It was a round vaulted room, whose sides were hollowed out into niches, in each of which a coffin was placed; while here and there the eye rested on a stately marble monument adorned with carved work and statues.—Ida shrieked, and the taper fell from her hand. —“Now then,” she exclaimed, “I am lost indeed! What said the Monk?—Above all, avoid a narrow passage, which lies towards the left; it conducts into the burying-place of a convent. Should you stray thither, and be discovered by the Nuns, the object of your flight will be lost irrecoverably, and you will only have exchanged one prison for another. The Abbess is entirely devoted to your uncle’s interests, and will not hesitate to restore you to his power.—Alas! alas!” she continued, wringing her hands, “how plainly do I now remember every word of his warning, though at the time I little thought of how much consequence it was to my safety!—Now remembrance comes too late! I am fallen into the toils: speedy flight indeed might perhaps yet save me; but sleep sits too heavy on my eye-lids, and my wearied limbs are unable to bear me further.—I must yield to the impulse, and repose for a few moments, for I am fatigued almost unto death!—then should no one discover me during my slumbers, when I awake, I can re-kindle my taper at yonder lamp, and shall be able to pursue my pilgrimage with recruited strength and courage.”— She then lay down upon the floor near her extinguished taper, resting her head against an adjacent tomb; nor was it long before she sank into a profound sleep. Little till then did Ida believe it possible, that she could sleep among graves and coffins! Still less was she aware, how near she was at that moment to safety and protection! Oh! how would her sorrowing heart have been lightened, had she known, that a few hours must necessarily compel one of her best friends to enter her gloomy resting-place; one, who at that moment was grieving at the relation of her flight from the Castle of Torrenburg, which had reached him under the most scandalous mis-representations, and who was in the most painful uncertainty respecting her fate and the means of saving and supporting her. Ida had unconsciously wandered into the cemetery belonging to the Abbey of Curwald, which was under the direction of her friend and guardian, Abbot Conrad!—Oh! how eagerly would he have hastened to embrace and comfort the poor forlorn-one, could some kind angel have whispered to him in a dream.—“Ida, the unfortunate much-injured Ida slumbers among the mouldering bones of the Abbots of Cloister-Curwald!”—