His confessor was initiated into all these mysteries. Scarcely while he listened to them, could Hilarius restrain his rage within the bounds of decency. He saw all the fond hopes, which he had built upon Frederick’s want of heirs and attachment to the church and its servants, destroyed at one blow; and he gnashed his teeth for spite to think, that it was out of his power to prevent the Count’s benevolent intentions towards his wife from being carried into immediate and complete effect. As for Elizabeth, she was entirely ignorant of those weighty proofs of his affection, which Count Frederick designed for her after his decease. She was equally ignorant of the spite and envy, which this large bequest had excited against her in one of the most malignant of human hearts. She continued to proceed in her straight-forward benevolent course without turning to the right or to the left: she treated her decrepit husband with unabated kindness and attention unwearied; and she denied herself no opportunity of convincing Hilarius, that he was the object of her fixed aversion, and that she was decidedly bent on procuring sooner or later his expulsion from the Castle of Torrenburg. Oh! that she had carried that design into execution before one of the basest attempts, that ever was plotted by a villain’s brain, was ripe enough for action! Yet perhaps the will of Heaven ordained, that this plan should be suffered to ripen, in order that it might effect the overthrow of its guilty author, and exhibit the merits of the noble lady of the Castle in the fullest blaze of all their purity and lustre! Oh! generous Elizabeth! you for whom I write, and for whom I trust, that I have not written in vain! Is it permitted me to relate your own glorious actions to yourself? Yet why do I hesitate?—She, who (I doubt not) while perusing these leaves has not hesitated to bestow many a tear of compassion on the undeserved sorrows, many a tribute of admiration on the heroic patience, many an expression of delight and gratitude at the fortunate escape, of those whom she calls—“_her enemies_,”—surely _she_ need not avert her eyes, while my faithful hand places her before the glass, in which she may behold the reflection of her own excellence! She knows well, that I am no flatterer. I have not concealed from her, that she is proud, rash, not disinclined to resentment for injuries, and obstinate in adhering to her determinations, however inconsiderately those determinations may have been formed. But neither will I conceal, that I know her to be generous, benevolent, courageous, resolute, disinterested; an avowed enemy of vice, however fascinating be the shape which it assumes; an enthusiastic adorer of virtue, however humble be the station which it occupies, however lowly be the habit which it wears. Such is the faint portrait of her, whom future historians will paint in far more brilliant colours; such is the portrait of Elizabeth of Torrenburg!