My brother, we will in future chuse other subjects for discussion: Montfort and Ida ought now to hold a place no longer in my private thoughts, nor shall their names be ever again traced by my pen. To banish these spectres which haunt my mind so fearfully, and bury them for ever in oblivion, or at least only to remember them with contempt, surely I need but to recall that memorable day, when my dear exasperated brother forgave the lovesick-girl’s elopement, her elopement with this deceitful Montfort; when he promised still to acknowledge her as his sister, and condescended to make known to the traitor with his own lips, that Count Oswald would not disdain to honour and esteem him as his sister’s husband—and then let me remember, how Henry led the proud Elizabeth in triumph to the altar; and how at the very moment that he prepared to swear to her eternal constancy, the irrevocable word refused to pass his lips, because ... because among her attendants he discovered a face, whose features seemed to him more lovely than his bride’s. Oh! when I recollect these circumstances, my brother! the Damsels of Werdenberg, the chosen friends of my bosom, were invited to place the nuptial garland on my brow, and the false-ones tore it in pieces, and trampled it under their feet. With what a look of horror and aversion did Henry throw away my hand! He affected to be suddenly indisposed too! oh! ’twas a mere pretence! his midnight flight from the Castle, and his consternation at hearing, that those perfidious girls were gone, ought to have left me no doubt upon the subject; yet I suspected nothing till the cruel news arrived, that Ida’s fate was as closely connected with Henry’s, as I once had flattered myself to have seen my own. Again I repeat it, I will discuss this subject no longer. My prayers had once the power of soothing Oswald’s vengeance and saving the offender’s life; shall my lamentations excite afresh that sleeping vengeance?—No! I will be silent!—I thank you, dear Oswald, for all your kindness; still love Elizabeth, but strive not to avenge her. _Elizabeth to Oswald._ I doubt whether I act wisely in writing to you so often? a less interesting occupation would conduce more to the tranquillity of my bosom, and such an occupation am I earnestly endeavouring to procure. A visit to the Abbess, for the purpose of renewing my entreaties respecting the annals of Sargans, has exalted my curiosity to the very highest pitch. I am sensible, that anxiety to learn the sufferings of those who have been as unfortunate as myself, alleviates the weight of my own afflictions. The Abbess appeared to be undecided whether she should indulge me with a sight of these writings, which she had already been drawn into an half promise to communicate.