On the fourth day she was already declared to be convalescent; and it was announced to her, that the Commander of the Bishop of Coira’s forces, which had, conquered the Castle, requested an audience of her. She consented to receive him, and shortly after a young man of prepossessing appearance entered the room. —“Noble Lady,” said he, “though you are the wife of the cruel owner of this fortress, we are well aware, that you are not a partner in his crimes. His people are some of them slain; others have betaken themselves to flight; and it is in vain, that we have endeavoured to find the place of his concealment. Your pointing out the door into the vaults has not been sufficient; he cannot have made his escape through that passage, since the falling-in of the roof has rendered it impracticable; and had he in his flight been overtaken by the vengeance of Heaven, how could _you_ have avoided the sharing his fate? Be frank with us, noble Lady; I conjure you in the name of humanity, tell us, where he is concealed, and depend on our dealing better with him, than he has been accustomed to deal with others.”— Helen mustered up all her strength, and endeavoured to relate the circumstances of her escape: but anxiety to be as brief as possible, and her endeavours to conceal Donat’s ill-usage of her, (which she thought, duty to her husband forbade her revealing,) rendered every thing she said obscure and improbable. She mentioned the earthquake, and to prove it showed the bruises and wounds, which it had occasioned her. The stranger, however, assured her, that she must have received them in some other manner, for that no one in the Castle had perceived the slightest symptoms of an earthquake. Helen, however, endeavoured to establish her assertion; and while recalling the various circumstances which had passed in the caverns, she suddenly recollected the groans, which had struck her hearing. She earnestly entreated, that the heap of rubbish might be examined; she was obeyed; the stones were removed, and beneath them was discovered the shattered and lifeless form of the Count of Carlsheim. It was now the general opinion, that the violence which Donat had used in forcing open the dungeon-door, had shattered the rotten cavern, had made the supports crack, and had brought down the roof, whose fall had involved in it his own destruction.