Count Donat held out to her as a mark of his complaisance and of his consideration for her happiness, that he had ordered the only one of his daughters who remained to him (for the other had unaccountably disappeared) to quit the Castle. In vain did Helen implore him to recall Emmeline of Sargans from the Sanctuary of St. Roswitha: he was deaf to her entreaties, and she was left a prey to solitude and despair. Nor had the husband, who had gained her hand by such unworthy means, reason to be entirely satisfied with his situation. The Counts of Torrenburg, Mayenfield, and Homburg, mortally offended at the carrying off of Helen, like a deluge over-ran with their forces the territories of Count Donat. His fortresses were forced and plundered one after another, and they now advanced to attack the Castle of Sargans. But Helen, whose only remaining consolation was derived from the most punctilious discharge of her duties, came forth to throw herself at the feet of her relations; and she implored for peace so fervently and so earnestly, and she asserted with so much solemnity her belief, that being once become the Count of Carlsheim’s wife, it was her duty to live and die with him, (a duty, which she was resolved to fulfill, whatever might be the consequences,) that her intercession was found irresistible. Dearly was Helen beloved by her parents; earnestly did they desire her happiness, which they well knew she never could find in the arms of Donat: but it was by themselves, that she had been taught the merit of sacrificing all other considerations to that of fulfilling her duties; how then could they advise her now to break through the rules, which they had themselves laid down for her?—Peace was granted, and granted solely to Helen’s intercession. The ravisher was left in possession of his unwilling bride; and her relations quitted his territories, having first exacted from him the most solemn and dreadful oath to recompense her for the happy station, of which he had deprived her, by unchanging love and never-ceasing anxiety for her welfare. Donat took the oath: how he kept it, is a secret to all save the Almighty and Helen: but she has sworn in the presence of God to be silent on this subject, and she will carry that dreadful secret with her to the grave unpublished. She was very—oh! _very_ miserable! On those days only, when her stern husband was from home, had she any gleams of sunshine. On one of these days an unknown messenger arrived, and desired to speak with the Lady Emmeline of Sargans. He was informed, that she was not at the Castle, and he was conducted to Helen. He brought letters from the Lake of Thun, which he at length confided to her, though unwillingly, and only (as he said) induced by the frank expression of her countenance. —“But,” said he, “will you deliver them to the Lady Emmeline with your own hands?”—