The only object which after the loss of Ethelbert and my uncle was still dear to me, my friend, my Edith, she too had been torn from me during my unfortunate expedition. Scarcely had I quitted her, when a troop of unknown enemies had forcibly gained entrance; had either slain or mortally wounded the few male inhabitants of the Castle; had confined the women in the upper apartments; and when they retired after their bloody work, had conveyed away with them the Countess of Mayenfield and her weeping children! The robbers closed the doors after them and fled, leaving the Castle in that fearful solitude, which had occasioned me so much anxiety and surprise. The Warder and the Seneschal were the only men, whose wounds had not already terminated their existence; but fainting through loss of blood they heard not the signals, which I made to obtain admittance. It was morning, before they were sufficiently recovered to examine into the circumstances of the former day; and while the first had dragged his feeble steps towards the Countess’s apartment, the other had sought the Castle-portal, with the intention of obtaining assistance from the neighbouring villagers. The Countess’s women, with their hands still fettered, now threw themselves at my feet, and enquired, what was become of their beloved mistress, whom I had imprudently left behind under such inadequate protection. Grief for her loss overpowered our apprehensions of further danger; and had our foe thought proper to make use of the present opportunity, he would have found us an easy prey. About mid-day, some peasants in the neighbourhood arrived, and brought with them the young Minna of Mayenfield, whom they had found weeping and bewildered among the mountains. —“Oh! dear, dear lady!” she exclaimed, while she threw herself into my arms “my mother! oh! what have the villains done with my mother!”— I could only answer with my tears. The child too was in such dreadful agitation, that it was long before I could obtain from her an explanation of the manner, in which the Countess had been conveyed away: as for herself, the ravishers became weary of her incessant tears and shrieks, and abandoned her among the mountains. How painful must the unhappy mother have felt this parting with her only daughter! nothing could have induced her to submit to it, except the threat of her persecutor to deprive her also of the baby at her bosom.