"_Your Majesty_: I write to you from the convent, but I am not a nun. I believe my talent does not lie in that way. But what laws are these that forbid a maiden from taking the eternal vow? Is that freedom? Is it justice? What is it? Your Majesty will, I trust, pardon my agitation. I am writing with convent ink on convent paper, and it is not the first time that such ink and such paper have been used in the service of freedom. "Is it possible that one set of human beings can forbid others to live together in seclusion? "Quacks cannot create life or happiness; should they, therefore, be allowed to forbid unhappiness from effecting its own cure? "Your Majesty's great mind cannot suffer such barbarism, and it is barbarous, although hedged about by culture. "I am aware, Your Majesty, that I have not yet made my meaning clear. I shall endeavor to do so. "I am here in the convent. "Emma, the woman whom I love above all others--I believe I have already spoken of her to Your Majesty--wishes to take the veil. From her point of view, she is in the right. Dogs will go mad, although the dog-tax be paid. A mad dog killed her affianced and she now desires to renounce the world. Who dare prevent it? And yet the law of the state commands that this convent shall die out, and forbids its receiving nuns. "Your Majesty dare not permit this. Your eye takes in all at a glance; your life is the nation's history. You must teach these journeymen to be greater-minded than they now are. They must abolish this law; indeed, they must. "Pardon my language. Your Majesty; but I cannot help myself. I feel as if I were your deputy. I feel that your great mind resents such pettiness as an insult. "I hope to see Your Majesty soon again, and, meanwhile, send my most respectful greetings. "IRMA VON WILDENORT." Without being observed, Irma inclosed the four-petaled clover-leaf with the letter. While Irma sat in the boat that took her back to the shore, she was filled with pride. She felt that she had instigated, if not accomplished, a beautiful and noble act in the service of freedom and was determined that it should be carried out. The old boatman was glad to see her again. He rowed lustily, but did not speak a word. Now and then, he would smile to himself, as if happy in the thought that he was carrying a young soul away from the realm of shadows. In the distance there was a skiff and, in it, a man clad in a green hunting dress. He waved his hat and bowed. Absorbed in thought, Irma was gazing into the lake, when her maid drew her attention to the other boat. Irma started. "Is it not the king?" Thinking that he had not yet been observed, the hunter fired off his gun, the report of which was echoed again and again from the hills. He then waved his hat once more. With trembling hand, Irma waved her white handkerchief as a token of recognition.