arms to him with an affecting expression of trust and angelic love. A demoniacal expression passed over his countenance, and distorted his beautiful features; he pushed her forcibly from him, and disappeared. The push from his hand, still more the horror of this moment, caused Adelaide to fall upon the marble floor. Here she lay, still and pale as a dying person, and seemed to press her hands forcibly upon her breast. I raised her up; I bore her in my arms into her room; I wept over her; I used every endearing expression to her; all in vain. She remained silent, breathed short and quick, holding her hands over her breast, as if she sought to force down some great distress there. I begged the Baroness to go in to Adelaide, and hastened to find Alaric, in order, if possible, to bring him to his senses again, and to draw from him some explanation of the extraordinary scene I had just witnessed. After Alaric had quitted Adelaide, he gave orders at once for his departure, and in a few minutes his carriage was at the door. At this moment the Countess Augusta entered his room hastily and unasked. "I wished to say something to you, Alaric!" said she; and her cheeks glowed; Alaric, when time alleviates your sufferings, when you have forgotten an unworthy love, then think, then remember Augusta's love for you; her true and fervent love! "9 He looked at her in astonishment, and a dark fire was burning in his eye. She went nearer, and extended her hand to him. "Augusta!" said he, going from her with solemn earnestness, "I cannot even thank you. You can never be any thing to me. My life's gladness is gone, I have no more love to give. Farewell! forget me!" In the passage way I met young Otto, who seemed in a highly excited and disturbed state of mind. He asked my advice about what he should do. He was desperate about Count Alaric, whom he called "rascal!" and about whom he talked quite furiously. In the impatience and anxiety I felt to get back to Adelaide, I did not know what better advice to give him than this: "to take himself home at once." LOVE UNTO DEATH. "I sing now, for I die, my fetters leaving, - WHEN I returned to Adelaide, I found the Baroness sitting by her, and occupied in administering to her a quantity of morals and maxims, which might easily make a well person sick, and, therefore, according to homœopathic principles, might make a sick person well. But on my poor Adelaide I could not observe the slightest impression. She lay silent and motionless, and seemed to be suffering much. I hastened to dismiss the Baroness in the politest manner possible; then I sat down quietly by Adelaide, employing myself only with her, and trying to devise some means to induce her to speak, or at least to weep. Ah! it was the first sorrow which had touched this young, this tender heart. It was as yet too little hardened; it seemed as if it would break under the burden. From this situation of death-like stillness, in which Adelaide lay till afternoon, she passed into one of restless agitation. She went from one room into another, and seem And he went away quickly. I met him on the stair-case. I held him back, and asked: "In God's name! tell me what has hap-ed to be looking for something, but without pened ? " He fixed his eyes on a little handkerchief, which belonged to Adelaide, and which I had accidentally taken on my arm with my shawl; he took it from me, and, without answering my questions, hastened away, covering the little handkerchief with kisses. Then I saw the Countess Augusta coming with glowing cheeks from his room. "What has happened?" I asked her, "what does all this signify?" "I scarcely know myself," she answered; "how is Adelaide ?" "Ill. What would the Countess do,what said Count Alaric?" "I do not take it upon myself to give an account of him or his doings! " said the Countess pettishly. At the same moment we heard a carriage roll away. Count Alaric had gone. herself knowing what. My anxiety for her was extreme; I sent to the nearest town for a physician, and mean while followed Adelaide, silently and faithfully, as her shadow. After wandering over the whole house, she went out; I made no opposition, but followed her, merely throwing a shawl over her shoulders. I was glad that she went out, and hoped that motion in the fresh air would produce a change in her feelings. She took the same path by which Alaric went away, and went on constantly quicker and quicker, till she began almost to run. She then went out of the path, moving very irregularly, now walking, now running, through the wild tangled wood. I could scarcely follow her, but her white garments, which fluttered among the trees, showed me her path. For almost an hour, we continued this difficult walking. I had wished to detain Adelaide, but she seemed I remained in the room alone with Adelaide, my heart filled with the most painful forebodings. There lay my white swan, my darling, stretched upon the straw mattress, so beautiful still, but, perhaps, near her death. Would she ever more open those eyes beaming with goodness and joy? That beautiful life of love and music, would it cease to breathe? to suspect my purpose, and, whenever I ap- | but clean room, and there laid her on a straw proached her, she fled from me with the bed. The old woman hastened to the Presiswiftness of a dove. She seemed not to hear dent's residence, to relate what had happened, my call and my entreaties. All at once I saw and to procure the necessary assistance. I her throw herself down upon the ground. I hoped the physician would have come by the sprang towards her, and perceived that she time she got there. had prostrated herself in order to drink from a little silvery spring, which flowed over mossy stones. At the same instant that I stooped down for the purpose of withdrawing her from the dangerous draught, I saw a clear stream of blood rush forth and mingle with the waters of the brook. This came from the lungs of my poor Adelaide. She was seized with a violent hemorrhage, which lasted several minutes, while I was holding her in my arms. She was quite insensible. I was almost in despair. It was late in the evening, and was beginning to grow dark. We were in the midst of a wild forest, no trace of a human habitation was to be seen near us. What course should I take with Adelaide? where find help for her? I had often said to myself, that it was in vain to call upon God for help when in extremity, for that he could not, for the sake of one human being, touch with his divine hand the circumstances whose free play he had once permitted, and could not restrain, without overturning the laws which he had himself written on nature; I had not, therefore, for a long time, offered a prayer for any temporal blessing, but, in this hour of distress, all processes of reasoning were powerless; I followed the heart's immediate instinct, I prayed, — prayed earnestly to God for help for my darling. But all remained quiet around us; only the blood-stained stream flowed on, and the cross-bill pecked now and then the pine-trees, which had fallen to the earth; occasionally there was a nestling among the bushes, and at a distance I heard the sound of a hunter's horn. Adelaide lay with closed eyes, still, deadly pale, and bleeding; I thought her last hour had come. I called out loudly several times, but was only answered by the echo. Then I prayed silently and with tears, and a note of deliverance came to my ear. It was the sound of a little cow-bell, with the voice of a woman who was driving the cow. "Go on, my cossel! see there! what will you have now? Will you go right on?" And quickly there stepped out from the bushes an old woman, and a cow, which stood still, frightened and lowing at the sight of us. I called out to the terrified woman, told her in haste what had happened, and begged her for help. Her habitation was not far off, and she helped me to carry Adelaide thither. Adelaide had ceased to bleed, but she lay in a death-like swoon. The cow followed us, gently lowing. About a hundred paces from the spring, just at the end of the wood, we found the little cottage. We carried Adelaide into the narrow, dark, I was sitting shedding bitter tears over Adelaide, when she opened her eyes a little, and said with a feeble voice, "Give me something to drink!" I looked around the room; but there was nothing in it with which I could refresh her. I dared not leave Adelaide long enough to go to the brook, nor could I have ventured to give her that cold water to drink. I was in the greatest distress. At this moment the cow lowed gently just outside the house, and rubbed her nose against the window. Beyond measure delighted at thus being reminded of the cow, I went out of the room in an instant, and milked her, which permitted me to do so, though not, as it seemed, without some dissatisfaction at the unaccustomed hands. I returned to Adelaide, poured some milk into a little cup, and put the mild draught to her lips. She drank eagerly. "Ah! that was beautiful, that was very good!" said she, while I laid her head back gently on the couch. She looked up, fixed her eye upon me clearly and affectionately, and held out her hand. "It is better now!" said she. - "Alas! it was dreadful! Such a pain here," she laid her hand upon her breast, "I was nearly suffocated, but I could not die. Now it is better. Forgive me! I have certainly caused you a great deal of uneasiness, forgive me ! "Do not talk now!" I said earnestly, covering her hand with kisses and tears of joy, "do not talk now; be still and quiet, for God's sake, for my sake, for the sake of all who love you, - and all shall yet be well!" She made a motion of the head as if in contradiction of this. An expression of distress came over her face, and her tears began to flow. I was glad of this, I hoped it would bring relief. The little but in which we now were was about a mile from the estate, and nearly an hour passed, before people came to us from there. The deepest distress at Adelaide's situation was imprinted on the faces of all who came to us. The Countess Augusta, they said, had been taken ill. The physician had not yet arrived from the town. Adelaide seemed too weak to be taken away; I feared that moving her would cause another hemorrhage; she herself wished to remain quiet during the night. I determined, therefore, that it should be so, and only sent to the house for clothes, and a few medicaments for our use, till the physician should come from B., keeping with me only a young girl to assist me in watching by Adelaide. Meantime I employed myself in washing the blood from Adelaide's face, neck, and hands, and in putting other clothes upon her. She was all the time still, gentle, and sad. Late in the evening came the information that the physician had gone out of town when we sent for him; he was not expected in B. till the next day. I was much troubled at this, and after the old woman and the girl had gone to sleep in another small room, I sat down by Adelaide's bed, and remained there quietly the whole night. I occasionally put chips and faggots on the fire, whose genial blaze lighted the little room. - not The night was stormy, and rain fell in torrents against the windows; the owls uttered their strange, gloomy hootings; but the composing medicines which I had given to Adelaide procured for her deep, though disturbed slumbers. Dark phantoms occupied her, and she threw her arms hither and thither. "They go to the wrong place with the funeral car," said she; "show them this way! In the church at A. lie my mother and my little brother, there will I lie too, in the walled tomb! I will not be put there. No, lay the under God's free heaven, let the sun shine upon my grave, let flowers blossom there!" She went on thus for some time, to my inexpressible distress, by degrees, however, she became more tranquil, and slept quietly until the morning clock struck six, when she sprang up hastily, with the words, "Air! I stifle!" I opened the door immediately, and the fresh morning air streamed in. Adelaide inhaled it eagerly. Her strength seemed to be a little restored. garments on her, and led her out of the room. We sat down upon the threshold of the door, and breathed in the pure and uncommonly mild September air. The cottage was situated on a little rising ground at the end of the wood. A large field was stretched out before us, which was surrounded by fir-trees; paths crossed each other in different directions through the fields and meadows. It had stormed and rained through the whole night, but the storm had now entirely ceased, and each little pool of water in the paths had become a clear mirror of the sky, in which the brightening blue and the lingering clouds seemed to repose. Small yellow flowers were waving before us in the morning breeze, on their slender stalks, and swarms of little insects rose up from the dewy grass, as if for the mere purpose of singing and dancing. The falcon hovered in wide circles over the field, striking the clouds with his bold wings, while small birds in the yellow birch-trees near us twittered in careless gayety. The sun did not shine, but there was a mild light over the plain more beautiful than sunshine,—and along the dark green border of the wood there arose from the white chimneys of the houses small columns of bluish smoke, which were slowly borne away in the serene atmosphere. The cheerful voices of men and animals were heard all around us. "What life!" said Adelaide, looking around her with an eye which began again to beam brightly, -"how beautiful is the earth! Ah! if we could be truly good, truly self-devoted, then sorrow would not be so bitter, it would not hinder us from gratefully enjoying the good things which God has given us. Emma! why should my sorrow prevent me from being glad of all the glory which I now see? All these voices which we hear around us, which testify to joyful and glad existence, why cannot I rejoice in their joy? Do you see all those small columns of smoke rising towards heaven?" and she pointed with her finger to the different places from which they were rising. "Do they not speak of pleasant homes, of housewifely cares," and a tear flowed down her cheek, "of mothers and children, who are coming together for their breakfast? Are they not like thank-offerings, which are sent up from the children of I fell on my knees by her bed. With deep earth to a benignant heaven? why cansolemnity, with affecting earnestness, did not I raise my soul to thank God for the joys Adelaide pray, for all the suffering, for all the of others, though I myself suffer? How sick, for her father, her sisters, at last she selfish is man, Emma, or rather how selfprayed for Alaric with the heart-felt earnest-ish am I,—to feel so little for others! I ness of love. She was still praying, when could weep over myself!" "Emma!" said she, "I have not prayed, neither yesterday nor to-day. O God, forgive me, that I have forgotten thee! Emma, I was so wrong. We should not, on account of our sorrows, forget God. But I have been so ill. Now my mind is clear again. Come, let us pray!" she fell back exhausted on the bed; after "Good, sweet, loving Adelaide!" was all which she slept for an hour quietly and well. | I could say. Then she awoke, apparently strengthened, and said, “I want to see the sky, and to breathe the fresh air, it will do me good. Let us go out, I am strong now." I put warm "Ah, Emma! "she began again, “I have not been good. I have been proud, frivolous, vain. Was I not vain ?" I did not answer, for I could not say no. "Yes, I have certainly been vain, and with so little cause. God forgive me for it! And Alaric could not love me. I am so full of faults, he is so superior "Not superior," said I, with the dissatisfaction I felt in thinking of him," he was very unkind, — yes, hard and cruel towards you." "Not a word against him!" entreated Adelaide with solemn earnestness. "I will, I must trust in him, he has condemned me, I must have deserved it. I will confide in him and in his excellence, if he cease to love me, it must be wholly my fault,-ah! he cannot see my heart, else he would forgive me, for the sake of my love. God will forgive me, and to him I will go." I was astonished in the highest degree at this declaration, yet I dared not to ask an explanation, for fear that it might excite Adelaide still more. I contented myself with assuring her in the most earnest manner, that Alaric loved her, and no one else. I told her of the little circumstance which took place on the stair-case, as he was going away. "Alas! alas!" said Adelaide, "give me no hope, it is cruel to lose it again! Say nothing, Emma, ah, I know all now, know too well, only too well, how it is." I was prevented from answering by the arrival of the physician; he was followed by servants bringing with them a convenient bed upon a litter; Adelaide was placed upon it, and carried home with the utmost care and tenderness. The journey was made slowly, and without accident. Adelaide played cheerfully with the flowers which I gathered for her on the way; she was still and gentle. As soon as we had reached home, and I saw Adelaide in her room, and on her bed, I went to write a letter to the President, in which I gave him an account, by the advice of the doctor, of his daughter's illness. As I was returning to Adelaide, I overheard talking in her room. I stood at the half-opened door, and saw Adelaide sitting half upright in her bed with her hands folded, and her eyes full of entreaty, talking earnestly to the Countess Augusta, who was sitting by her bed: "Tell me, tell me," she entreated, "if all was true that you told me yesterday. I conjure you, in the name of God, and of all that is holy, Augusta, to tell me the truth! O Augusta! I have, perhaps, not much longer to live, Alaric can be thine, when I am no longer on the earth, but now, from pity, tell me the truth. Has he said that he loved you, that he loved me no more?" No answer came from the lips of the Countess Augusta. 66 Augusta, do not be cruel," the supplicating Adelaide continued; "if you only knew how easy it would be for me to quit the world, if I were only certain that he did not despise me! Augusta, I will promise not to take a step to unite him again to me, I cannot do it, now that he has gone away from me. But tell me that he loved me, although he thought me weak. Give this heaven to my heart, Augusta, best Augusta, even upon the earth!" The Countess Augusta was still silent. She turned round a little, so that I saw the side of her face. A violent struggle was depicted on it. - "Do you believe," began again Adelaide's faint but sweet voice, “do you think that 1 shall be angry with you, because you have deceived me, because you have alienated Alaric's heart from me? Ah! do not think so, Augusta. You love him, and this explains, this excuses all. With all my heart, Augusta, I forgive you the suffering you have caused me. You are impatient, you want to go, Augusta, stay a moment! - do not think that I withhold my forgiveness, that I would attach any condition to it, — no, now, now, if you do not say a word to give me peace, yet will I give it to thee. Augusta, if thou shouldst ever have a bitter hour on earth, if thou shouldst regret, " here she raised herself up, and stretched out her arms to her sister, Augusta came nearer, "then remember that Adelaide has forgiven thee." She attempted to put her arms around her sister's neck, but sank back fainting on her bed. - The Countess hastened away from Adelaide, but I took her arm in the ante-chamber and held her, while I said: "Countess! I have heard Adelaide's entreaties, and now I understand the whole. I shall write instantly to Alaric, if you do not determine immediately to make an honest confession both to him and to Adelaide, which shall repair all the mischief you have done." She stammered a few unintelligible words, got her arm free, and hastened away. Half an hour afterwards her carriage was rolling over the court-yard. This conversation with her sister had much shaken Adelaide, and another hemorrhage was the consequence. This was so powerful, lasted so long, and left the patient so weak, that the physician declared that a new attack would certainly be fatal, and that he could not answer for the consequences of the present. The news of this spread the deepest sorrow over the house; and every word, every look, declared how deeply Adelaide was loved by all. When, after a sort sleep, she awoke refreshed, she read care and anxiety on the faces of all around her. She beckoned to me to come to her, and asked me to tell her truly what the physician had said of her case. I repeated to her what the doctor had said, but could not restrain my tears. "I shall die, then!" said she, her counte nance radiant with joy; "ah, God be praised! | tained by this means made a permanent fund Do not weep, my Emma, I am happy!" and for the use of these small pensioners. I was she wiped away my tears. "Now I may led at this time, as I had often been before, again wish to see him! Now it cannot in- to remark how much good may be accomfringe any law of society for me to ask for plished with small means, if these are made him? It is death,- Emma, must not every use of with hearty good-will, intelligent conthing give place to death? O! now I can sideration, and zeal. yet once more see him, can tell him how infinitely I love him; — may, perhaps, die upon his heart. Write to him, my best Emma. Ah, it is death which shall unite us!" I wrote immediately, and sent the letter to his estate, where I supposed he had gone. I explained to Adelaide my suspicions of the Countess Augusta, and wanted to point out to her how this unlucky misunderstanding had probably arisen; but Adelaide interrupted me: Towards the evening of the next day, Adelaide became melancholy, and wept a good deal. After a while she was more tranquil, and asked for her guitar. She sat up, struck a few notes, and began to sing. "She must not sing!" said the physician, who came in now from the other room. She looked at him with a serious, but rather determined air, saying, "The doctor must not forbid what gives me pleasure. It does me no harm!" and she went on singing. I begged her to desist. "Do not deny me what I wish!" said Adelaide, with some impatience. 66 Why should I not sing?" she proceeded with a glistening tear in her eye, "do not swans sing in their dying hour,-I am dying, I may sing, then!" "Say nothing now! My mind is not now clear, I cannot rightly understand, I scarcely know at present how it all is. But of what consequence is all this now?" she added with a bright smile,-"I shall soon die, I shall first see him again, he shall read in my heart. He will see there so much love, that he will love me for the sake of it. All will then be clear, all will be right between us, I have no doubt of it, I feel it. - Ah! I" am so glad, Emma! All is so easy, so beautiful; God is gracious to me!" - The physician forbade Adelaide to talk so much. She asked to see her little sisters, and promised to be silent. The little ones came in much astonished, a little afraid, and very curious. They crept up on to their sister's bed, and sat down at her side. They had been told that they must not speak; they did not understand their sister's danger; but when they saw her looking so pale, they began to cry. She embraced them tenderly, and played with their light curls. They kissed her white hands. It was a lovely and touching picture. The whole night, and the next day, Adelaide remained in the same quiet, happy state, but she had no sleep. She spoke of death, and of what would follow it, with joy. All the images of her fancy were happy and bright. It might be said that she rested in her Heavenly Father's arms, and that, secure in his love, she had quietly and cheerfully left to him the disposal of her fate; she wished only to bid farewell to one friend, and then to fall gently asleep. During this interval Adelaide occupied herself with arranging her small worldly affairs. No millionnaire could make his will with more deliberation. Here there were the old and sick, to whom she left something certain, yearly, during their lives, there, children, whom she kept at school, &c., &c. Adelaide had been accustomed to provide for these from her pocket-money, and she wished now, that, after her death, her clothes and little ornaments should be sold, and the money ob And she sang: "I sing now, for I die, my fetters leaving; We did not attempt to oppose her any more. The physician had sat down, and was wiping the tears from his eyes. Adelaide went on singing. Her voice became constantly more steady and more melodious; her eye continually more brilliant. I looked at her with astonishment and admiration. The statue-like perfection of her features was more than ever remarkable at this moment, when her face was white as marble, when a beautiful illumination was diffused over it,— and, while she gave herself up so entirely to the music, her devout, earnest eyes seemed already to be fixed on the home of the blessed. I almost feared that her spirit would depart during this death-song, which became now fainter and more interrupted. "O God!" I silently prayed, “let me follow her!" A rumbling was heard in the court-yard. A carriage drove up with thundering speed, and stopped at the door. The guitar fell from Adelaide's hands. "It is he! it is he!" she exclaimed; a transient suffusion passed over her cheeks, after which she turned pale, and sunk back. I left her in the physician's care, and went out to in 490412 |