I had but one sister; my mother was the sole superintendent of her education; she thought the feminine mind, so susceptible of impressions, should never be spontaneously consigned to foreign culture. Katherine was worthy of her preceptress. It is not for me to dilate upon her excellence—a portrait by my hand might be deemed the glowing creation of a brother’s fondness. It is enough to mention the strength of our attachment. I was two years her senior; and when her age qualified her for sharing in childish pastimes, she was the welcome partner of all my amusements. I showered into her lap the first flowers of spring, and brought her the wild-strawberry from heights where few would venture. In her friendship, I reposed the confidence of ripening boyhood—frequently were the overflowings of a sanguine temperament repressed by her mildness. With innocent wiles she endeavored to vail my errors from parental eyes; when I did incur displeasure, her accustomed gayety was gone, and the voice that recalled her truant smile, was ever that which pardoned the offender. II. I was entering my twentieth year, when our situation underwent an important change. Our landlord was gathered to his ancestors, having bequeathed his Lombardy estate to his second son, Count Rainer. Engel, the good old steward, was soon after dismissed from office, and retired, with the fruits of faithful service, to his native town in Carniola. Count Rainer was a captain in the imperial army. He was with his regiment at Pavia when informed of his father’s death. Devolving his authority on an emancipated sergeant of hussars, the purveyor of his libertine pleasures, he dispatched him to St. Michael to wring money from the tenantry, and prepare for his reception. Ludolf was a swaggering bravo, emulous, at middle age, of the vices of profligate youth. On his arrival, he circulated a pompous intimation that he came vested with full powers to treat with the vassals of the count, and renew their engagements.