Count Donat’s widow lived in tranquil seclusion at Zurich in the society of the Countess Urania; and their prayers were frequently offered up for the success of the honest Helvetians. They rejoiced to hear of their victories, of Amalberga’s rescue, and of her union with the Count of Torrenburg. But Helen did not wish to be herself a spectatress of their felicity; nor (when shortly after their marriage the happy pair visited her to express their mutual gratitude) could she be prevailed upon to pass more than one hour in their society; and many, many of the succeeding days were for her days of anguish. Poor Helen was but a weak mortal, no saint, no angel: and alas! to _forget_ is a task not so easy, as some may think! Yet in recompence for her past sorrows Heaven had still reserved one pleasure for her future life. Oh! Blessed Virgin, what a pleasure was that! what a surprise! what an unexpected re-union!—But let me proceed regularly. The good Domina of Zurich was dead; the Princess Euphemia had already been appointed Abbess of Tull, and therefore could not accept the vacant dignity. No persuasion could induce Urania, at her advanced age, to fill so laborious a situation, and the lot now fell upon Count Donat’s widow. She obeyed the general voice, and was well-pleased to have a means for exerting benevolence in a more extended circle. She became (what I say of her ought not to be counted to her as a merit, since she did but her duty) she became the mother of the opprest; and the man, who intrusted to her a daughter, a sister, or a mistress, knew, that she could be no where safer than in her arms. This was universally known; and many a knight, before he set out on some distant expedition, secured under her protection those treasures, which he valued dearer than all others, which the world contained. One day a knight requested an audience of her: as soon as she saw him, it struck her, that his features were not altogether unknown to her. —“Sir Knight,” said she, “it appears to me, that we have met before.”— —“You say truly, holy mother,” answered he; “it was I, who by the Bishop of Coira’s command took the Castle of Sargans by storm, and afterwards conducted you to this Convent. Methinks, you placed but little confidence in me on that occasion, though perhaps it would have been for your advantage, had you shown more: but its true, you knew not my name; knew not, that never had any one reason to repent the trust, which he reposed in Herman of Werdenberg. I will not follow your example; I am now preparing to reveal to you my dearest secrets, and solicit you to become the guardian of my most precious treasure. Grief of heart some time ago drove me from my native land: my uncle’s death necessitated my return; and being once more in Germany, I suffered myself to be persuaded to remain there: nay, under a borrowed name I consented to act as the knight-protector of the new Bishop’s subjects, and to become the assertor of his rights and privileges.