We separated; I lost my Edith! Minna remained with me, and with beating hearts did we look forward to futurity, whose gloom appeared to increase with every moment. Will not my hand fail me, when I attempt to describe the most cruel blow, which ever fell upon my heart? Edith was dear to me; so was her daughter, the gentle affectionate Minna; but dearer than either, oh! dearer a thousand times, was my uncle, my second father, the venerable Count Venosta! Count Lodowick’s appearance at the Castle of Sargans made my uncle’s return necessary. The young warrior was desirous of discussing in person with an hero of such experience in military affairs, what mode of proceeding would be most likely to produce advantage to the cause of those, whose interests were equally dear to both. Till this business was settled, the Count of Homburg did not think it prudent to quit the Castle, and leave Minna and myself exposed to the enterprizes of the enemy, under no better protection than Ethelbert’s. The venerable Leopold therefore set forward for the purpose of acquainting his ally with every thing relating to the present situation of our affairs, and at the same time to inspire our drooping spirits by his presence with hope and consolation. Yet once more (alas! but once!) did I clasp my benefactor to my bosom; I bedewed his furrowed cheeks with tears of gratitude, and imparted to him my anxiety for a life so precious! The next tears, which I shed on his account, were destined to fall on his grave. He accompanied Count Lodowick to review his forces; here he parted with his youthful friend, and the path which he traversed on his return to Sargans conducted him to death. In the deepest part of the wood assassins were lurking; his attendants were few, and their resistance was soon overpowered. Count Venosta fell by the hands of villains, as many a brave man had fallen before him; and the dreadful news was brought to the Castle of Sargans by two or three of his followers, the swiftness of whose steeds had enabled them to escape from the massacre. What name shall I give to my feelings, at receiving this most cruel blow of fate? Shall I say, that I sorrowed? that my senses forsook me? that despair took possession of both my head and heart?—No! no! all this would but ill describe what I suffered. The excess of agony can never be justly exprest; grief like mine can only be pictured in a veil.