—“Let not that trouble you, my dear friend,” answered Amabel, while she advanced a few paces, trembling with apprehension; “while I resided in the Castle of Sargans, Count Donat frequently found himself unwell from a similar indulgence in convivial pleasures; but he soon got the better of his indisposition by using a warm bath, which never failed to restore him to perfect health within an hour. In the next chamber there is a large brazen cistern; the water shall be heated for you without delay, and as soon as your bath is ready, I will call some of your attendants to convey you thither.”— Without waiting for his answer, she hastened to her new occupation; she soon returned with one pitcher of water, then went back again for another, and thus contrived to get rid of near an hour, never failing as she passed the balcony to cast from it a glance of enquiry, whether there were yet no signs of her deliverer. It was in vain, that Wolfenrad desired her to call some of the servants to spare her this unnecessary labour. Amabel remonstrated against the impropriety of suffering herself to be seen by strangers in his apartment, and at the same time protested, that she felt the greatest pleasure in taking this trouble, since it was for _him_ that she took it. Wolfenrad knew not how to find terms sufficiently strong to express his gratitude for her attention, and protested, that he had not flattered himself with the idea of possessing so warm an interest in her heart. He was still expatiating on the satisfaction which this agreeable discovery gave him, when the sound of trampling at a distance struck her hearing. She looked towards the window, and descried a cloud of dust. Down fell the pitcher from her hand. —“Your bath is ready!” she said in a voice scarcely audible from agitation; and while Wolfenrad staggered into the adjoining chamber, she hastened into the balcony. The horsemen came nearer; she recognized many countenances well known to her; she recognized among them that of Edmund Bloomberg. His name pronounced in her loudest tone, the cry of “Help for the Virgin’s sake!” and her handkerchief waved in the air towards the horsemen, soon attracted their attention. With equal surprise and terror Bloomberg recognized his wife at a balcony of the Castle, heard her implore assistance, and flew with his brave companions to afford it. What followed, I shall relate briefly: the narrative of this adventure may appear already too circumstantial, since its connexion with the Sisters of Sargans is not at present evident; but it had too material an influence upon the fate of all Helvetia to admit of my passing it over with a slight mention.