Oh! that I could paint to you in colours sufficiently vivid the scenes, which followed my perusal of your manuscript!—the Abbess is ill.... I fear ill unto death!—I flew to her sick bed, and with the enthusiasm of my sensations forced her back from contemplating the fields of blessedness, to which she is already so near, that she needs but to close her eyes in order to behold the reflection of their glories! She smiled at what I said to her, and which must have appeared to her so trifling, so unworthy of a thought, when compared with those images by which her mind had just been occupied.—Her words inscribed themselves upon my heart in characters of flame: you will soon be informed of their effects. Constantia was summoned—the Abbess joined our hands; we sank upon each other’s bosom. No explanation was necessary; no one spoke a word; we understood _her_ ... we understood ourselves. —“Now then,” said the invalid in a soft faltering voice, which seemed a middle tone between a mortal’s and a spirit’s: “now then nothing is wanting ... but the presence of Ida!”— —“Of Ida,” I repeated, “and of her Henry!”— And Henry came; came the next morning, as you had assured me that he would, and for that purpose which you mentioned. He has vindicated my cause like an hero, and has fully established my authority and my rights: he has knelt at my feet; he has offered me his hand. He has named love as the reward of his services, and has obtained the boon: how could I refuse the reward of love to the most pure, the most tender, the most unfortunate of lovers? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _Constantia, Countess of Werdenberg, to Abbot Conrad._ Elizabeth’s letter must already have apprized you, my kind protector, of the favourable change, which has taken place in the situation of your wards. Count Henry has been here, and is again departed. He came by Ida’s command to offer his hand to Elizabeth: he is returned at Elizabeth’s desire to salute her rival as joint-heiress with myself of the rich domains of Torrenburg. —“I do no more than my duty,” said Elizabeth, when Henry endeavoured to express his gratitude. “Your heart belongs to Ida, and never _ought_ to be another’s, therefore never _can_ be mine. As to Count Frederick’s inheritance, demand of this venerable man, whose claim to it is the most just; that of Elizabeth, or of the Damsels of Werdenberg.”— As she spoke, the door opened, and a silver-haired stranger entered the apartment. It was the Sage of Zurich, the well-known Albert Reding, to whom Elizabeth had referred her disputed claims, previous to your unveiling the truth of our history, and removing her prejudices against us. Yes, Conrad, yes! even had she still continued to abhor us, so sure as I have life, Elizabeth would still have acted by us with justice!