And now the Sisters wept for joy to think, that they were once more united; and now they wept for grief at reflecting, that this union had only made each a partner in the other’s captivity. At length having sufficiently collected their scattered thoughts, they made mutual enquiries as to the events, which had produced a meeting so unexpected. Ida related the long and fearful tale of adventures, which had so rapidly crouded upon her since Elizabeth’s wedding: on the other hand, Constantia briefly stated, that on her way back to her Convent at Zurich, her party had been encountered by a band of robbers: the Cloister-Vassals, whom the Abbess had sent to protect her, were soon put to flight; and thus was she brought into the hands of Gero, whom she had the misfortune to inspire with so violent a passion, that he purchased her from his companions with his share of the booty arising from the whole produce of their excursion. The night past away in mutual congratulations on this meeting so unexpected; and when morning broke, they recollected, that their plans for the future were still unarranged. They had now only time to settle, that as the knowledge of Ida’s rank had only served to make the robbers consider her possession as of double value, it would be most prudent to conceal Constantia’s real title; and accordingly she resolved to resume her former appellation of Mary Tell, an appellation under which she had past the only happy part of her existence. When Randolf the next morning inquired of Ida, what she thought of the fair Nun, she replied, that her society was extremely pleasing, and would be much more so, were it not for a certain coldness and reserve, which probably would wear off upon further acquaintance. In a few days she informed Gero, that she had discovered the name of his mistress to be Mary Tell; and thus did Constantia avoid the dangerous importance attached to the title of a Countess of Werdenberg. By her sister’s advice, she abated somewhat of the haughty coldness, with which she had hitherto represt the addresses of her ferocious lover; though they both judged it unwise for her to comply with his request, that she should lay aside her religious habit. This had hitherto been the means of protecting her against more violent means of enforcing his passion; and they were of opinion, that too many restraints could not well be imposed upon an affection so ill-regulated as the sentiment, which Gero dignified with the name of love. However, gentle looks and expressions of gratitude for his attentions were not occasionally refused by Constantia: Gero had been so little accustomed to be thus mildly treated by her, that even these trifling condescensions appeared to him of inestimable value; and when in return for his assurances of future respect, she one day deigned to extend towards him her alabaster hand, the robber was so transported, that he took the first opportunity of