When the first shock was past, Richard recovered his resolution, and endeavoured to conceal the agony of his feelings under the veil of seriousness and silence. A splendid entertainment was spread before us, at which none of the holy Sisters appeared; consequently, we were at liberty to communicate our sentiments on what had just past without restraint. ’Twas the most melancholy feast, at which I ever assisted; a feast, which I shall never forget, as long as I possess existence; it seemed to me Elizabeth’s funeral-feast! we soon rose from the table, on which the viands remained untouched, and we prepared for our departure; for we thought it vain to expect admission to the newly-profest Nun, and indeed in our present temper of mind that admission was scarcely to be wished—the Bishop, however, delivered it as his opinion, that propriety required us at least to give Elizabeth the option of seeing us. Accordingly, a message informed her of our approaching departure; her answer was, that she must decline all visits, except those of Constantia and of Richard of Ulmenhorst. They obeyed her orders. Elizabeth received them with joy and tenderness. She doubted not the success of her proposal, and addrest Constantia as the heiress of Richard’s heart: but she was speedily undeceived. Richard declared, in terms so express as left no doubt of his decision, that since Elizabeth was lost to the world, no refuge was left for him but the Cloister; while on the other hand, Constantia confest, that her heart was no longer in her own power. After a long and unavailing discussion, Elizabeth dismist them, whether satisfied or displeased by the firmness of her two dearest friends, it may be difficult to say: but unless I am totally ignorant of the female mind, she could not help being flattered by Richard’s refusal to admit any rival to her in his heart, but God; and probably she was secretly not much incensed against Constantia for having bestowed her affections else-where. Count Oswald, who had been by no means pleased by his sister’s endeavours to unite Richard and Constantia, now felt his hopes revive: he flattered himself, that _he_ was the unknown object of Constantia’s choice; but in this belief he was mistaken. There was a young knight, who had offered her his heart and hand at a time, when she had nothing but a heart and hand to offer in return. Conradin, an ill-portioned brother of the Landgrave of Thuringia, would have loved her, had she been no other than Mary Tell; Conradin had been faithful to Constantia of Werdenberg under all the scorn and obloquy, under which she at one time laboured; and Conradin was now the man, for whom the wealthy Heiress of Sargans rejected every other. _He_ deserved the inestimable treasure of a wife like Constantia; and _she_ was well worthy to be the mistress of a heart, whose tenderness and generosity could only be excelled by her own.