“As the two counts have gone away, you have no longer any pretext for coming here openly. I did not think the thing was possible otherwise. I am opposed to your coming disguised: it is too dangerous, and, as you say, it might ruin us for ever. Do you think that if I had been able to find some way of seeing you I should have waited for you to ask me how? I should have taken advantage of it long since, and not have pined like this. Do not dream of coming here without my knowledge; it would be a miracle if you escaped, and there are no miracles in the time we live. You seem displeased because I don’t tell you positively about my return. You are absolutely master of my movements, and if you read my letters carefully you will see what I mean. I can quite understand it would not be pleasant for you that I should be lodged so near Max; and therefore I am compelled, in spite of my longing to see you, to stay here. You suspect no end of things; you imagine that if I had a real wish I could find no end of pretexts to come. I thought you would be satisfied with my delicacy about Max. It seemed to me that if you could have induced him to come here, I could seize the advantage by starting the very day he left Hanover. But do you decide, and do not think that any reason or consideration whatever will prevent me from coming to you. I will wait for your answer that I may do as you wish; but, for goodness’ sake! make it so clear and straightforward that I shall not misunderstand.” [Illustration: THE ELECTOR ERNEST AUGUSTUS OF HANOVER. _From an old print in the British Museum._ ] “[CELLE,] _Monday, July_ 17/27. “I do not think you will stay long enough in Hanover for me to see you there. My father is in great trouble. The Danes are advancing, and have everything necessary to cross the Elbe. That will put me at a greater distance from you. Everything combines to make me despair. I dare not, in the state matters are, press my father about my affairs, for if the war turns out badly things will go hard with him. “The beginning of your letter is charming. You assure me you will risk your life to see me. How can I show you my gratitude for all your tenderness? But perhaps you no longer feel like this, and your love has gone. If that be so, I wish for death! Without your love what have I to do with life? It would only trouble me, since it is for you I wish to live. I wrote to you yesterday all that you wish to know; that is why I say no more. Your answer will govern my movements; I may possibly get it to-morrow night very late. I am sure the week will not pass without your having to march; everything they say makes me think so. In case that should be, and I may not be able to go to you, I will point out what you are to do to see me here.” “_Twelve at Midnight._