—“Though he is the friend of my parents, my lover’s uncle is not my enemy. He read the letter which I addrest to Henry, and permitted him to obey it. Henry has done so: Henry is here, and says that he is come to save me: but how?—Many a bold resolution presents itself to my thoughts, but all are too desperate to be adopted without advice. Decide for me, my friend; I will follow your judgment implicitly.”— To this, Ida answered—“Fly with your Henry, and take refuge in his uncle’s Castle. In _your_ situation, _I_ would not have hesitated to follow Erwin through the world!”— This reply was not received, till the Count of Torrenburg had been presented to Elizabeth as the man, to whom her hand was destined. The repugnance, with which she listened to his declaration, was too visible to escape his notice; but as her parents gave him the most solemn assurances, that her heart (though not yet disposed in his favour) was still free from any other attachment, he persisted in his addresses. He persuaded himself, that his assiduities must in the end make him master of her affections, if once her hand became his property; and he looked forward with impatience to the nuptial-day, which was already fixed, and at no great distance. Ida’s reply arriving at this critical moment, produced a rejoinder from her friend, which put her in no slight embarrassment; for the greatest part of it was totally unintelligible to her. Of Elizabeth’s former letters she had frequently failed in decyphering the _words_; but in the present epistle, even where she had overcome that difficulty, the _sense_ frequently appeared to her as obscure as ever. —“Ah! my sweet friend! how precious should I esteem your last advice, could I but be certain, that in giving it you were prompted by no motive but affection for Me. You cannot be ignorant, that all mystery is now laid aside; the dreaded bridegroom is arrived; and doubtless _you_ must have been made aware of his intentions, long before my parents thought proper to communicate them to myself. When therefore you counsel me to shun this marriage by flight, can I avoid apprehending lest _interest_.... Ah! forgive me these suspicions, dear Ida! I will not doubt the sincerity of your friendship.—Yet flight is difficult, dangerous, disgraceful; Henry himself is unwilling to resort to this clandestine means of rescue! On the other hand, this hated Bridegroom.... Why do they tell me of his wealth and power? What are they to _me_? What are the domains of Carlsheim, Torrenburg, and Sargans, when balanced against Henry’s heart?—I know not what to do!—Once more, dear Ida! but _once_ more advise me! Lay aside every interested motive, which might prompt your counselling me to flight; assure me, that friendship alone dictates your decision; and then if you still bid me trust my fate to Henry, I will throw myself into his arms, and bid adieu to the Castle of March.... alas! perhaps for ever!”—