In the mean while Ida awoke greatly refreshed by a sound sleep of several hours. She re-kindled her taper, and resumed her anxious journey; yet she delayed it for a few moments, while she endeavoured to read the inscriptions on the monuments, and ascertain to what order the Abbess belonged, whom Hilarius had described to her in such odious and terrific colours. These clearly exprest, that the tombs were raised in honour of the former Abbots of Cloister-Curwald, in whose cemetery she was standing at that moment: what blessed information for her agitated heart!—the door was unguarded.—A marble staircase conducted to the interior of the Abbey!—But alas! the inscriptions were composed in the Latin language.—Ida vainly endeavoured to comprehend the meaning; and a few moments sufficing to convince her, that her endeavours must be vain, the poor wanderer turned away from the neighbourhood of her friend, and hastened to meet her ruin. With trembling limbs and an heart almost bursting with anxiety, she pursued her gloomy path. She continued to proceed for a considerable time; and her last taper was almost expiring, when its beams fell upon the object, which she had wished to behold so long and so anxiously. She was now certain of having followed the right path, for she saw at a distance the monument of her progenitrix, the noble Emmeline of Sargans. The polished and shining surface of the white marble reflected from afar the gleam of Ida’s taper—the pilgrim hastened towards it with eager joy, not untempered by religious awe and reverential terror. With scarce-heard foot-fall, as if she dreaded to disturb the dead silence of a place thus sanctified, did Ida ascend the steps leading to this memorial, raised in honour of faithful love and long suffering. It was some minutes, before she could resolve on venturing near enough to examine the statues, with which it was adorned. On one side stood a female angel (the counterpart of the lovely Emmeline) who trod under her feet the symbols of cruelty and voluptuousness, and who extended to a kneeling warrior her right hand, on whose wrist was still fastened part of the chain, which _he_ had broken.—On the opposite side appeared the same warrior, who with looks of gratitude held a ring towards Heaven, probably in allusion to the prophetic dream, which had guided Herman of Werdenberg to the deliverance of his mistress. —“Spirits of my ancestors!” exclaimed Ida, as overpowered by her sensations she sank on the loftiest step, and kist the hallowed marble; “spirits of Herman and Emmeline, hear the prayer of your forsaken persecuted daughter! _I_ suffer now, as _you_ once suffered;—_I_ am innocent, as _you_ were then!—save me, ye blessed-ones! save the heiress of your sorrows!”—