This “simple good kind of man,” as Elizabeth called him, the pious Father Hilarius, was perfectly astonished at the diligence, with which Ida now prosecuted her studies under his direction. Hitherto he had found her a very inattentive pupil, and as long as his lessons lasted, Ida was accustomed to yawn without intermission: on a sudden she was seized with the greatest fondness for that, which hitherto had inspired her with nothing but disgust: she even requested, that an additional hour’s instruction might be allowed her every day; and as Father Hilarius was not _quite_ so simple as the girls had imagined, he concluded, that there must be some secret cause for this unexpected love of literature. An epistolary intercourse, arising from some love-affair, naturally suggested itself to his mind; and he determined to watch with the eyes of an Argus, whether he could not make some discovery to the prejudice of his detested pupil. Ida soon received a pressing invitation to visit Elizabeth; the Count’s permission was requested; but as he was now on the point of declaring himself, and conceived that the presence of his lineal heiress could by no means be advantageous to his suit, that permission was refused. Elizabeth therefore had recourse to her pen, and Ida soon received the following letter. —“I told you, that I had every reason to think that he loved me: alas! I fear, that I deceived myself. He knows my situation; knows, how I am persecuted; and yet he offers no friendly advice for my relief, nay even seems to decline every opportunity of visiting the Castle. He is at present with his uncle, who is too closely connected with my parents to favour an attachment, which would disappoint their views. Perhaps, he even insists upon Henry’s giving up every thought of me!—The bridegroom of my father’s choice has not yet revealed himself: I am still ignorant of all, except that he is rich, powerful, and _old_; but I am threatened with his speedy arrival, and have been assured, that the day in which I am presented to him, shall be that of my nuptials.—Write to me, dear Ida, and say, what course I should follow: the danger is urgent.”— The messenger, who brought this letter, waited for an answer: it was with infinite difficulty, that Ida contrived to scrawl the following words. —“Write to your Henry: if he loves you, he will hasten to your relief.”— Several letters followed the foregoing; though Ida was frequently unable to decypher whole sentences of Elizabeth’s, and Elizabeth was sometimes completely at a loss to guess the meaning of Ida’s pot-hooks. But the next letter of any consequence ran as follows—