Your resolution, noble Elizabeth, to remain in cloistered solitude, passing your hours in tears for your husband’s loss, and in prayers for the repose of his spirit, is dignified and worthy of the illustrious race to which you have the glory to belong. Model of female constancy! though years have elapsed since Frederick died, your tears flow as freely as on the first day of your widowhood! Unequalled lady! does there exist a virtue, whose seeds we ought not to depend on finding in a heart like yours? Is there a sacrifice so great that a soul like Elizabeth’s is incapable of making it?—In the bloom of life to tear yourself from the pleasures of the world and the eyes of a thousand admirers, that you may watch away the lonely nights by the sepulchral urn of an husband far advanced in years; to fly from the charms of sway and grandeur that you may humble yourself before the altar, kneeling in the dust, and praying for the repose of the deceased-one, oh! what an act of self-denial! an act, which reaches the summit of magnanimity, by not being established on the foundation of love; for in truth, how could love for the decrepit Frederick find a place in the heart of the young and blooming Elizabeth, whose warmest sentiment must have been filial respect towards a benefactor? Oh! Elizabeth, is indeed your state of widowhood your only motive for taking refuge in a convent? _Elizabeth to Conrad._ An expression used in the conclusion of your letter fully explains the sentiment which I felt, and still feel for the Count of Torrenburg. Yes, Conrad; Frederick was my _benefactor_ in the strongest sense of the word—and therefore is it, that though years have elapsed since his decease, my tears for his loss still flow as freely as they did on the first day. But whether sorrow for my widowed state was my only motive for burying myself in a cloister.... Oh! Conrad, it was unnecessary for you to use flattery in order to obtain a knowledge of the truth. Without calling me “the model of female constancy,” or declaring me to be without an equal, I might have been Induced to confess, that Frederick’s death was _not_ the only reason which at first induced me to take refuge in a convent, and which perhaps will induce me never to leave it more. Oh! much, very much lies heavy upon this heart of mine! I suffer under the pressure of misfortunes, of which but a small part is known to you; yet even that little must be sufficient to make you comprehend, why I feel compelled to abandon the world, and fly to solitude for relief and comfort. Conrad! Conrad! would to Heaven it were _true_, that there is no sacrifice so great, that I am incapable of making it! Alas! I feel but too strongly, that great sacrifices are in my power, for which I must prepare myself by supplication to Heaven, and the solitude and calm of a cloister. _Conrad to Elizabeth._