“SIR--I have submitted too long to your ill-usage, and am disposed to bear it no more. I will no longer be made the butt of your ribald satire, and the object of your coarse abuse. Last week you threatened me with your cane! On Tuesday last you threw a wine-decanter at me, which hit the butler, it is true, but the intention was evident. This morning, in the presence of all the servants, you called me by the most vile, abominable name, which heaven forbid I should repeat! You dismissed me from your house under a false accusation. You sent me to this odious convent to be immured for life. Be it so! I will not come back, because, forsooth; you relent. Anything is better than a residence with a wicked, coarse, violent, intoxicated, brutal monster like yourself. I remain here for ever and blush to be obliged to sign myself “THEODORA VON GODESBERG. “P.S.--I hope you do not intend to keep all my best gowns, jewels, and wearing-apparel; and make no doubt you dismissed me from your house in order to make way for some vile hussy, whose eyes I would like to tear out. T. V. G.” CHAPTER VII. THE SENTENCE. This singular document, illustrative of the passions of women at all times, and particularly of the manners of the early ages, struck dismay into the heart of the Margrave. “Are her ladyship's insinuations correct?” asked the hermit, in a severe tone. “To correct a wife with a cane is a venial, I may say a justifiable practice; but to fling a bottle at her is ruin both to the liquor and to her.” “But she sent a carving-knife at me first,” said the heartbroken husband. “O jealousy, cursed jealousy, why, why did I ever listen to thy green and yellow tongue?” “They quarrelled; but they loved each other sincerely,” whispered Sir Ludwig to the hermit: who began to deliver forthwith a lecture upon family discord and marital authority, which would have sent his two hearers to sleep, but for the arrival of the second messenger, whom the Margrave had despatched to Cologne for his son. This herald wore a still longer face than that of his comrade who preceded him. “Where is my darling?” roared the agonized parent. “Have ye brought him with ye?” “N--no,” said the man, hesitating. “I will flog the knave soundly when he comes,” cried the father, vainly endeavoring, under an appearance of sternness, to hide his inward emotion and tenderness. “Please, your Highness,” said the messenger, making a desperate effort, “Count Otto is not at the convent.” “Know ye, knave, where he is?” The swain solemnly said, “I do. He is THERE.” He pointed as he spake to the broad Rhine, that was seen from the casement, lighted up by the magnificent hues of sunset. “THERE! How mean ye THERE?” gasped the Margrave, wrought to a pitch of nervous fury. “Alas! my good lord, when he was in the boat which was to conduct him to the convent, he--he jumped suddenly from it, and is dr--dr--owned.”