Buried in these melancholy reflections, she heard not the door unlocked, by which her apartments communicated with the public gallery.—At length a hand gently removed the handkerchief, with which she had covered her face. She looked up, and beheld Father Hilarius. —“Alas! my dear child,” said the Friar, “what avails your weeping?—believe me, your affairs are not in so ill a state, as you may imagine; though I cannot but confess, that appearances are greatly against you. Your secret correspondence with Elizabeth has been intercepted: I have tried in vain to convince your guardian, that you were ignorant of his having any concern in the affair. Then he looks on your presence at the marriage, as a personal and designed affront. It appears indeed from one of her letters, that your friend herself was in great doubt, whether you would accept her invitation. At the very time of her giving it, she pointed out the inconveniences of your coming; she warned you, that you would incur your uncle’s anger.... And yet in defiance of this warning, you went!—As to the confusion, which your presence produced at the wedding, of that we can make out nothing; you either _will_ not, or _can_ not explain the mystery; one thing only I can collect from your account, which is, that you have made a number of enemies there, who will spare no pains to injure you, and to prevent your innocence from being made clear to the Count.—For that you _are_ innocent, I have no manner of doubt; and I will venture to assert, that in process of time.... But time indeed, Heaven help us! that is exactly what is refused you—the punishment of your supposed offences will be immediate! the old Count of Montfort arrived here not an hour ago; and your guardian is determined, that to-morrow shall decide the destiny of your future life. Of your guilt he is thoroughly persuaded, and you will be compelled to-morrow to give your hand to Count Egbert, if he will condescend to accept it; or if the old man thinks that your conduct has now made you unworthy of such an honour, you will be immediately confined for life in the Convent of the Grey Penitents near Count Frederick’s Thuringian Castle.”— —“And what then must be done?” cried Ida, wringing her hands in fear and agony.—“How can I escape so dreadful a destiny?”— —“Escape?” repeated the Monk.—“Ha! right! right! my dear child, it was surely Heaven, that inspired you with the thought!—Yes! you must escape; you must fly from the Castle of Torrenburg!”— —“Escape? fly?”—repeated the bewildered Ida; “and whither must I go?”— “To a retreat,” replied the Monk, “where you may wait in security, till your uncle’s resentment is appeased, and your innocence can be made clear to him.—But you shall know more, as we go along. I know a secret passage, by which you may quit the Castle unobserved. Follow me, for you have not a moment to lose!—Nay, come, come! away!”—