; instead of the convent, I am 
 to go to Dresden. I wish you were to 
 be of the party — we shall be so happy 
 and so gay !" 
 
 " I shall be very happy at the con- 
 vent," said Rosalthe, whilst a heavy sigh 
 
 contradicted
 
 THE bandit's bride. 165 
 
 contradicted the assertion; " and per- 
 haps," with increased sadness, " by your 
 return I may be enrolled a sister of St. 
 Florensia." 
 
 " Be more just to your friends, to 
 yourself," replied Adelbert in a low voice; 
 " for believe me, Rosalthe, one heart at 
 least would bleed at such a sacrifice." 
 
 " Come, let us walk to the beach," 
 said Angela, throwing her arm round 
 the waist of her friend ; " the baron and 
 the count de Linden thai are already 
 gone, and if I leave you behind, you 
 will both grow melancholy : you were al- 
 ways pensive, Rosalthe, but as for Adel- 
 bert, I know not what ails him, for 
 time has been when he was as cheerful 
 as I am." 
 
 "* And that time, I trust, will soon re- 
 turn," answered the count with forced 
 gaiety : " but if we are going to the 
 beach, I think some preparation is neces- 
 sary ; and whilst you are gone, this ten- 
 der nestling," approaching the soft bed 
 
 of
 
 166 THE bandit's bride* 
 
 of the wood-pigeon, " shall be my com- 
 panion." 
 
 Rosalthe in a few minutes returned to 
 the apartment : the count was still caress- 
 ing her little favourite. 
 
 " Happy bird !" he exclaimed, uncon- 
 scious of her entrance, " to-morrow at 
 this time you may gaze upon your an- 
 gelic mistress, may be the envied com- 
 panion of her bosom ! Who would not 
 endure pain, who would not suffer ter- 
 ror, to be the object of such solicitude ?" 
 
 " Not I," exclaimed Angela, laughing : 
 Rosalthe blushed— Adelbert looked dis- 
 concerted. — " But come," she continued, 
 regardless of either, " let us quit the 
 castle, and I will tell you the new ar- 
 rangement. In the first place," passing 
 her arm through her brother's, " when 
 you visit Lin den thai Castle, we go to 
 Dresden : the baron has promised to 
 pass the winter there, and to take me 
 to all the entertainments of that delight- 
 ful city. The count Sigismar and your- 
 self
 
 THE bandit's bride. 167 
 
 self are to join us; an/1 early in the 
 spring we are to return to Lunenberg 
 Castle." 
 
 Melancholy's deepest shade o'erspread 
 the countenance of Rosalthe, whilst a 
 pain, as of a dagger at her heart, seemed 
 to pierce her. — " Perhaps," she faintly 
 articulated, casting a timid glance upon 
 her friend, " perhaps the gaieties and 
 allurements of Dresden will obliterate all 
 recollection of St. Florensia and its inha- 
 bitants." 
 
 " Never," interrupted Angela warmly ; 
 " not all that this world contains could 
 wean me from those I love. No, Ro- 
 salthe, my heart will often return to that 
 revered society, will often want to pour 
 its secrets into your bosom. If I thought 
 it capable of such ingratitude," she con- 
 tinued, as a tear stole down her rosy 
 cheek, " I would despise, condemn, hate 
 myself." 
 
 Rosalthe, repenting the unguarded 
 
 sentence 
 
 9
 
 168 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 sentence which had escaped her, threw 
 her arm round the neck of Angela ; and 
 long ere they joined the baron and Si- 
 gismar, tranquillity and peace were re- 
 stored. Adelbert beheld them with rap- 
 ture : he feared to speak lest he should 
 betray his feelings; and as he silently 
 walked by their side, imagination pic- 
 tured scenes of bliss, which a moment 
 of unprejudiced reason must have point- 
 ed out as futile ; and not till the voice 
 of his father reached his ear, was the 
 reverie broken. 
 
 The baron was sitting in the grotto; 
 Sigismar and Angela stood near the en- 
 trance, gazing upon the curling waves 
 which broke sullenly at the foot of the 
 rock ; Rosalthe leant against the cypress, 
 her eyes resting upon the representation 
 of Sensibility, and her thoughts fixed on 
 the preserver of the wood-pigeon ; whilst 
 Adelbert, with folded arms and a beat- 
 ing heart, stood by her side, and, regard- 
 less
 
 THE bandit's beide. 169 
 
 less of every other object, saw not the 
 heavy clouds which hung darkening over 
 head. 
 
 Long had the sky threatened — long 
 had the Baltic been agitated with un- 
 usual motion : a vivid light flashed across 
 the eyes of Angela — she uttered a loud 
 shriek — the baron started, and a tre- 
 mendous clap of thunder shook the earth 
 to its foundation. — " Let us fly to the 
 castle," she exclaimed, hiding her face 
 in her hands : " Holy Virgin, what a 
 tempest 1" 
 
 " Fear not, my child, 5 ' said the baron ; 
 a the same omniscient Power who guards 
 us in sunshine will shelter us in the 
 storm : his arm directs the lightning — 
 his voice commands the thunder: 'tis 
 the guilty should flee with terror from 
 his presence, whilst the innocent may 
 rest secure in his protection." 
 
 " Yet are you not afraid ?" inquired 
 the trembling Angela, clinging for safety 
 to the arm of her father. 
 
 voi,. i. i " No,
 
 170 THE BAKDIT'S BRIDE/ 
 
 *A No, my daughter, I am not," replied 
 .the baron ; " it is not the fear of death 
 can intimidate — it is the Being who can 
 reader death terrible, upon whose pro- 
 vidence I calmly rest, with a confidence 
 which earthly sorrow can never destroy." 
 
 Rosalthe, impressed by the words of 
 the baron, fixed her eyes on his counte- 
 nance ; it was irradiated with tenderness 
 and resignation ; and -as he proceeded 
 with Angela and the count Sigismar 
 through the -shrubbery, he talked of 
 Dresden, of enlivening subjects, for the 
 purpose of dispelling her fears. 
 
 " Happy daughter of such a father !" 
 mentally sighed Rosalthe, as the con- 
 trast of her orphaned state filled her eyes 
 with tears. 
 
 Adalbert walked silently by her side; 
 he beheld her agitation, but being a 
 stranger to the cause, was unable to trace 
 it to its source. Ere yet they reached the 
 castle, the storm in -all its fury burst 
 upon them; the rain poured down in 
 
 torrents,
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 171 
 
 torrents, the hailstones fell, the clouds 
 seemed to open and emit their liquid fire, 
 whilst the wind in violent gusts rushed 
 among the trees — now loosening the 
 roots, and now tearing away the slender 
 branches ; the distant ocean roared upon 
 the ear, whilst the dull monotony of a 
 neighbouring waterfall increased the me- 
 lancholy horror of the scene. Adelbert 
 trembled for the safety of RosaJthe ; he 
 beheld no other object, he felt no other 
 fear ; he would have sheltered her in his 
 arms, he w r ould have bared his bosom 
 to the storm, to have hid her from its 
 fury. He anxiously gazed upon her 
 countenance; the rose had fled — fear had 
 bleached it with its lilies ; her white 
 garments hung dripping with wet — her 
 beautiful locks hung disordered down 
 her shoulders. 
 
 The hospitable walls of Lunenberg 
 
 Castle now gladdened their sight : with 
 
 an exclamation of joy Adelbert grasped 
 
 the arm of his companion, and with 
 
 i 2 amazing
 
 If2 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 amazing rapidity impelled her forward. 
 Soon they entered the hall, where, over- 
 come with fatigue, Xlosalthe sunk on a 
 chair. Angela had already reached the 
 castle; her fear was subdued, for the 
 violence of the storm had abated ; the 
 dark clouds had rolled sullenly away, 
 the rains no longer deluged the earth, 
 the hail no longer beat against the win- 
 dows, the lightning still played faintly 
 upon the water, and the thunder rum- 
 bled in distance. She could now, with 
 recovered spirits, laugh at their forlorn 
 and comfortless situation, and even ridi- 
 cule the terror she herself had betrayed. 
 Their wet garments were exchanged 
 for more comfortable dresses, and Ho- 
 salthe returned to the supper- room, for- 
 getful of every danger. Adelbert stood 
 near the window, his head rested on his 
 hand, and his eyes fixed on vacancy : the 
 opening of the door dissipated the images 
 which fancy had portrayed, and he 
 turned hastily round. Rosalthe ap- 
 proached
 
 THE BANDIT'S BIUDE. 173 
 
 proached the window to behold the 
 change which a few short hours had pro- 
 duced. The wind had sunk to a gentle 
 murmur, and the full moon, riding ma- 
 jestically through the heavens, was now 
 and then obscured by a passing cloud. 
 The pendent rain-drops hung from the 
 thick foliage of the surrounding trees, 
 and the discordant screams of the rooks 
 who tenanted the towering pines dis- 
 turbed the stillness of night. 
 
 " What a contrast is here !" exclaimed 
 Rosalthe, gazing upon the wide extend- 
 ed lawn ; <; but an hour ago, and the 
 earth groaned beneath the concussions 
 of nature ; now, all is tranquil and 
 calm." 
 
 " It is like the passions of man," re- 
 plied the count ; "one moment turbulent 
 and ungovernable as the howling blast — 
 the next serene and smiling as a sum- 
 mer's sky — But to moralize on human 
 nature is an old theme: — you leave the 
 castle to-morrow, Ilosalthe, and at pre- 
 i 3 sent
 
 174 the bandit's bride. 
 
 sent no other idea can possess my mine}. 
 Alas ! how shall I pass the lingering hours 
 of your absence ? — how shall I reconcile 
 my heart to the vacuum that will every 
 where surround it ?" 
 
 " That vacuum will soon cease to ex- 
 ist," said Rosalthe ; " in the gaieties 
 of Dresden, Lunenberg Castle — Dussel- 
 dorf's cottage, will alike be forgotten." 
 
 " I go not to Dresden," answered the 
 count: " pleasure has no charms for me, 
 at least not the pleasures of the world. It 
 is in retirement I would seek for happi- 
 ness—in the endearments of love — in the 
 confidence of friendship. I would wan- 
 der in the groves, I would recline be- 
 neath the shades ; the hours of day should 
 glide in rational enjoyments, the hours 
 of night in repose. Tell me, Rosalthe," 
 and his eyes surveyed her features, " tell 
 me, has my heart no kindred ?" 
 
 She blushed — her's sunk beneath the 
 ardent gaze of Adelbert's : at length re- 
 covering her momentary trepidation, she 
 
 ventured
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. ITS 
 
 ventured to look up — " Is it the son of 
 the baron de Lunenberg who would 
 pass this life ©f inactivity ?" she inquired; 
 M is it the conn* Adelbert, who, degene- 
 rating from the noble spirit of his ances- 
 tors, would feel content with the praise 
 of villagers, and the negative calm of se- 
 clusion ? Ah no ! other hopes, other 
 ideas, other expectations, must wait upon 
 your ardour, and bid you signalize a 
 name already enriched with virtue, ho*, 
 nour. and generosity." 
 
 " Is it to the field you would direct 
 me?" his manly countenance glowing 
 with heroism — " Say but the word, and 
 I am gone. — I have before dreamt of 
 glory, conquest, immortality, but never 
 till now did the path appear so easy : 
 henceforth I will pursue it ! Cam nee — 
 horror — death, what are ye? Rosalthe 
 is the instigator — Rosalthe shall be my 
 star, and at her feet shall the laurels of 
 victory be strewed." 
 
 Terrified at what she had said, she 
 I 4 seized
 
 17t; THE BANDITS EI; IDE. 
 
 seized his arm; Bellona's blood-stained 
 visage flitted before her ; the shrieks of 
 the wounded, the groans of the dying, 
 vibrated on her ear: already did she 
 witness the expiring agonies of Adelbert 
 —already hear the frenzy of the father, 
 the lamentations of the sister. 
 
 " Horrid war !" she ejaculated, raising 
 her eyes to heaven, *' the curse of na- 
 tions, the sport of tyrants! — dost thou 
 not. stain the earth with the blood of its 
 creatures? — dost thou not, unsanetifled 
 by religion, involve a harmless people in 
 despair and sorrow? — dost thou not 
 raise the shrieks of the widow, the cries 
 of the orphan, against the monopolizer 
 of power, and cover with grief and an- 
 guish the hearts of thousands? Shield 
 us then, just Father of heaven, from its 
 depredations ! — pour upon us the bless- 
 ing of peace ! — teach us, beneath the 
 mild government of a sovereign dear to 
 his people's hearts, to appreciate the 
 power of enjoyment — to pray for bis 
 
 length
 
 THE bandit's bride. 177 
 
 length of life, and the prosperity of his 
 reign — to live secure from those com- 
 motions which other countries have fa- 
 tally experienced, in the hope that he 
 may leave to rule after him, sons who 
 shall perpetuate his virtues !" 
 
 Adelbert listened to her enthusiasm ; 
 he beheld her with admiration : her 
 whole soul irradiated her countenance; 
 her eyes beamed with patriotic fire. 
 
 " Point out the track you would have 
 me pursue, 5 ' he at length exclaimed — 
 " tell me, llosalthe, the path to happi- 
 ness ; be you my guide, my directress ; 
 and if I relinquish the hope of conquest, 
 the glory of renown, be it your task to 
 hush the turbulent passions of my soul, 
 to sooth me into serenity and peace." 
 
 Kosalthe smiled, her bosom throbbed 
 with emotion, her cheeks glowed with 
 blushes ; she felt a sensation she had 
 never before experienced, but her inno- 
 cent, unpractised heart dreamt not that 
 it was love; she could liavc thrown 
 i 5 herself
 
 178 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 herself into the arms of the revered in- 
 structress of her youth, and poured into 
 her ear her most inmost thoughts: — 
 but now that she was called upon by 
 Adelbert, the sentence she would have 
 uttered rose to her lips, but the accent 
 was lost in a broken sigh. The opening 
 of the door was a relief to her feelings; 
 and the strong glare of light which 
 beamed from the supper-table dispersed 
 the shadowy gloom which had before 
 surrounded them. Rosalthe's eyes for 
 the first time rested on the dress of Adel- 
 bert — it was the same he had worn in 
 the storm, still wet, still dripping from 
 its pel tings. 
 
 " Just Heaven !" she exclaimed, her 
 fair features expressive of alarm and sor- 
 row, " why this neglect of your own 
 safety? why thus cruelly sport with the 
 anxiety of your friends ? What would 
 the baron, what would lady Angela feel, 
 were they to know that two hours iiad 
 -lapsed since our return, and yet the 
 
 cold
 
 THE bandit's bride. 179 
 
 eold wet garments of the count had not 
 been changed?" 
 
 Adelbert smiled — the alarm which Ro- 
 salthe had betrayed was a cordial to his 
 spirits. 
 
 "Are my health and safety so precious ?" 
 he inquired ; " is there a heart, indepen- 
 dent of father and sister, who feels so 
 deeply interested in my welfare? Say, 
 lovely Rosalthe, confirm my happiness 
 — would my bier be watered with your 
 tears? — would my death occasion sor- 
 row to the most perfect, the most artless, 
 the most angelic of human bosoms?" 
 
 " Ah, do not wait," said Rosalthe, for 
 the bare suggestion had filled her with 
 terror; " another moment, and the* con- 
 sequences may be fatal. 1 " 
 
 "Grant one request, and I -am gone," 
 he resumed : " will you, Rosalthe, when 
 at the cottage, sometimes visit the cha- 
 pel of St. Florensia ?— will you," and he 
 looked imploringly at her,, "will you 
 meet me at the foot of the broken altar ?" 
 t 6 Rosalthe
 
 ISO THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Rosalthe knew not what to reply — 
 inclination urged her compliance with 
 the request of the count, but duty, and 
 the earlv lessens of the abbess, checked 
 the impulse. He read the doubts pass- 
 ing in her mind; he admired her for 
 those doubts, and would have sought to 
 have removed them, had not the ap- 
 proaching voices of the baron^ Angela, 
 and the count de Linden thai, compelled 
 him to quit the apartment. 
 
 He soon joined them ; but the repast 
 was mournful: in vain did Angela exert 
 her spirits — in vain did she speak of 
 Dresden — in vain did she ask a thou- 
 sand questions relative to its manners, 
 its customs, its diversions ; liosalthe 
 was dejected — Adelbert was lost in 
 thought ; he attended not to her conver- 
 sation, and often excited her risibility 
 by his unconnected replies. 
 
 The baron for the first time rallied the 
 absence of his son : Adelbert was alarm- 
 ed ; he dreaded lest the penetrating eyes 
 
 of
 
 THE BANDIT'S BttlDE. 181 
 
 of his father had discovered his secret, 
 and for the remainder of the evening 
 concealed his uneasiness under an as- 
 sumed flow of spirits. But the struggles 
 of his soul were not lost upon Sigismar ; 
 he witnessed the conflict — he guessed the 
 disease; his pale countenance, his half- 
 suppressed sigh, his stolen glances, con- 
 firmed it ; he saw that a mutual passion 
 subsisted — he saw that the future hap- 
 piness of the baron de Lunenberg's heir 
 depended on the smiles of the supposed 
 daughter of Dusseldorf. 
 
 " Strange infatuation ! wonderful delu- 
 sion !" he mentally ejaculated ; * how 
 does pride, how does human dignity 
 dwindle before thee, almighty love! — 
 Yet can Rosalthe be the daughter of a 
 pedant ? can such charms, such elegance, 
 belong to the descendant of a cottage ? 
 Impossible !" 
 
 He recollected her emotion at the 
 mention of his name — he recollected the 
 
 portrait
 
 182 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 portrait in the gallery at Linden thai 
 Castle. 
 
 * There must be some mystery, some 
 dark, some hidden transaction," lie con* 
 tinued, as his eyes rested on her perfect 
 features ; " Rosalthe is not what she 
 seems — is not the humble being she 
 would have the world suppose." 
 
 Such were the ideas which occupied 
 the mind of- the count de Lindenthal, 
 as the moments passed sluggishly on; 
 and not till the castle clock announced 
 the approach of midnight, did they retire 
 to their apartments. 
 
 Adelbert, unable to sleep, slowly paced 
 his chamber ; he recapitulated the events 
 of the day with rapture; he dwelt on 
 the anxiety of Rosalthe, on the alarm 
 and sorrow she had innocently betrayed. 
 
 " She loves me !" he exclaimed; "-each 
 look, each word confirms it ! How littk 
 can the un vitiated simplicity of nature 
 conceal its feelings ! It is in an inter- 
 
 course
 
 THE bandit's bride. 183 
 
 course with the world we learn duplicity 
 — it is there we can assume the mask 
 which best suits our purpose. Yet why- 
 do I exult in the knowledge of her affec- 
 tion ? Never will the baron sanction my 
 choice — never will Rosalthe clandes- 
 tinely receive my vow t s. What then 
 remains? — She loves me — shall I — Ah 
 Heaven! perish the thought! — shall I 
 cover her fair face with the blush of 
 shame ? — shall I sully the purity of snow r , 
 and place a rankling thorn in the breast 
 of innocence ? — shall I rob an aged father 
 of his treasure, and prematurely open 
 his grave through the passage of a bro- 
 ken heart ? Forbid it, honour ! forbid 
 it, humanity ! No, Rosalthe ! — I will 
 cherish thee as a Jew would a scarce and 
 valuable gem — I will admire thy beau- 
 ties, I will adore thy virtues; but, by 
 Heaven ! no temptation which this w T orld 
 <-;m offer shall induce me to deface thee." 
 Again he paused, and with a melan- 
 choly
 
 184 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 choly and dejected air threw himself on 
 the sofa. 
 
 " To-morrow she leaves the castle," 
 he continued, musing, " to-morrow I shall 
 no longer behold her ; and in a little 
 month she returns to the solitude of a 
 cloister. Oh, Rosaline! for what do I 
 sacrifice my peace? for what do I re- 
 nounce felicity ? — For the pride of birth ! 
 for the dignity of greatness ! Empty 
 sounds, which, like bubbles floating on 
 the water, break, and are seen no more ! 
 Children and dotards admire the fineness 
 of their tints, the beauty of their colours ; 
 but the wise and discriminating laugh 
 at the delusion, and clasp the substance 
 happiness to their hearts. Had I been 
 bom a peasant's son, free from the re- 
 straints and parade of greatness, my life 
 had been blest: Kosalthe would have 
 been the wife of my bosom — would 
 have been the soother of my cares ; 
 for her I should have toiled, for her I 
 
 should
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 185 
 
 should have despised the pressure of 
 poverty, nor envied a prince the sump- 
 tuousness of his lot ; together would 
 we have rambled in the fields — together 
 would we have admired the wonders of 
 creation." 
 
 Such were the air-built castles of the 
 count ; and the morning sunbeams pier- 
 ced through the curtains of the windows, 
 ere his eyes were closed in sleep. 
 
 Peaceful were his slumbers, for he 
 dreamt of Rosalthe: he saw realized the 
 vision his waking fancy had formed ; he 
 saw her the mistress of a cottage; he saw 
 himself rich in the undivided possession 
 of her heart. But the picture only 
 mocked him with happiness, and va- 
 nished : he started from his bed — he 
 awoke to regret, to perplexity, and 
 doubt. In vain during the day did he 
 seek an explanation — in vain did he 
 follow llosalthe through the shrubbery, 
 with the intention of disclosing the sen- 
 timents of love and admiration her 
 
 matchless
 
 186 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 matchless virtues had inspired. Angela 
 rendered bis schemes abortive — she never 
 left her friend ; in the park she hung 
 upon her arm — ill the eastle she was her 
 inseparable companion : she guessed not 
 the feelings of her brother, and uninten*- 
 tionally frustrated his plans, and mad- 
 dened him with disappointment. 
 
 At length the hour of separation ar- 
 rived ; the sun was slowly sinking when 
 Rosalthe quitted the castle, and its last 
 brilliant ray illumined the west, as she 
 alighted at the door of the cottage. 
 
 Agatha, all delight and joy, pressed 
 her darling to her bosom ; whilst Dus- 
 seldorf, with a father's fondness, wel- 
 comed her to his home. 
 
 " You are come, my beloved child," 
 said the dame, as the carriage drove from 
 the garden gate, " you are come to en>- 
 liven our dwelling — to bring happiness 
 to our hearts/' 
 
 Rosalthe heard her not; she rested 
 against the porch, her eyes bent upon 
 
 the
 
 THE BAXDIT'S BRIDE. 18? 
 
 the carriage ; and when the intervening 
 trees hid it from her sight, a tear, which 
 Lad long trembled on the lid, stole down 
 her cheek. 
 
 " They are gone," she mournfully ex- 
 claimed, regardless of the dame, and then 
 blushed at her own emotion. 
 
 " Why that tear? why that sigh?? 
 inquired the anxious Agatha. " You 
 have been to a fine castle — you have 
 been with great folks ; but I had hoped, 
 Itosalthe would have returned to the 
 humble dwelling of her infancy with 
 cheerfulness, not regret." 
 
 " Forgive me, my mother," said Ro- 
 saltlie, throwing her arms round the 
 neck of the dame, " forgive my appa- 
 rent sorrow, and believe me when I af- 
 firm, that my heart never felt more 
 gratefully devoted, more firmly attached 
 to the protectors of my childhood, than 
 it does at tins moment ; and for this lit- 
 tle dwelling," she continued, surveying 
 the white-washed front of the cottage, 
 
 no 

 
 188 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 " no sumptuous castle, no royal palace, 
 can rival it in my affections. Even were 
 it possible I could waver, I could re- 
 member that it received me in the hour 
 of danger — that it sheltered a frantic pa- 
 rent in the storm." 
 
 Agatha started — "Alas! alas! Rosal- 
 the, who told vou that tale ?" 
 
 " The lady abbess," replied Rosalthe ; 
 " she led me to the grave of my mother, 
 and there disclosed the mystery of my 
 fate." 
 
 The dame was silent; her eyes were 
 fixed with sorrow on the ground : at 
 length, with a deep-drawn sigh — H The 
 secret is discovered," she exclaimed, " and 
 I have lost my child." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so," said Rosalthe ; 
 " I will ever be the same dutiful, the 
 same affectionate child — will ever study 
 to deserve the love of my more than 
 parents." 
 
 "Hush! hush!" said Dusseldorf, who 
 at that moment came from the coti 
 
 " we
 
 THE bandit's bride. 189 
 
 "we must see no mournful faces to-night 
 — we must all be cheerful. Come, Ro- 
 salthe, and partake of the dainties our 
 good dame has provided. I was sent 
 this morning to the beach to seek for 
 shell-fish ; and there is fruit, and eggs, 
 and milk, and I know not what beside." 
 The little table was nicely spread ; the 
 dishes garnished with fresh-blown flow- 
 ers : Rosalthe smiled upon the assiduities 
 of her foster-parents — and they were re- 
 paid. When the clock struck ten, they 
 separated for the night, llosalthe caress- 
 ed her favourite wood-pigeon ere she 
 laid her head on the pillow ; and then 
 slept to dream, or woke to think, of the 
 esteemed circle at Lunenbenr Castle. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 100 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 The morning succeeding her arrival at 
 the cottage, Rosalthe rose with the lark 
 and repaired to the chapel of St. Floren- 
 sia. As she ascended the hill, she looked 
 mournfully towards the castle, and saw, 
 Or fancied she saw, its antique turrets 
 sparkling in the sunbeams. For a mo- 
 ment she paused — the form of Adelbert 
 flitted before her, and a deep-drawn sigh 
 swelled her bosom. All at once the sky 
 looked lowering ; the sun became obscur- 
 ed with clouds — desolation and neglect 
 were stamped on each feature of the 
 landscape. The grass was long and undis- 
 turbed, save when the wind swept across 
 it : never here had the mower whetted 
 his scythe — never had the cheerful voice 
 of the haymaker mingled with the hoarse 
 
 croaking
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 191 
 
 croaking of the rooks ; the night- 
 shade's poisonous tendril crept round 
 the arches of the chapel — the darnel, in 
 rank luxuriance, blossomed in the aisle. 
 Dark and waving were the trees of the 
 forest ; whilst the sombre cypress, bend- 
 ing o'er the ruin, together with the 
 thick mantling ivy, completely obscur- 
 ing the iiigh and storied windows, sha- 
 dowed the interior with the still gloom 
 of evening. 
 
 As Rosalthe rested against the iron 
 rail which inclosed the shrine of St. Flo- 
 censia, imagination wandered back to the 
 hours of infancy : again did she retrace 
 the period, when, gay as the morning, 
 she sported by the side of the good Aga- 
 tha — when, free from care, she thought 
 not of the present, or dreaded the future 
 pressure of calamity: a thousand little 
 incidents were recalled to her mind — a 
 thousand tender recollections, which none 
 other would have cherished. 
 
 Whilst yet she indulged the melan- 
 
 cholv
 
 192 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 eholy pleasures of retrospection, she fan- 
 cied she heard the sound of approaching 
 footsteps. The inquiry of the count re- 
 lative to her visits to the chapel crossed 
 her mind ; with blushes she looked anx- 
 iously around, but no object penetrated 
 the gloom — no sound broke upon the 
 stillness, save the monotonous roar of 
 the water: disappointed, she prepared 
 to return home, fearful lest her absence 
 should cause uneasiness to the affec- 
 tionate Agatha. 
 
 Already was the dame stationed at 
 the garden gate, looking in every direc- 
 tion for her fugitive charge. 
 
 " Where have you been, my dear 
 child?" she exclaimed, as Rosalthe hur- 
 ried across the plain ; " this half hour 
 past I have been upon the watch : your 
 father wants his breakfast, but would 
 not take it until your return." 
 
 " Only to the chapel of St. Florensia," 
 said Hosalthe, panting for bieath, "to 
 offer up my morning prayers at the foot 
 
 of
 
 THE bandit's bride. 193 
 
 of the broken altar. What a pity," she 
 continued, seating herself at the break- 
 fast-table, " that a spot sacred for devo- 
 tion should be suffered to fall into ruin 
 and decay !" 
 
 " Ah ! it is a pity indeed," replied Aga- 
 tha; - Heaven knows I have often thought 
 so ; but that would not replace one stone 
 in its former station. If the lady Flo- 
 rensia could look down upon this world, 
 and see her favourite chapel mouldering 
 into dust, and even the tomb of sir Eg- 
 bert de Moubrais defaced and broken, 
 never after would her protecting care 
 guard us from the evils of this life. Jf 
 I was rich and great as the baron de 
 Lunenberg," she continued, crossing her- 
 self, " I would have the ivy, the rooks' 
 nests and rubbish cleared away ; the cha- 
 pel should be repaired, the altar-piece 
 new painted, and devotional exercise re- 
 newed." 
 
 " If ever I am rich, it shall be repair- 
 ed," said Rosalthe warmly, " though not 
 
 vol. i. k one
 
 194 THE uandit's bride. 
 
 one stem of the ivy shall be severed ; I 
 like to see it clinging to the walls — it 
 reminds me of you, my dear mother — 
 it reminds me of the firm friends whom 
 time strengthens, and tempests cannot 
 shake." 
 
 " Your piety will be rewarded, my 
 dear child," answered the dame ; " even 
 I, old as I am, may live to see you great 
 as good. Virtue was ever the care of 
 Heaven ; and St. Florensia, the patroness 
 we idolize, will guide you to happiness." 
 
 " And how do you know there ever 
 existed such a being as the lady Floren- 
 sia ?" inquired Dusseldorf, whilst a smile 
 passed over his countenance. 
 
 " The Virgin forgive you !" said the 
 dame gravely : " why, did she not live 
 at the castle? and was she not, blessed 
 be her name ! foundress of the convent 
 in which our Rosalthe was educated ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Dusseldorf, looking 
 significantly at Rosalthe, " so your old 
 grandmother used to tell you ; and many 
 
 other
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 195 
 
 other strange stories, that I cannot be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " Let the dead rest in peace," said the 
 half-offended Agatha ; " she was a good 
 woman, and ever taught me to believe 
 incredulity a heinous offence." 
 
 " Among all the catalogue of sins," 
 replied Dusseldorf, laughing, " it is an 
 offence for which you will not have to 
 answer." 
 
 " I thank the holy St. Mary for it !" 
 said Agatha fervently; " for as father 
 Anselmo tells us, faith works miracles." 
 
 " Well, but my dear mother," inquired 
 Rosalthe, " who was this lady Florensia, 
 and this sir Egbert de Moubrais ? I feel 
 strongly attached to the chapel, and should 
 like to hear the misfortunes of the foun- 
 dress." 
 
 " Did I never tell you the loves of the 
 fair Florensia, and the gallant Egbert de 
 Moubrais ?" asked the astonished Agatha. 
 
 " No, never," replied Rosalthe. 
 
 " Well, I am surprised," interrupted 
 K 2 Dusseldorf;
 
 196 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 Dusseldorf; " I thought you had known 
 it by heart, for Agatha was ever fond 
 of telling long stories." 
 
 " And time has been," reproachfully 
 said the dame, " when Dusseldorf was 
 as fond of hearing them." 
 
 " What has been may be, and will be 
 again," replied Dusseldorf archly ; " but 
 notwithstanding this confession, I must 
 have no forced marches, no ambuscades, 
 lest I should be foiled with my own wea- 
 pons." 
 
 Agatha smiled upon the good old sol- 
 dier, and the controversy ended. 
 
 " But when shall I hear this tradition 
 of the chapel ?" inquired Rosalthe, as she 
 sat netting at the open casement. 
 
 " In the evening, when we return from 
 visiting the lady abbess," replied the dame; 
 " for if it keeps fine, we will walk to the 
 convent to night." 
 
 " I wish to see our holy mother," said 
 "Rosalthe, " I wish to throw myself in her 
 arms, and receive her blessing. — But why 
 
 not
 
 THE bandit's bride. 197 
 
 not tell me now? my father is employed 
 in the garden ; it wants a full hour to din- 
 ner, and surely that is length of time suf- 
 ficient." 
 
 " I cannot tell it you, my dear child," 
 answered Agatha ; " my memory is trea- 
 cherous, and I have almost forgotten it. 
 But I will find the manuscript, and you 
 shall read it to us after supper." 
 
 " The manuscript !" repeated Rosalthe. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Agatha, " it was given 
 to me by the old housekeeper at Lunen- 
 berg Castle, a great many years ago, when 
 I was young and happy, gay as the morn- 
 ing, and blithe as the birds — long ere I 
 knew sorrow — long ere I dreamt that 
 care existed : then I used to weep over 
 it, praise the lady Florensia's constancy, 
 and pity her misfortunes. — But since 
 then I have had woes of my own — woes 
 which have called my thoughts from 
 others, and centered them all in one. My 
 poor Jacquilina has often read it ; but 
 k 3 since
 
 198 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 since she has deserted us, the manuscript 
 has been put carefully away." 
 
 " Then pray do not seek it," said Ro- 
 salthe tenderly; " pray do not probe a 
 wound which time has scarcely healed." 
 
 " It will not hurt me, my dear child," 
 replied the dame, wiping from her cheeks 
 the falling tears; " it is a melancholy theme, 
 but yet I love to talk of her ; I love to 
 dwell upon her tenderness, her affection, 
 her duty ; and when I remember those, 
 when I look back upon the days of our 
 happiness, I feel that I was too, too blest 
 — I feel that my heart was drawn from 
 Heaven, and that a righteous, a merciful, 
 an overruling Providence, kindly chas- 
 tened me, to bring me back to the right 
 path — to con duct me to the ways of truth." 
 
 Agatha, after a painful pause, resumed 
 — " Independent of a mother's partiality, 
 there never was a lovelier girl — she was 
 fair to the. eye, and sweet to the sense: 
 but the spoiler secretly came, plucked 
 
 the
 
 THE bandit's bride. 199 
 
 the stalk, and the rose withered ; for 
 we knew not, until she was lost, that she 
 had ever wavered." 
 
 " Alas! how little was the ungrateful 
 Jacquilina deserving of such parents !" 
 said the sympathizing Rosalthe. 
 
 " Ah ! do not blame her," sobbed Aga- 
 tha ; " she was young and guileless — she 
 was a novice in the world, a stranger to 
 dissimulation ; how then could she guard 
 against the art of man? — We were in the 
 wrong ; we confided too strongly in her 
 affection, and suffered her alone to wan- 
 der from the cottage." 
 
 " Is not suspicion injurious to the in- 
 nocent ?" inquired Rosalthe : " how then 
 could it enter your hearts, ere there was 
 cause for doubt?" 
 
 " True, my child," replied the dame ; 
 " but in this world we are apt to judge 
 from circumstances, and frequently live 
 to lament the conduct which love and 
 confluence dictated." 
 
 Ulrica had already prepared the re- 
 K 4 past,
 
 200 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 past, and Dusseldorf, fatigued with his 
 morning's labour, came in search of dinner. 
 
 " What, weeping ! fie, Agatha ! don't 
 look so gloomy," he exclaimed, as he 
 seated himself at the table; " and for you, 
 my little treasure," turning to Rosalthe, 
 *' if you knew how smiles became you, 
 you would never wear such a cast of 
 care on your features." 
 
 " We were speaking of Jacquilina," 
 said Agatha, mournfully. 
 
 The gleam of cheerfulness vanished — 
 sorrow's deepest shade o'erspread the 
 countenance of Dusseldorf; the knife 
 and fork dropped from his hand, and his 
 eyes rested on the dejected Agatha. 
 
 " Of Jacquilina !" he repeated ; " Hea- 
 ven knows, 'tis a theme of woe !" 
 
 The oppressive heat of a summer's sun 
 had scarce given place to the refreshing 
 breeze of evening, when the veteran, the 
 dame, and Rosalthe, quitted the cottage 
 for the purpose of visiting the lady ab- 
 bess. The melancholy ideas of the morn- 
 ing
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 201 
 
 ing were chased away, and their conver- 
 sation, though not lively, was far from 
 depressing. Ilosalthe's thoughts, though 
 she smiled upon her foster-parents, had 
 taken wing, and rested in Lunenberg 
 Castle: it was possible that Angela or 
 the count might call ; the bare idea oc- 
 casioned a pang of disappointment, and 
 when they stopped at the gate of the 
 convent, she turned and looked wistfully 
 towards the cottage. 
 
 The abbess, with all the warm and en- 
 dearing tenderness of a parent, pressed 
 her to her bosom ; she called her her be- 
 loved child, and asked a thousand ques- 
 tions which affection alone could dictate. 
 Happy in the esteem of the revered di- 
 rectress of her youth, Rosalthe for the 
 moment sighed to return to her society : 
 love's infant passion shrunk beneath the 
 stronger ties of gratitude and duty: she 
 remembered the hours of her infancy; 
 she reflected on the woes of her mother ; 
 and that mother, her heart whispered, died 
 K 5 to
 
 902 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 to preserve her — that mother was en- 
 tombed within the walls of St. Florensia. 
 
 " Why then should I wish to leave her 
 grave ? why should I wish to revisit the 
 castle ? why should I not for ever reside 
 in this retirement ?" she mentally asked; 
 " should I not dedicate my life to the 
 beings who attended her last moments — 
 who soothed her parting agonies?" 
 
 " Why so thoughtful, Rosalthe ?" in- 
 quired the superior; " are the seeds of 
 care already sown in thy heart ? or, dost 
 thou regret the approaching hour that 
 restores thee to the gloom of a cloister ?" 
 
 " Neither," replied Rosalthe fervently; 
 * this cloister is the home of my happi- 
 ness; and when I enter its consecrated 
 walls, I feel as one returning to the bo- 
 som of peace." 
 
 " Mayst thou continue to feel so, my 
 daughter !" resumed the abbess, " for St 
 Florensia will ever be a sanctuary to the 
 unfortunate." 
 
 " Then indeed have I a claim," replied 
 
 Rosalthe,
 
 THE bandit's bride. 203 
 
 Kosalthe, as a starting tear betrayed the 
 feelings of her heart. 
 
 " Say not unfortunate, my child," ex- 
 claimed the superior, " for as yet thy life 
 has been as a summer's sky: never hast 
 thou felt calamity — never hast thou ex- 
 perienced the agonizing pangs of real 
 sorrow ; unclouded and serene, time has 
 glided smoothly away — death has not 
 snatched the friend of thy bosom, nor 
 misfortune's iron rod blighted thy ex- 
 pectations. No, Rosalthe, thy sufferings 
 arise from the mind — they are of thy 
 own creation : as yet thou art incredu- 
 lous ; but the hour will come, perhaps, 
 when I am mouldering in the grave, 
 that thou wilt reflect upon my words, 
 and acknowledge they were dictated by 
 experience, not prejudice." 
 
 Rosalthe grasped the hand of the ab- 
 bess ; her heart was too full for utter- 
 ance — she could only raise it to her lips. 
 
 Ere her return to the cottage, she wish- 
 K 6 ed
 
 204 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ed to visit the grave of her mother, and 
 to embrace her austere friend, sister Jo- 
 sepha. The evening drew in, and Aga- 
 tha had already made the signal for de- 
 parture : Rosalthe whispering her inten 
 tion, left her and Dusseldorf in the par- 
 lour, and proceeded hastily to the cha- 
 pel. For many minutes she knelt upon 
 the slab, and ere she quitted it, pressed 
 her warm lips to the cold senseless marble. 
 From thence she repaired to the cell of 
 sister Josepha, whom she found at her de- 
 votions; her dark eyes were raised to hea- 
 ven, and her trembling hands held the 
 precious emblem of our Redeemer's suf- 
 ferings ; tears streamed down the pallid 
 countenance of the nun, and the unre- 
 strained sigh of anguish burst from her 
 bosom. So lost was she to the occur- 
 rences of this world, that she perceived 
 not the entrance of her young favourite, 
 until she rose from her kneeling pos- 
 ture ; and then, with an emotion bor- 
 dering
 
 THE BANDIT'S B1UDE. 205 
 
 dering upon agony, she threw her arms 
 around her neck, and wept upon her bo- 
 som. 
 
 " The Virgin has heard my prayers,'' 
 she at length articulated, " and restored 
 Rosalthe in safety to the convent. Alas, 
 my child ! thou knowest not how many 
 bitter tears thou hast cost me: night 
 and morning have I wearied Heaven 
 with supplications for thee ; but now my 
 anxiety ceases, for thou art no longer 
 exposed to temptation." 
 
 llosalthe with astonishment gazed on 
 the nun, who with an air of wildness 
 resumed — ;i And did the aged Dussel- 
 dorf open thy eyes to conviction ? — Did 
 he warn thee against the deluding arts 
 of the seducer ? — Did he paint a parent's 
 sorrow at a daughter's guilt? — Did he 
 tell thee that misery follows sin ? — and 
 canst thou waver?" 
 
 " Alas! what meanest thou?" inquired 
 the trembling Rosalthe. 
 
 " Say, daughter, innocent as lovely," 
 
 continued
 
 206 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 continued the sister, regardless of her in- 
 quiry, " wilt thou never more leave the 
 convent ? wilt thou take the vow ? wilt 
 thou be happy ?" 
 
 " This night I must leave the convent," 
 replied Rosalthe, " for even now my pa- 
 rents await me in the parlour." 
 
 " Then thou art lost," sobbed the agi- 
 tated sister, " and my care cannot save 
 thee." 
 
 " Say not lost," said Rosalthe mildly ; 
 " point out the danger,and I will avoid it.'> 
 
 " The danger lurks in thy own heart," 
 answered the nun ; " 'tis love I would 
 have thee shun — love, which compresses 
 every sentiment of our nature, and turns 
 them aH to itself: pride, virtue, duty, 
 shrink before it. Ak ! does the string 
 vibrate ? Why that burning blush, Ro- 
 salthe? why that averted eye? why that 
 heaving bosom ? — Say, has the delusion 
 already spread its poison ? Has the gulf 
 of disappointment opened? Are thy pros- 
 pects tainted with adversity and woe ?" 
 
 " I trust
 
 THE bandit's bride. 207 
 
 * I trust not," said Rosalthe : " bat I 
 must go ; night spreads her sable curtain, 
 and my parents are too infirm to be ex- 
 posed to its damps." 
 
 " Go then," answered the nun ; " ho- 
 nour thy parents, and ponder my words : 
 remember that happiness and vice are 
 as incompatible as virtue and despair : 
 go, and remember sister Josepha." 
 
 " Farewell !" said Rosalthe, approach- 
 ing the door of the cell ; *' yet look not 
 so grave — I shall be absent but a few 
 days." 
 
 " A few days!" repeated the nun ; " per- 
 haps an eternity, for we know not what 
 an hour may produce." 
 
 The dame was impatiently waiting the 
 return of Rosalthe ; and having taken 
 leave of the lady abbess, they left the 
 convent, and arrived at the cottage. 
 
 " Scarce had you reached St. Floren- 
 sia," said the rustic Ulrica, who awaited 
 them at the garden gate, " when our 
 
 young
 
 ^08 THE BANDIT'S BIIIDE. 
 
 young lord the count, from the castle, 
 stopped at the door." 
 
 " How unfortunate!" interrupted Ro- 
 salthe. 
 
 " For whom did he inquire?" ques- 
 tioned Agatha. 
 
 " For my young mistress," replied Ul- 
 rica ; " and when I told him she was 
 from home, he looked disappointed, and 
 inquired whither she was gone ?" 
 
 " Did he not leave any message?" 
 asked Rosalthe. 
 
 " No ; he lingered a long time upon 
 the plain," resumed Ulrica, " and about 
 a quarter of an hour ago returned to the 
 castle." 
 
 " I wish I had remained at home," 
 said the artless Rosalthe. 
 
 " Why so?" exclaimed Dusseldorf; 
 " it was not your friend the lady An- 
 gela — it was only the count Adelbert ; 
 and besides, you may see them all an- 
 other day." 
 
 Rosalthe
 
 THE bandit's bride. 209 
 
 Rosalthewas lost in thought; her head 
 reclined on her hand, and the supper 
 would have been removed untasted by 
 her, but for the earnest entreaties of 
 Agatha. 
 
 " Come, come," said Dusseldorf arch- 
 ly, " I shall soon become jealous of Lu- 
 nenberg Castle, or of some one of its in- 
 habitants : fancy me a confessor, Ro- 
 salthe, and tell me whether it is the ba- 
 ron, or ." 
 
 "Hush!" interrupted Agatha; "we 
 have no time for joking now ; I have 
 found the manuscript, and Rosalthe has 
 promised to read it." 
 
 " What manuscript?" inquired Ro- 
 salthe, who had entirely forgotten the 
 morning's conversation. 
 
 " Ah, my poor child !" resumed Dus- 
 seldorf, " I fear the heart and the head 
 are alike occupied; and where the one 
 rests, you knoiv, the other will wander." 
 
 Rosalthe smiled at the good man's 
 
 sail v.
 
 210 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 sally, and taking the paper from Agatha, 
 read the following legend. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Oh, ye who grasp the cup of bliss — 
 pause ! Ye who roll in the full tide of 
 happiness — reflect! Ye who sink beneath 
 the pressure of adversity — endure ! Re- 
 member that pleasure is as the poisoned 
 chalice, teeming with destruction — that 
 happiness resembles the uncertain sun- 
 shine of an April morning — that adver- 
 sity is the school for softening the heart. 
 If thy reliance rests on beauty, look at 
 the fading produce of the garden's pride 
 — if on riches, time will quickly snatch 
 them from thee— if on power, gaze on 
 the mouldering dust of kings, and learn 
 to be humble! — Let virtue rear her tem- 
 ple
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 211 
 
 pie in thy heart — 'tis a foundation that 
 will not pass away : neglect her admo- 
 nitions, and she flyeth from before thy 
 face — obey her, and she supporteth thee 
 for ever. — Fix thy choice upon her ba- 
 sis ; thou wilt find it a shield against 
 danger, a safeguard against despair: — 
 not the adder in the path — not the tyger 
 in the thicket — not the point of the 
 sword, or the thunder of the cannon, can 
 appal thee. Peace dwelleth in the soul 
 that is at rest — content reigneth only 
 where passion hath no dominion ! 
 
 Such was the lady Florensia — mild as 
 the angel of peace, beneficent as the god- 
 dess of charity. — The voice of thankful- 
 ness and joy resounded through the ham- 
 let, when she resided at the castle of her 
 father, Randolph, the lord of the domain. 
 Every tongue pronounced the praises of 
 the chief — every heart acknowledged the 
 virtues of the heiress. Fathers held forth 
 the baron as a pattern to their sons — 
 mothers gazed upon Florensia, and wish- 
 ed
 
 21 c 2 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ed their daughters to possess her inno- 
 cence and beauty. And yet the baron 
 was not happy ; a fatal tradition destroy- 
 ed his peace, and hung upon his spirits : 
 Thy race is almost run, it stated ; a daugh- 
 ter ', fashioned by the hand of nature, icith 
 every charm that can captivate the senses, 
 shall be bom unto thee ; but that daugh- 
 ter shall live and die a virgin. 
 
 Such was the prediction which crush- 
 ed the hopes of the baron. In the 
 moments of hilarity and joy, when his 
 eyes, beaming with silent rapture, would 
 gaze upon his daughter, the. recollection 
 w r ould often cross his mind, and cover 
 him with sorrow. 
 
 Far and near had spread the fame of 
 the lady Florensia's beauty ; the rich, 
 the great, the brave, alike paid homage 
 to her charms; but her heart seemed 
 impervious to love — she was happy with 
 her father, and knew no wish beyond the 
 walls of the castle. 
 
 The count de Walstein was one, who 
 
 by
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 213 
 
 by perseverance sought to obtain her 
 hand ; in the gaieties of courts he had 
 read the female heart, and believed that 
 all alike were open to ambition. 
 
 But he knew not the gentle Floren- 
 sia ; she was mild as the dove, chaste 
 as the morning dew — her soul was re- 
 plete with sensibility, but love had not 
 called it into action. She evaded the 
 haughty De Walstein, nor by one ap- 
 proving smile encouraged him in the 
 pursuit. 
 
 One evening, as Florensia was engaged 
 in the chase, her horse took fright, and 
 bore her w r ith amazing rapidity from the 
 sight of her terrified attendants : he flew 
 through the forest, and on the spot where 
 the chapel now stands, was stopped by 
 sir Egbert de Moubrais, a young and 
 gallant knight, who received in his arms 
 the swooning form of Florensia. 
 
 He laid her gently on a green mound, 
 and placing himself by her side, sup- 
 ported her head on his bosom ; her hel- 
 met
 
 £14 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 met had fallen off in the forest, and her 
 fair hair, flowing in ringlets, nearly reach- 
 ed the ground. But, ah ! what a multi- 
 tude of charms were disclosed' Sir Eg- 
 bert saw and loved. He sprinkled her 
 pale face with water from the brook ; 
 and soon, in the restoration of life, saw 
 all his cares rewarded : he attended her 
 to the castle, where the baron, grateful 
 for the preservation of his child, received 
 her deliverer with rapture. 
 
 From this period a new and indescriba- 
 ble sensation filled her heart; she was 
 sensible of a passion she had never be- 
 fore known, and hopes, doubts, and fears, 
 occupied that bosom which till then had 
 known only contentment. Gratitude 
 would sometimes lead her to meet her 
 preserver in the intricacies of the forest ; 
 and there, in an unguarded moment, for- 
 getful of her duty, with a blushing cheek, 
 she acknowledged the influence he had 
 gained, and vowed to live for him alone. 
 
 In the meantime, De Walstein soli- 
 cited
 
 THE bandit's bride. 215 
 
 cited her father to sanction his proposals; 
 and tlie baron, eager to refute the terri- 
 fying tradition, implored Florensia to 
 yield \vm her hand. 
 
 " Alas!" she exclaimed, in a faint voice, 
 " I dreal to confess my weakness ; but 
 your daughter has dared to dispose of 
 her heart without your approbation." 
 
 Her father with astonishment listened 
 to her recital : but affection subdued re- 
 sentment. Egbert was summoned to the 
 castle, and their love sanctioned by her 
 parent. De Walstein saw with hatred 
 and envy the happy prospect of De Mou- 
 brais ; and as the period for the celebra- 
 tion of the marriage approached, with- 
 drew himself entirely from the castle. 
 
 The night previous to the nuptial morn, 
 as sir Egbert for the last time took leave 
 of Florensia, she drew from her finger a 
 valuable ring, and placing it upon his — 
 " This ring," she exclaimed, " is a pledge 
 of my faith to Egbert." He pressed her 
 tenderly to his bosom, and vowed to re- 
 linquish
 
 21 6 > THE BANDIT'S B1UDE. 
 
 linquish it and life together. But, alas! 
 the most attenuated line in the spider's 
 web is a strong cable, when compared 
 to man's feeble hold upon earthly bliss ! 
 The morn arrived — Florensia, rich in 
 bridal vestments, looked anxiously from 
 the window : the hour of appointment 
 passed, but no De Moubrais appeared. 
 Dismay and consternation spread through 
 the castle: Florensia was conveyed faint- 
 ing to her chamber, and the baron, nearly 
 distracted, hastened to the dwelling of 
 sir Egbert. Alas ! there he received only 
 a confirmation of his fears — De Mou- 
 brais had not been heard of since the 
 morning before. 
 
 A diligent search commenced, but no 
 tidings could be obtained ; and from the 
 darkness of the night, it was concluded 
 that the unfortunate sir Egbert de Mou- 
 brais had been swept into the ocean. 
 
 Long did the bereaved Florensia strug- 
 gle on the brink of the grave; she was 
 deaf to the voice of consolation, and in 
 
 the
 
 THE BANDIT'S BIUDE* 217 
 
 the madness of despair arraigned the de- 
 crees of Heaven. Days, weeks, months, 
 passed slowly away; the rose was fled 
 from her cheeks, and her e3'es had lost 
 their lustre : her father shared the woes 
 he could not relieve, and poured into her 
 wounded heart the healing balm of pity. 
 
 During the violence of her sorrow, 
 she caused a chapel to be erected on the 
 spot where sir Egbert saved her life, and 
 a tomb to be erected to his memory: 
 here she would repair, and weep upon 
 the marble consecrated to her lover. At 
 length time, the great soother of all sub- 
 lunary sorrows, blunted her affliction : 
 she suffered herself to be led to the ban- 
 quet, and again smiled upon her father's 
 guests ; her robe cf sable was laid aside, 
 and in compliance with his earnest soli- 
 citations, the count de W Istein was ac- 
 cepted as a favoured lover. Exulting 
 in the completion of his hopes, he strove 
 by the most tender assiduities to gain 
 her affections ; but the smile which grati- 
 
 vol. i. l tude
 
 <218 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 tilde extorted was frequently succeeded 
 by a tear. 
 
 The evening preceding the solemniza- 
 tion of the nuptials was dark and stormy ; 
 the thunder rattled ; the sea lashed sul- 
 lenly against the cliff, and the forked 
 lightning danced awfully upon its sur- 
 face. Florensia, terrified., gazed upon the 
 ocean ; whilst her father and the count 
 de Walstein, laughing at her fears, strove 
 to reanimate her spirits. 
 
 Suddenly the violence of the tempest 
 abated, and a gloomy calm succeeded. 
 Florensia sought the solitude of her cham- 
 ber: the wind no longer swept through 
 the battlements of the castle ; the rain 
 no longer poured upon the pine-topped 
 heads of the mountains ; seated near the 
 window, her head reclined on her hand, 
 and her eyes rested on the waves that 
 washed over the grave of her lost Eg- 
 bert. 
 
 " Beloved, ill-fated youth !' J she ex- 
 claimed, " three years this day, Floren- 
 sia
 
 THE bandit's bride. 219 
 
 sia was thy happy betrothed bride, and 
 to-morrow will see her hand given to 
 De Walstein : yet her heart has never 
 wavered—never has it in thought broke 
 its allegiance to thee: but the virtue of 
 a daughter is obedience — my rather re- 
 quires the sacrifice, and his hopes shall 
 be requited." 
 
 Whilst yet she spoke, a stream of 1 
 from the green bosom of the deep shewed 
 the moon but newly rising. 
 
 " Deceitful element!" she sighed, as 
 the waves rippled beneath the pale beams 
 of night's chaste luminary, " the first 
 rough blast will change thy aspect, and 
 render thee unmanageable and furious : 
 'tis like the storms of life," she continued 
 musing; " our hearts are tempest-tost, 
 and, as those billows, yield to each suc- 
 ceeding emotion." 
 
 The soft notes of a harp now reached 
 her ear ; the sound was so sweet, so sooth- 
 ing, so pathetic, that as Florensia listen- 
 ed, the tears of sensibility and pious rap- 
 £ 2 ture
 
 220 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 ture chased each other down her cheek. 
 It was in a solemn dirge that the min- 
 strel swept the chords : her heart died 
 within her ; she raised her full eyes to 
 Heaven, and then sought in the sur- 
 rounding gloom to discover the form of 
 the harper. 
 
 He rested against the castle wall ; his 
 figure was tall, and a dark mantle flowed 
 from his shoulders. The strains of the 
 instrument attracted the attention of the 
 baron : the gate was thrown open, and 
 the stranger invited to the castle: he was 
 stationed in a corner of the hall ; and du- 
 ring the evening's repast, the gilded roof 
 resounded with his skill. 
 
 The baron was all happiness and joy; 
 the fatal tradition was no more remem- 
 bered; he gazed upon his daughter with 
 rapture, and attributed her dejection to 
 the struggles of youthful modesty. 
 
 The clock struck twelve; Florensia 
 arose ; De Walstein pressed her white 
 hand to his lips, and led her to the door 
 
 of
 
 THE bandit's bhide. 221 
 
 < >f the apartment. The night passed hea- 
 vily away, and the morning dawned ere 
 Florensia had sunk into slumber. 
 
 Egbert mixed in each idea ; again in 
 imagination she beheld his beloved form 
 — again she heard his well-known voice ; 
 when she entered the hall where the 
 priest and the family were assembled, 
 her cheeks were colourless, and her eyes 
 swollen with weeping. 
 
 The minstrel, wrapt up in his cloak, 
 leant against the door ; he gazed atten- 
 tively on the agitated features of Flo- 
 rensia, and as the exulting De Walstein 
 led her to the priest, he darted forward, 
 and extending his hand, " Know you 
 this ring ?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Holy Heaven !" shrieked Florensia, 
 " 'tis the same I gave to Egbert, the fa- 
 tal night of our separation." 
 
 " Take it, false one," said the harper, 
 * and give it to De Walstein, for the be- 
 ing who placed it on this finger shall 
 alone remove it." 
 
 L 3 * Tear
 
 222 the bandit's EitiDr. 
 
 " Tear the miscreant from the chain- 
 ber!" thundered the enraged De Wal- 
 stein. 
 
 u Forbear! forbear!" said Florensia, 
 clasping the cloak of the stranger. " Oh f 
 tell me," she continued, sinking on her 
 knees, " tell me where you found that 
 ring! — when I gave it to my beloved 
 Egbert, he vowed to part with it and 
 life together." 
 
 " And he kept his vow," said De Wal- 
 stein sternly. " Might not the waves- 
 have washed it from his ringer, and thrown 
 it upon the coast ? Or, perhaps, that 
 stranger robbed the drowned body of its 
 treasure." 
 
 " Peace, deelaimer!" exclaimed the 
 minstrel, casting a furious glance upon 
 De Walstein, " and know that the in- 
 jured being whom thou hadst seized, and 
 for three long years confined in a lonely 
 dungeon, and whom this deluded angel 
 supposed to rest at the bottom of the 
 sea, is come to claim his treasure, and 
 
 cover
 
 THE bandit's bride. 22;i 
 
 cover thy guilty head with confusion. — 
 Florensia, love!" throwing off his dis- 
 guise, " has time so changed thy Egbert 
 that thou dost not know him ?" 
 
 Florensia could not speak — extreme 
 joy had deprived her of the power ; from 
 the impulse of the moment, she threw 
 herself into the extended arms of De 
 Moubrais, and fainted on his bosom. De 
 Walstein grasped the hilt of his dagger 
 — his eyes darted vengeance. — " Floren- 
 sia never shall be thine," lie exclaimed, 
 sheathing it in the heart of the devoted 
 Egbert. 
 
 The hapless youth staggered a few 
 paces ; his eyes grew dim, his face was 
 bleached with the hue of death, and lie 
 sank beneath the burden he had support- 
 ed. All was confusion and dismay : the 
 bridal vestments of Florensia were stain- 
 ed with the blood of De Moubrais, ; the 
 distracted father tore the grey locks from 
 his temples, and the terrified domestics 
 fled from the chamber. The fiend-like 
 l 4 perpetrator
 
 224 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 perpetrator exulted in the deed, and ai 
 his eyes rested on the- ill-fated lovers, 
 " Florensia," he exclaimed, " unless she 
 is mine, shall live and die a vitmh? 
 
 The body of the murdered sir Egbert 
 was conveyed from the apartment ; and 
 as the servants, at the order of the ba- 
 ron, approached to secure De Wal stein, 
 he plunged the dagger, still reeking in 
 De Mcubrais's blood, into his own bo- 
 som, and, sinking by the side of Floren- 
 sia, exclaimed — " Justice, I laugh at thee; 
 revenge is mine — Florensia will never 
 be De Moubrais's.''' He could say no 
 more ; his eyes closed, and with a heavy 
 groan his polluted soul took wing. 
 
 Long did Florensia struggle on the 
 brink of eternity — she resigned herself 
 to grief, and on the grave of her mur- 
 dered lover, vowed to live solely for his 
 memory. 
 
 The good baron her father drooped 
 beneath this accumulated sorrow ; every 
 hope was closed — the dire prediction was 
 
 verified
 
 THE bandit's bride. 255 
 
 verified in the vow of his daughter, and 
 ere the sun had run its annual course, 
 he breathed his last sigh upon her bosom. 
 Florensia lived not for herself, but for 
 her fellow- creatures; each day witnessed 
 the exercise of her charity ; she had felt 
 the force of affliction, and now strove 
 to lessen the woes of suffering humanity. 
 Her peace was made with her Creator, 
 and soon he claimed her for his own. 
 In her expiring moments, she appro- 
 priated a sufficient sum for the creation 
 and perpetuation of a monastery, and 
 requested that her body might be in- 
 terred by the side of De Moubrais. 
 From the Christian piety and resigna- 
 tion she evinced during her life of trial, 
 her name was canonized ; and her vir- 
 tues and misfortunes will ever live in 
 the grateful hearts of the sisters of St. 
 Florensia. 
 
 l 5 CHAP-
 
 2?S THE bandit's bride. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 •f-r+s-r-r 
 
 Life, spirit, vivacity, were all fled from 
 the inmates of Lunenberg Castle. Adel- 
 beft continued rnelanehol}', and his de- 
 jection spread a gloom over every coun- 
 tenance. No longer did the sports of 
 the field yield amusement; even the 
 playfulness of his sister called not forth 
 a smile. Rosalthe occupied every idea, 
 Rosalthe filled every scene; his sighs, his 
 hopes, his wishes, were breathed alone 
 for Rosalthe. Often were the distinctions 
 of birth forgotten — often, with the in- 
 consistency of a lover, was he for hasten- 
 ing to the cottage of Dusseldorf, throw- 
 ing off every disguise, and exerting the 
 privileges of his age, by openly demand- 
 ing her hand in marriage. But a mo- 
 ment's reflection restored him to his duty ; 
 
 he
 
 THE bandit's bride. £27 
 
 he remembered the affection of his fa- 
 ther ; he remembered the dignity of his 
 family, and his pride shuddered at the 
 degradation he had proposed. 
 
 Thus many days glided away, and the 
 period for quitting the castle approached. 
 Adelbert remained still irresolute, and the 
 baron with concern beheld his uneasi- 
 ness: he would have questioned him as 
 to the cause, but he wished not to dive 
 into his secrets. 
 
 44 No," he would mentally ejaculate, 
 as he listened to his half-smothered sighs, 
 " if the affection of a father merits not 
 the confidence of his son, mean would 
 he be to sue it." 
 
 Angela was still a stranger to the sor- 
 rows of her brother ; all her hopes rested 
 on Dresden, and all her hopes, imagina- 
 tion whispered, were on the eve of be- 
 ing realized. The prince de Lobenstein 
 had promised to accompany them, and 
 was again an inmate of the castle ; hourly 
 L 6 was
 
 228 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 was he pointing out the delights of dis- 
 sipation — hourly was he expatiating on 
 the pleasures of the elector of Saxony's 
 capital. 
 
 Angela listened with attention : she 
 believed all she heard; her sanguine mind 
 pictured a thousand incredibilities, and 
 delight and rapture were anticipated in 
 their highest extreme. 
 
 " And yet I should be much happier 
 if my dear Rosalthe could partake of my 
 pleasures," she exclaimed. 
 
 Adelbert started at the name — " And 
 why cannot this envied friend accompa- 
 ny you ?" inquired the prince. 
 
 " Because," interrupted Adelbert, " she 
 is superior to the light gaiety, the insig- 
 nificant pursuits, of what this world calls 
 pleasure — she prefers passing her days 
 in calm and rational enjoyments." 
 
 " Rosalthe would rather remain with 
 the sisters of St. Florensia," rejoined An- 
 gela — " would rather converse with fa- 
 ther
 
 THE bandit's bride. 229 
 
 ther Anselmo and the holy abbess — 
 would rather listen to the deep-toned 
 organ, than join our party to Dresden." 
 44 If she be young and handsome," 
 said the prince, " she is doubtless a most 
 extraordinary being." 
 
 44 She is both," exclaimed Angela. 
 " I think her the most perfect of hu- 
 man beings," again interrupted the count ; 
 44 she has dignity without pride, and 
 beauty without affectation." 
 
 44 Without pride /" repeated the prince, 
 sarcastically ; " of what may the daughter 
 of a peasant be proud ? Yet I should like 
 to see this paragon of perfection — for 
 be she ever so lovely, ever so captivating, 
 I know one who can eclipse her," bow- 
 ing gallantly to the lady Angela. 
 
 Adelbert was alarmed — he dreaded 
 lest curiosity should lead the prince to 
 the dwelling of Dusscldorf — he wished 
 no eye to behold llosalthe until he had 
 gained her for his own — he knew her 
 perfections, and fancied indifference must 
 
 shrink
 
 230 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 shrink before them — and in a mind not 
 the most peaceable, he was about to re- 
 ply, when the entrance of the baron and 
 Sigismar checked him. 
 
 In the evening he hastened to the 
 cottage ; Rosalthe was from home— she 
 was gone with Dusseldorf and Agatha 
 to visit the abbess of St. Florensia. 
 
 Disappointed, he lingered on the plain; 
 he pursued with his eyes the well-known 
 path to the convent; and not till twilight's 
 dark mantle enveloped the earth, did he 
 retrace Lis steps to the castle. Whilst yet 
 he passed beneath the shadow of the fo- 
 rest, he heard the sound of voices ; and 
 as he paused to catch the passing accents, 
 .the breeze wafted them towards him. 
 
 " Talk not to me of glory," said a 
 voice — " I tell thee love absorbs every 
 faculty ; she saw me not, but I traced 
 her steps, and marked the dwelling which 
 contains perfection." 
 
 Perfection and Rosalthe were synoni- 
 mous — Adelbert listened ; but the par- 
 ties
 
 THE DAXDITS DRIDE. 231 
 
 ties had proceeded farther into the forest, 
 and the reply was lost in distance. He 
 paused, with his hand pressed upon his 
 forehead — " / traced her steps, and 
 marked the diveUing" he at length re- 
 peated ; " danger lurks in those words 
 —it threatens my llosalthe ;" and again 
 he turned towards the cottage : but ere 
 he had proceeded many paces he smiled 
 at his impetuosity. — " Whither, and for 
 what purpose, am I going?" he inquired. 
 " What shall I say to Rosalthe ? Can I 
 tell her she has an enemy, when per- 
 haps the being I have heard never be- 
 held her? Can I charge her to be care- 
 ful, when, should she question me, I 
 cannot say for why ? Passion destrovs 
 my reason," he continued, " and shouldst 
 thou be lost to me, Rosalthe, may it de- 
 stroy my life ! ' 
 
 Again he listened, but no sound reach- 
 ed his ear ; the pale moon shed a feeble 
 light, and melancholy silence reigned 
 around. 
 
 " Where
 
 232 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 " Where have you been, Adelbert?* 
 inquired the baron, as he entered the 
 hall. 
 
 " Walking in the forest, to steal an in- 
 terview with the beautiful rustic," signi- 
 ficantly answered the prince. 
 
 " I have been to the cottage of Dus- 
 seldorf, my lord," replied Adelbert; "not 
 to steal an interview with the beautiful 
 rustic" looking proudly at the prince, 
 " but fearlessly and boldly to inquire 
 after the health of my sister's friend." 
 
 " And did you see Ilosalthe ?" eagerly 
 asked Angela: " Did she look cheerful? 
 Did she speak of the abbess? of sister 
 Josepha? of " 
 
 " 1 did not see her," said Adelbert 
 mournfully ; " the evening was inviting, 
 and with her parents she had walked to 
 the convent." 
 
 " How unfortunate!" exclaimed the 
 prince. " Do, my lord, when you repeat 
 your visit, suffer me to be of the party — 
 I long to see the divinity of the forest. 
 
 Is
 
 THE bandit's bride. 233 
 
 fs it fair," turning to De Lindenthal, 
 * that the count should monopolize per- 
 fection ?" 
 
 "Your highness's raillery is misplaced," 
 said Adalbert gravely: M Rosalthe, tho' 
 the daughter of a peasant, has virtues 
 which would dignify royalty : she has 
 friends likewise, who will not suffer her 
 name lightly to be sported with." 
 
 " Why so warm, Adelbert?" ques- 
 tioned the baron ; " had you been less 
 lavish with your panegyrics, Rosalthe 
 might still have remained in her native 
 obscurity." 
 
 Adelbert. disconcerted, feared to speak, 
 lest his words should betray the senti- 
 ments of his heart ; he darted a furious 
 look at the prince, and smothered the 
 accents as they rose to his lips. 
 
 Sigismar entered into his feelings — 
 u Rosalthe is a being," he exclaimed, 
 addressing the baron, " who must even 
 excite the interest of a stranger. Can 
 you, then, wonder at my friend (after a 
 
 residence
 
 234 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 residence of some weeks beneath the same 
 roof) espousing a cause, which thousands 
 would glory in maintaining, and sup- 
 porting at the risk of their lives?" 
 
 " Happy Rosalthe!" sighed Angela, 
 " to possess so many champions! — lovely, 
 envied friend!" 
 
 " Why envied, my child ?" inquired 
 the baron. 
 
 " Because— because — I don't know," 
 and again her eyes were turned on Si- 
 gismar, and again a sigh heaved her bo- 
 som. 
 
 For the first time in the life of An- 
 gela, she lay restless and uneasy, unable 
 to sleep, and yet unable to assign a cause. 
 She thought of Dresden — it yielded not 
 the pleasure it had been wont to do ; 
 she thought of the prince de Loben stein 
 — his conversation, his manners, appear- 
 ed insignificant ; she thought of the count 
 de Lindenthal, and she envied Rosalthe. 
 Grey-eyed morning peeped into her cham- 
 ber, ere she sunk to repose ; and the pen- 
 dent
 
 THE BAXDIT'S BRIDE. 235 
 
 dent dew-drops sparkled on the grass, 
 when, rising nnrefreshed, she walked into 
 the shrubbery. But there every thing 
 increased her dissatisfaction; the sun was 
 scorching — the shade too cool — the mur- 
 mur of the water melancholy — the still- 
 ness of the landscape insipid. " I wish 
 I were like Rosalthe," she exclaimed, as 
 she turned from viewing the ocean, " for 
 then I could find pleasure in the works 
 of nature." 
 
 She returned dejected to the eastle. 
 and entering the music-room, attempted 
 to play one of her favourite airs; but 
 she played out of tune, and the sound 
 was discord to her ears. She started 
 from the instrument — a tear stole down 
 her cheek. 
 
 " Would to Heaven I had never quit- 
 ted the convent !" she said, in a voice of 
 
 agitation. 
 
 " Is it possible that that wish was ex- 
 pressed by the lady Angela ?" inquired 
 the count de Lindenthal, who had over- 
 heard
 
 236 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 heard her exclamation as he entered the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Indeed it is possible" replied Angela; 
 " and I have a great inclination to re- 
 turn there." 
 
 '• What, instead of Dresden ?" 
 
 " Yes, I don't care if I never see Dres- 
 den." 
 
 " And why?" asked Sigismar. 
 
 " Because I am not half so happy now 
 as I was before I left St. Fiorensia." 
 
 " Not happy !" repeated De Linden- 
 thai, in a voice of astonishment; " and 
 do you expect to find happiness in the 
 gloom of a cloister ?" 
 
 " I don't know — I believe I shall seek 
 it there." 
 
 "And should you be deceived — should 
 you find misery and care lurk beneath 
 the veil of seclusion, what then may be 
 your resource ?" 
 
 " Patience." 
 
 Sigismar smiled, whilst Angela, with 
 her eyes bent to the ground, continued 
 
 — " Pietv
 
 2S7 
 
 — " Piety and prayer, Hosalthe has often 
 told me, are sure antidotes to vexation 
 and disappointment : possibly I may 
 rind them so." 
 
 " Did your friend ever wish to take 
 the veil then ?" inquired the count. 
 
 " Yes, once she almost vowed she 
 would — no life but a nun's had charms 
 for her ; but I fancy she is altered now." 
 
 " I hope she is," said the count, warm- 
 
 " You do not wish her to live and die 
 in the convent ?" questioned the alarm- 
 ed Angela. 
 
 " Certainly I do not ; one heart I 
 know would grieve at the decision, and 
 thousands might with reason regret the 
 desertion of so much beauty." 
 
 " Heigho !" said Angela, walking to 
 the window, " I may be a nun, and no 
 one will miss me." 
 
 " You are mistaken ; you are unjust 
 to your own perfections, lady Angela," 
 
 exclaimed
 
 238 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 exclaimed Sigismar-, " the prince de Lo- 
 ben stein would " 
 
 " I hate the prince de Lobenstein," 
 interrupted Angela. 
 
 " There is one other I could mention," 
 resumed the count, " who would pain- 
 fully, eternally deplore so rash a step." 
 
 Angela ventured to look up, but at 
 that instant the door opened, Adelbert 
 entered, and the conversation ceased. 
 
 We will not venture to dive into the 
 heart of Angela ; but if ever the presence 
 of her brother was unwelcome, it was at 
 that moment 
 
 " Every plan is arranged," said Adel. 
 bert, addressing his sister, ** and in less 
 than a fortnight we leave Lower Saxony. 
 On the morning the baron, the prince de 
 Lobenstein, and yourself, quit the castle, 
 Sigismar and I hasten to pass a few 
 weeks with the baron de Liiidenthal, 
 and from thence we join our party at 
 Dresden." 
 
 As
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 239 
 
 As the period for separation approach- 
 ed, Angela regained her spirits; she 
 thought no more of the admiration Si- 
 gismar had expressed for Rosalthe — she 
 thought of nothing but pleasure, and her 
 sanguine heart panted at the mention of 
 Dresden. With smiles she listened to 
 the gallantries of the prince, for his com- 
 pliments were received as a tribute due 
 to her attractions. But though levity 
 and thoughtlessness were predominant 
 in her disposition, yet they veiled a mind, 
 tender, affectionate, and sincere : her 
 errors proceeded from the inexperience 
 of youth, the flow of unbounded spirits, 
 and the license of excessive indulgence. 
 Ihit Sigismar traced not their source ; he 
 had admired her simplicity, her inno- 
 cence, her beauty ; he had once wished 
 to have intrusted his peace in her hands ; 
 but he now feared she might trifle with 
 the deposit : he beheld her volatile — he 
 thought the heart as light as the surface; 
 and he blessed the interruption which 
 
 had
 
 240 THE BANDIT'S BREDE. 
 
 had prevented his pouring out at her feet 
 the sentiments of admiration she had in- 
 spired. 
 
 How different were the ideas of Adel- 
 bert as the lingering hours passed ! The 
 thoughts of leaving the castle, of a sepa- 
 ration from Rosalthe, was a dagger to his 
 peace : " Perhaps unforeseen misfortunes 
 may arise ; perhaps," whispered his fore- 
 boding heart, " we may never more 
 meet." 
 
 Sometimes he would wander to the 
 ruined chapel, in the hope of meeting 
 Rosalthe : he knew that her walks fre- 
 quently extended there, and that her 
 prayers were sent forth at the foot of the 
 broken altar — sometimes with the deter- 
 mination of taking a last farewell, but 
 oftener to gaze upon her lovely counte- 
 nance, to hear her siren voice, and to 
 compensate for the past painful hours of 
 absence. 
 
 One evening he stole silently into the 
 aisle — he paused, for he beheld Rosalthe : 
 
 her
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 241 
 
 her radiant eyes were fixed on heaven, 
 her white arms were crossed upon her 
 bosom, and her elegant figure bent in 
 the attitude of devotion. He heard her 
 murmuring lips articulate a prayer ; he 
 heard her speak of a departed saint ; he 
 heard her pronounce the name of Adel- 
 bert : love, rapture, adoration, filled his 
 heart ; yet he dreaded to move, he dread- 
 ed almost to breathe, lest the sylph -like 
 form should vanish from his sight, and 
 mingle with her sister angels. When 
 iirst she discovered the count, a passing 
 blush dyed her cheeks, and an exclama- 
 tion of pleasure betrayed her feelings : 
 but hurt at her unguarded manner, she 
 wished to return to the cottage ; she was 
 tearful her parents would be alarmed at 
 her long absence, and notwithstanding 
 the entreaties of Adelbert, immediately 
 quitted the chapel. Disconcerted, he 
 walked by her side : if Rosalthe loved, 
 he thought, would she have refused so 
 trifling a request? — would she so per- 
 vol, i. M emptcrily
 
 HAK THE BANDITS BRIDE. 
 
 emptorily have left the ruin ? " Ah no! 
 I have deceived myself with false hopes ; 
 her heart is not interested in my fate ; 
 she cares not whether happiness or mi- 
 sery he my portion." With these self- 
 tormenting ideas he opened the little 
 wicket, and Rosalthe entered the garden; 
 turning to bid him farewell, she beheld 
 with concern the heavy gloom which 
 hung upon his features. 
 
 " Why do you look so serious ?" she 
 timidly inquired ; " in less than a week 
 you leave the castle — you go where plea- 
 sure alone awaits you. It is I who 
 should look sorrowful — it is I who will 
 miss my friends." 
 
 " Can the pleasures of this world com- 
 pensate for the loss of the society of those 
 we love ?" said Adelbert ; " can that lot 
 be happy, which drags the body into 
 tasteless gaiety, but leaves the soul be- 
 hind ? Unkind Rosalthe ! surely if sym- 
 pathy glowed in your bosom, you would 
 not ask the question." 
 
 " The
 
 THE BANDIT'S BIUDE. 243 
 
 *• The baron and lady Angela will ac- 
 company you," answered the artless Ro- 
 salthe; "how then can you be absent 
 from those you love?" 
 
 " And is there none other, save father 
 and sister, necessary to insure happiness?" 
 softly whispered Adelbert : " ask your 
 own heart, Rosalthe, and tell me inge- 
 nuously the answer it returns." 
 
 " Alas ! I have no father, no sister," 
 recollecting herself; " how then can I 
 place myself in the situation ?" 
 
 " You mistake me," said the count: 
 " would you be happy in this cottage ?" 
 
 " Yes, as in a palace," interrupted Ro- 
 salthe. 
 
 " Could you be happy," resumed AdeU 
 bert, and his eyes were fixed intently on 
 her, " with no other being save father 
 and mother?" 
 
 She blushed — she faltered — her eyes 
 sought the ground — she was unable to 
 answer. 
 
 " Dare I name the being, angelic Ro- 
 m 2 salthe ?"
 
 244 the bandit's bridi:. 
 
 salthe?" resumed Adelbert, taking her 
 hand, and glorying in her agitation, 
 " dare I name the being who would re- 
 nounce every hope, every worldly consi- 
 deration, to be your chosen happy com- 
 panion in that cottage ?" 
 
 At that instant Agatha threw open 
 the casement. 
 
 " My dear child," said the dame, 
 " pray come in ; the night air is damp, 
 and I fear your health will suffer from 
 this imprudence." 
 
 .Rosalthe required not a second sum- 
 mons, but wishing Adelbert good-night, 
 hastened into the cottage. With reluc- 
 tance the count quitted the gate : ofteia 
 did he stop to gaze on the dwelling 
 which contained Rosalthe— often did he 
 repeal, in his solitary walk — "Her heart 
 returns my tenderness." The know- 
 ledge was extacy ; every former difficul- 
 ty shrunk before it, and ere he reached 
 the castle, he determined clandestinely 
 
 to
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIBE'. 245 
 
 to espouse Rosalthe, and then to throw 
 himself on the affection of his father. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 •• Poor lady Florensia !" said Agatha, 
 as Rosalthe closed the manuscript ; " af- 
 fliction spares not situation, and in this 
 world all alike are destined to feel sor- 
 row : the cottager and the prince, the 
 rich and the poor, the proud and the 
 humble, are all born of the same parents, 
 are all subject to the same infirmities." 
 
 " True," observed Dusseldorf ; " but 
 are not the patient sufferings of virtue 
 an earnest of everlasting felicity ? and 
 hope, without the ease of temporary en- 
 joyment, is infinitely preferable to tem- 
 porary enjoyment without hope. Pro- 
 vidence wisely inflicts his creatures with 
 many trials — with diseases, with the di- 
 al 3 minution
 
 246 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 mi notion or total loss of fortune, with the 
 scorn and neglect of the world, with the 
 dissolution of many of our tenderest best 
 loved friends, with the ingratitude of 
 more; and through some of these vari- 
 ous and painful channels are we all gra- 
 dually weaned from our fondness for this 
 world, and enabled to meet death with a 
 fortitude superior to his terror. Life's 
 probation is as a stormy sea, over which 
 we all must pass; sometimes a dark, 
 heavy, long-threatening cloud will dis- 
 perse without hurting us ; sometimes, 
 when secure beneath the bright beams of 
 a glorious sunshine, the thunderbolt falls, 
 and we are crushed." 
 
 " But how often," said Rosalthe, sigh- 
 ing, " do we yield to imaginary evils- 
 how often do we rush into care through 
 anticipation — how often do we slight 
 the present joy in the dread of succeed- 
 ing sorrow !" 
 
 " Imaginary woe is the worst of all 
 afflictions," answered Dusseldorf : " in 
 
 real
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 247 
 
 real misfortune the religious mind may 
 glean comfort from the promises of a fu- 
 ture state; but no antidote can be found to 
 avert the horrors of a melancholy and fore- 
 boding mind. 'Tis like superstition," look- 
 ing significantly at Agatha, " which gain- 
 ing ground by indulgence, soon subdues 
 the strength of reason, and bends the pliant 
 votary like a reed before the wind. And 
 yet I think I once had cause to bless the 
 idle tales of apparitions, held up as scare- 
 crows to frighten children. I remem- 
 ber, a short time before we married, 
 being driven by a heavy shower of rain 
 to seek shelter in the chapel, and as we 
 stood at the foot of the broken altar, 
 some kind and friendly rook fluttered in 
 the ivy, and forced the poor trembling 
 Agatha into my arms ; she thought, I 
 suppose, they were a safeguard against 
 a whole host of ghosts." 
 
 " Fie, Dusseldorf !" said the dame, 
 
 gravely ; " from your conversation one 
 
 would think I was afraid of my own sha- 
 
 M 4 dow.
 
 248 THE BANDIT'S BItlDE. 
 
 dow. But come, it is time we leave alt 
 disputes for another day ; the clock has 
 already warned us of eleven, and Rosal- 
 the, you know, is an early riser," 
 
 rt Heaven bless our child !" said the 
 good old pair, as Hosalthe rested at the 
 door of her apartment, " and may her 
 fate be more auspicious than the lady 
 Florensia's 1" 
 
 She gratefully returned her thanks and 
 retired. But on her pillow she thought 
 not of the misfortunes of the foundress of 
 the convent ; she thought not of the 
 terrors of Agatha, or the counsels of Dus- 
 seldorf; she thought not of her own mvs- 
 terious birth, or the sufferings of her de- 
 parted parents — she thought of Adel- 
 bert's visit to the cottage, and the disap- 
 pointment he had expressed at her ab- 
 sence. Long was it ere she sunk to" 
 rest; for busy imagination led her back 
 to Lunenberg Castle, and retraced the 
 past happy hours with delusive fondness. 
 
 Alas ! poor liosaithe ! Love's subtle 
 
 poison
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 249 
 
 poison had stole into her heart, and made 
 her the slave of hope, doubt, perplexity, 
 and sorrow. Yet she knew not the 
 source of her feelings ; the tender and 
 refined sentiment — the lively and tran- 
 sient emotion — the poignant yet pleas- 
 ing apprehension, were alike inexplicable. 
 Often did she check the spontaneous 
 sigh — often did she discover she was. 
 unhappy — often did she wish she had 
 never quitted the peaceful calm of St,. 
 Florensia ; yet never for a moment did 
 her heart picture love, or erect the fair 
 fane of imaginary felicity on the basis of 
 the count's affection. 
 
 Thus did the hours glide; day suc- 
 ceeding day increased her dejection, and 
 every vestige of cheerfulness vanished. 
 
 In the next visit to the convent, Ro- 
 salthe, leaving the dame in the parlour, 
 went to seek the lady abbess. She found 
 her in the chapel, weeping over the grave 
 of the persecuted Adela ; softly she stole 
 on the opposite side, and sunk on her 
 
 knees
 
 250 THE BANDIT'S BKIDE. 
 
 knees by the slab : the abbess perceived 
 her, and with more than usual fervour 
 pressed her to her bosom. — (i My child !" 
 she exclaimed, fondly kissing her cheek, 
 "my beloved child J living portrait of 
 the enshrined Adela !" 
 
 V Wherefore this sorrow, holy mo- 
 ther ?" inquired Rosalthe ; " days of 
 peace may yet dawn upon us, and en- 
 able us to smile at the past hours of dis- 
 appointment." 
 
 " On thee it may, my child," solemn- 
 ly replied the superior, " for thou art 
 entering on the life I am quitting. Sum- 
 mer unfolds her rich clusters for thee 
 — winter's chilling blast freezes the sap 
 of life, and bends me gradually to the si- 
 lent grave. When I think of the inva- 
 riable order and succession of the seasons 
 — of their diiferent productions — of the 
 indisputable goodness of the all-power- 
 ful, all-wise Being who governs them — 
 I think of the stages man is born to en- 
 ter, and the thorny path he is compelled 
 to tread : 
 
 < Behold,
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. %51 
 
 ' Behold, fond man! 
 
 * See here thy pictured life : pass some few years, 
 
 ' Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength* 
 
 4 Thy sober autumn fading into age, 
 
 ' And pale concluding winter comes at last, 
 
 1 And shuts the scene.' 
 
 Infancy," pursued the superior, * re- 
 sembles the ethereal mildness of spring, 
 when the trees put forth their leaves, 
 when the sun unfolds the early blossoms, 
 and shines upon the lap of nature. Alas ! 
 like thoughtless youth entering upon the 
 stage of life, and heedlessly rushing into 
 the extremes of folly, the flowers appear 
 regardless of danger, and a chilling frost, 
 or blighting storm, frequently nips the 
 heart ere they arrive at their beauties* 
 full perfection. When summer's ripen- 
 ing sun crowns the rich fields with wav- 
 ing plenty, and gladdens the mind of 
 the husbandman with thankful joy- 
 when all nature wears a pleasing aspect, 
 and every scene is diversified with new 
 and gratifying objects — when the birds 
 
 carol
 
 252 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 carol in the perfumed recesses of the fo- 
 rest, and the herds seek shelter in the 
 cool retreat— -then may we see man in 
 his full vigour, forming schemes for ac- 
 tion. Fame guides his steps, ambition 
 fires his soul; all pursuits are alike seen 
 through the sanguine and false medium 
 of anticipation, and frequently is he led 
 into labyrinths, from which with pain 
 and difficulty he is extricated.. But au- 
 tumn, unattended by juvenile folly, sees 
 him careful of the talents entrusted to 
 his cave ; no longer governed by every 
 gust of passion, he locks back on past 
 thoughtless hours, and blesses his Creator 
 for giving him a heart to appreciate his> 
 bounties. As the husbandman views the 
 completion of his labour, and sees the 
 full ear bending beneath the sickle of 
 the reaper — as he gathers the golden 
 produce, and carefully provides against 
 winter's approaching inclemency — so 
 does the thoughtful man seriously reflect: 
 upon futurity, and prepare to meet the: 
 
 unerring
 
 the bandit's bhide. 253 
 
 unerring shaft of death ; for winter 
 comes, and nature droops desponding — 
 the trees are bereaved of their verdure, 
 the birds hop mute on the leafless boughs, 
 the rivers and streams are congealed by 
 the cold chilling blast, and the mountain 
 tops are covered with snow. How com- 
 fortless the aspect! yet how impressive 
 to a contemplative mind ! for in the pe- 
 netrating rays of the sun, piercing the 
 sullen fog, we may trace the glorious 
 beams of religion dissipating the mists 
 01 error, and conducting the immortal 
 soul beyond the confines of mortality." 
 
 " Alas! where one gains the epoch of 
 winter," remarked llosalthe, as her eyes 
 rested on the consecrated grave of her 
 mother, " how many sink the unresist- 
 ing victims of calamity ! how many bend 
 beneath the iron rod of power P 
 
 "That slab, Rosalthe," said the abbess, 
 as the tears stole down her cheek, " that 
 *lab covers a heart broken by oppression 
 
 — Adela
 
 254 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 — Adela died the victim of a father's ty~ 
 ranny ; but she left her orphan to one 
 who will confound the tales of malice, 
 and elucidate the mysterious circum- 
 stances of her birth." 
 
 "Mother!" interrupted Rosal the, grasp- 
 ing the hand of the superior, and gazing 
 eagerly in her face, u drop at once the 
 disguise, and tell me who thou art? for 
 never could chance or compassion have 
 created such emotion in the breast of a 
 stranger." 
 
 " Do not ask me," replied the abbess, 
 " do not recall the agonizing remem- 
 brance of past hours : be satisfied to 
 know that affliction drove me to this re- 
 treat — to know me the early, steady, ten- 
 der friend of thy deceased mother." 
 
 *' But one request," imploringly peti- 
 tioned Rosalthe, " and I ask no more : — ■ 
 knowest thou the name of my father?" 
 
 " Heaven can witness that I do not — 
 that I never heard it!" answered the su- 
 perior. 
 
 " And
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 255 
 
 r And yet," faltered Rosalthe, " he 
 was murdered? 7 ' 
 
 " He was, my child, but the tale reach- 
 ed not St. Florensia ; and long ere the 
 catastrophe happened, I was immured 
 within its walls." 
 
 " Thou art then a stranger to the ca- 
 lamities which drove my frantic mother 
 to seek shelter in the cottage of Bussel- 
 dorf V rejoined Rosalthe. 
 
 fl I am, and shall remain so, until the 
 fated hour arrives for breaking the seal 
 of the packet. Till then, let us rest sa- 
 tisfied — let us he content to glorify the 
 Power vvhiob, making Dusseldorf the 
 humble instrument of its mercy, snatch- 
 ed thee, my daughter, from misery and 
 death, and preserved thee to be an awful 
 witness of retributive justice." 
 
 Rosalthe sighed, her tearful eyes were 
 raised to heaven, and her hands were 
 joined, as if in prayer. At length, in sobs 
 and broken accents, she articulated — " In 
 thee, my more than friend, do I behold 
 
 the
 
 ^56 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 the representative of my mother : to thy 
 wishes, as to a law, will I submit, and thy 
 precepts shall ever sink deep into my 
 heart ; thy happiness, thy satisfaction 
 will I study; and henceforth shalt thou 
 have the absolute right of disposing of 
 me. — Say, wilt thou take the charge ? — 
 wilt thou, on the spot beneath which my 
 mother moulders, promise to guide her 
 orphan — promise by thy counsels to en- 
 able her, in launching into the ocean of 
 life, to discover the shoals which threaten 
 the bark of an inexperienced pilot ?" 
 
 " I will — I do accept the charge," said 
 the abbess, leading Uosalthe from the 
 nhapel .: " Thou shalt be to me as was 
 the being I deplore ; thou shalt be dear 
 to my heart as was the youthful AdeW 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 Punted by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Street. London.
 
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