The night, which succeeded a day, in which we had gone through so much, and with success so unexpected, was past in a state of no trifling anxiety. Finding ourselves obliged to accept the invitation prest upon us most earnestly by Count Donat and the ladies (to remain with them till the next morning, when the camp would be raised) we entreated, that at least a messenger might be dispatched to assure Ethelbert, that his fears were without foundation. Adelaide lost no time in causing Mark and Hilderic to hasten back to the Castle, and relieve the Abbot from the difficult task of watching over the actions of a man, who was by no means fit to be trusted with himself; they were also commissioned to request Guiderius to return without delay to the camp, and inform us, in what manner our absence had affected the unfortunate Count of Carlsheim. Gladly would Adelaide have accompanied the Friars, and thrown herself at the feet of her wretched father, whom she had never seen. Her brother however did not think proper to permit her departure; and she now shared in our uneasiness at perceiving, that one hour after another stole away without the arrival of any intelligence from the Castle. Yet great as was my own anxiety, it was evidently far inferior to Adelaide’s. Her evident agitation was so excessive, that I found some difficulty in ascribing it entirely to the interest, which she felt about a father, whom she had never seen, and for whom she had nothing to fear, since his fate depended on her brother. She had suddenly left the tent during supper without taking leave of us: it was already past midnight; when, guiding her steps with a dark lanthorn, we saw her return, under the pretence of paying us those compliments of the night, which she had before omitted, and of talking over with us undisturbed the circumstances of our mutual inquietude. But it was clear, that she had not yet mentioned all her motives for visiting us at this unusual hour. Somewhat lay concealed in her heart, which she longed to reveal; unluckily she delayed the wished disclosure, till the opportunity was lost. The curtain, which closed our tent, was suddenly withdrawn, and Mellusina entered. While her manner gave us to understand, that her presence was an honour which she bestowed on us extremely against her own inclination, she entreated permission to share our nocturnal conference. Adelaide inquired with her accustomed gentleness, why her dear sister should think it necessary to deprive herself of her night’s repose? —“You have not the same cause that we have,” said she, “to watch away the melancholy hours; sleep is not banished from _your_ eyes, by anxiety for the fate of an husband and a father, and by those foreboding fears of some misfortune having befallen him, which the long delay of our messenger must needs excite.”—