The Princess had not long to wait. The groaning and creaking of the rope ladder already betrayed the presence of its burden. Ludovicka leaned farther out of the window and saw the dark shadow mount higher and higher; already she heard his breath, and now oh, now he was there, swung himself in at the window, and without saying a word, without seeing anything but herself, only herself alone. He fell on his knees before the Princess, flung both arms round her waist, and, looking up at her with a beaming smile, whispered, “I thank you, Ludovicka, I thank you!”

She bent down to him with an expression of unutterable love, and their bright eyes met in a tender glance. They formed a beautiful picture, those two youthful figures combining in so lovely a group. She, bending over him with a look brimful of love, he gazing up at her with animated, radiant eyes. The full light of the wax candles in the silver chandelier illuminated his countenance, and Ludovicka looked down upon him with a smile as blissful as if she had now seen him for the first time.

“You are handsome,” she whispered, softly, while with her white hand she stroked his dark-brown hair, which fell in long waving curls, like the mane of a lion, over both powerful shoulders. “Yes, you are handsome,” she smilingly repeated, and playfully passed her hand over his features, over the lofty, thoughtful brow, the energetic, slightly prominent, aquiline nose, over the full glowing lips, which breathed an ardent kiss upon the hand that glided past.

“Now let me look into your eyes and see what is written in them,” continued Ludovicka, and she stooped lower over the kneeling youth, and looked long into those large, dark-blue eyes, which gazed up at her, lustrous and bright as two twinkling stars.

“Have you read what is in my eyes?” he asked, after a long pause, in which only their glances and their beating hearts had spoken to one another. “Have you read it, my Ludovicka?”

With a charmingly pouting expression she shook her head. “No,” said she sadly, “I can not read it, or perhaps there is nothing in them, or at least nothing for me!”

He jumped up, and, throwing his arms around her neck, leaned his face close against hers, flashed his burning glance deep into her eyes, and in doing so smiled a blissful, childlike smile.

“Now read,” he said, almost imperiously “read and tell me what is in my eyes!”

She slowly shook her head. “There is nothing in them,” she whispered. “But, indeed, how can I know? The Electoral Prince Frederick William is so very learned, and it is only my own fault that I can not read what is in his eyes. It is written in Latin, or perhaps in Greek!”

“No, you mischievous, you cruel one,” cried he impatiently. “You just will not understand and read what is plainly and intelligibly written in my eyes. My heart speaks neither Latin nor Greek, but German, and the eyes are the lips with which the heart speaks.”

“Well then, tell me, Cousin Frederick William, what is in your eyes?”

“I will tell you, Cousin Ludovicka Hollandine. They say: I love you! I love you! And nothing but I love you!”

“But whom? To whom are these three little words addressed?”

“To you, you heartless, you wicked one, to you are these words addressed. But not little words are they, as you say; they are great words, full of meaning: for a world, a whole human life, my whole future, lies in these three words I love you.”

He embraced her and pressed her close to his heart, and Ludovicka leaned her head upon his shoulder and looked up at him with moist and glowing eyes. He nodded smilingly to her, and then took her head between his two hands and gazed long and rapturously upon her beautiful face.

“So I have you at last, and hold you, my golden butterfly,” he said gently. “You are mine at last, and I hold you fast by your transparent wings, so that you can not flutter away from me again to fly up to the sun, the flowers, the trees! O my butterfly! you pretty creature, made of ethereal dust and rainbow splendor, of air and sunshine, of lightning flashes and icy coldness, are you actually mine, then? May I trust you? Think not I am only a poor little flower on which you may smilingly rock yourself an hour in the sunshine, and enjoy the perfume which mounts up from its heart’s blood, and the love songs which its sighs waft to you in the breeze! Tell me, you butterfly, will you no more flutter away, but be true and never more distress and torment me?”

“I have never wished to distress and torment you, cousin.”

“And yet you have done it, so often, so grievously!” cried he, and his handsome open countenance grew quickly dark, while his eyes flashed with indignation. “Ludovicka,” he continued, “you have tortured and tormented me, and often when I have seen how you smiled upon others and exchanged glances with them, and allowed yourself to be pleased by their homage, their devotion often have I felt then as if an iron fist had seized my heart to tear it from my breast, and felt as if I enjoyed this, and as if I exulted with delight over my own wrath. Tear out my foolish heart, you iron fist of pain, said I to myself; cast it far from me, this childish heart, for then shall I be happy and glad, then shall I no longer feel love but be freed from the fearful bondage it imposes upon me. How often, Ludovicka, how often have I been ashamed of these chains, and bitten at them, as the lion, languishing in a dungeon, bites at his.”

“Truly, fair sir,” cried Ludovicka, as arm in arm she and her beloved moved toward the divan “truly, to hear you talk, one would suppose that love was a misfortune and a pain.”

“It is so indeed,” said he, almost savagely “yes, love is a misfortune and a pain; for with love comes doubt, jealousy, and jealousy is the most dreadful pain. And then I have often said to myself as I wept about you for rage and woe because I have seen you more friendly with others than with me I have often said to myself that it is unworthy of a man to allow himself to be subjected by love, unworthy to make a woman the mistress of his thoughts, of his desires; that a man should strive for higher aims, aspire to nobler things.”

“To nobler things? Now tell me, you monster, is there anything nobler than a woman? Is there a higher aim than to win her love?”

“No; that is true, there is nothing higher!” cried he passionately. “No there is nothing nobler. Oh, forgive me, Ludovicka, I was a heathen, who denies his goddess, and finds fault with her out of excess of feeling. My God! I have suffered so much through you and your cruelty! And I tell you if you had not now at last heard my petition, at last granted me a rendezvous, then

“Then you would have killed yourself,” interrupted she “then you would have stabbed yourself on the threshold of my door, while you cursed me. Is not that what you would have said?”

“No; I would have found out the man whom you preferred to me, and I would have killed him, and you I would have despised that is what I would have said. But no, no, I can not conceive of or imagine myself despising you loving you no more! My whole soul is yours, and my heart flames up toward you as if it were one vast and living lake of fire. You smile; you do not believe me, Ludovicka! But I tell you, if you do not believe me, neither do you believe in love itself.”

“I do not believe in it, either, cousin; and you are quite right, your heart is a lake of fire. You know, though, all fires become extinct?”

“When fuel is denied them, Ludovicka not till then. They burn constantly, if supplied with constant fuel.”

“So then, my Electoral Prince, my heart is the fuel you would require?”

“Yes, my Princess, I do require it. I implore it of you. Be good, Ludovicka, torment me not. Let me at last feel myself blessed let me put my arm around you, and say and think, she is mine! mine she remains!”

“Mine she remains!” repeated Ludovicka, sighing. “Alas! Frederick, how long ere you will no longer wish that I were yours; how long ere all the oaths of your heart will be forgotten and forever hushed? I have heard it from all women they all say that the love of men is perishable; that, like a flash of lightning, it shines forth with vivid blaze, then vanishes away.”

“And they have all deceived you or been deceived themselves, Ludovicka. The love of men never expires, unless forcibly extinguished by women. Be trustful, my Ludovicka, trustful, and pious, and let love, holy and still, ardent and glowing, penetrate your heart, just as I do, without trembling, without hesitancy, and without the fear of men.”

“You love me, then, love me truly?” asked Ludovicka, tenderly clinging to him.

“I love you with wrath and pain, love you with rapture and delight, love you in spite of the whole world! I will know nothing, consider nothing, hear nothing of the folly of the wise, of the irrationality of the rational, of the stupidity of the sage. I will know nothing and hear nothing, but that I love you! Just as you are, so cruel and so lovely, so coquettish and so innocent, so passionate and yet so cold. Oh, you are an enchantress, who has changed my whole being and taken possession of all my thoughts and all my feelings. Formerly I loved my parents, feared my father, respected my friend and early teacher, the faithful Leuchtmar, listened to his counsels, followed his advice. But now all that is past all is swallowed up. I think only of you, only know you, only hear you.”

“And yet a day will come when I shall call upon you in vain, a day when you shall no longer hear my voice.”

“It will be the day of my death.”

“No; the day when you leave this place. The day on which you return to your native land to become there a reigning lord, and leave the poor humbled Princess Ludovicka behind here deserted and alone.”

“But you? Will you not go with me?” he asked, in amazement. “Will not my country be yours? And if I am a reigning lord, will you not stand as sovereign lady by my side?”

“I?” asked she, bewildered. “How do you mean? I do not understand you.”

“I mean,” he whispered softly, while he clasped her closely to himself “I mean that you shall accompany me as my wife.”

“But!” cried she, smiling, and with an expression of radiant joy “but you have never said that I should be your wife.”

“Have I not told you that I love you? Have I not been repeating to you for a year that I love you? And does it not naturally follow that you and you alone are to be my wife?”

“But they will not suffer it, Frederick!” cried she, with an expression of pain. “No, they will never suffer you to make me your wife.”

“Who will not suffer it, Ludovicka?”

“Your parents will not suffer it, and the great Lord von Schwarzenberg, who rules your father, as my mother has told me, and Herr von Leuchtmar, who rules you and

“Nobody rules me,” interrupted he indignantly, and a flush of anger or shame suffused his face. “No, nobody rules me, and I shall never be subject to any other will than my own.”

“So you say now, Frederick, while you look into my eyes, while you are at my side. But to-morrow, when I am no longer by, when your tutor shall have proved with his cold, matter-of-fact arguments that the poor Princess Ludovicka is no fit match for the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg to-morrow, when your tutor will chide his beloved pupil for ever having allowed so foolish a love to enter his heart, then

“I am a pupil no longer,” interrupted he with glowing cheek. “I am seventeen years old, and no tutor has any more power over me.”

She seemed not to have heard him, and continued in her sweet, melancholy voice: “To-morrow, when perhaps another messenger comes to summon you home, when he brings you a letter from your father with the command to set forth immediately, in which you are informed that he has selected a bride for you, oh, then will the Electoral Prince Frederick William be naught but the obedient son, who obeys his father’s commands, who leaves this country to seek his native land, and to wed the bride who has been chosen for him by his father.”

“No!” shouted the Electoral Prince fiercely, while he leaped up from the divan, and stamped his foot upon the ground “I say no, and once more no. I shall not do what they order. I shall only follow my own will. And it is my will, my fixed, unalterable will, to make you my wife, and this will I shall carry into effect, despite my father, the German Emperor, and the whole world. Ludovicka, I here offer you my hand. Do you accept it? Will you be my wife?”

With a countenance irradiated by energy, pride, and love he held out his hand to her, and smilingly she laid her own small hand in his. “Yes,” she said, “I will be your wife. With pride and joy I accept your beloved hand, and swear that I love you, and will honor and obey you as my lord and my beloved!”

He sank upon his knees before her, and kissed the hand which rested in his own. “Ludovicka Hollandine, Princess of the Palatinate,” he said, with distinct and solemn voice, “I, Frederick William, Electoral Prince of Brandenburg, vow and swear hereby to love and be faithful to you ever as your wedded husband.”

“I accept your oath, and return it!” she cried joyfully. “I, too, swear to love and be ever true to you, and to take you for my husband. And here you have my betrothal kiss, and here you have your destined bride. Take her, and love her a little, for she loves you very much, and she will die of chagrin if you forget her!”

“I shall never forget you, Ludovicka!” cried he, tenderly embracing her. “Storms indeed will come, violent tempests will rage about us, but I rejoice in them. For strength is tried by storms, and when it thunders and lightens I can then prove to you that my arm is strong enough to protect you, and that you are safe from all danger upon my heart.”

“O Frederick! and still, still would they separate us. My mother just said to me yesterday, ’Take care not to love the Electoral Prince seriously, for he can never be your husband.’ And when, trembling and weeping, I asked the reason, she at last replied, ’Because you are a poor Princess, and because the misfortunes of your house overshadow you likewise.’ The Elector and his minister will never give their consent to such a union, and the Electoral Prince will never have the spirit to be disobedient to his father and to marry in opposition to his wishes.”

She darted a quick, searching glance at his face, and saw how he reddened with indignation. “I shall prove to your mother that she is mistaken in me,” he said vehemently. “I am indeed yet young in years, but I feel myself in heart a man who bows to no strange will, and is only obedient to the law of his conscience and his own judgment. I love you, Ludovicka, and I will marry you!”

“If they give us time, Frederick,” sighed Ludovicka. “If they do not force me first to wed some other man.”

“What do you say?” cried the Electoral Prince, growing pale, as he clasped his beloved yet closer to his side. “Could it be possible that

“That they sell and barter me away, just as they do other princesses? Yes, alas! it is possible. Ay, Frederick, more than possible it is certain that they have such views. Wherefore think you, then, that the Electoral Prince of Hesse is here that he came yesterday with my uncle, the Stadtholder, to visit my mother, and that he was even presented to me in my own apartment? O Frederick! my mother has told me it is a settled thing that the Electoral Prince of Hesse has come to marry me. They have already made arrangements, and got everything in readiness. Day after to-morrow is to be the day for his formal wooing, and if you do not save me, if you know of no way of escape, then in eight days I shall be the bride of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. I had planned, Frederick, to try you first to hear from yourself whether you actually loved me, whether your love was earnest. Had I discovered that you were only making sport of my heart, had you not formally offered me your hand and sued for me as your wife, then would I have gone silently away, would have buried my love in the depths of my soul, sacrificed myself to my mother’s wishes and the misfortune of my house, and become the wife of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. But you do love me, you offer me your hand, and now I confess my love openly and joyfully now I cast myself in your arms and entreat you: Save me, my Frederick, do not let them tear me away from you! Save me from the Electoral Prince of Hesse!”

She flung both her arms around him, pressed him closely to her, and looked up to him with tenderly beseeching eye. With passionate warmth the Electoral Prince kissed those alluring eyes and lips responding to his pressure. “You shall be mine, you must be mine, for I love you inexpressibly. I can not, I will not live without you!”

“Let us fly, my beloved,” whispered she, always holding him in her embrace.

“Let us fly before the wrath of your father, before the courtship of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. Let us preserve our love in some quiet corner of the earth; let us fly where no one can follow us, where your father’s will and his minister’s hate can have no power let us fly!”

“Yes,” said he, clasping closer in his arms the tender, glowing creature who clung so affectionately to him “yes, let us fly, my beloved. They shall not tear you from me; I will have you, in spite of them all you shall be mine, even though the whole world should rise up in opposition. To-morrow night let us make our escape. You are right; there must be some quiet corner of the world where we can hide ourselves, living for happiness, for love alone, until it is permitted us to emerge from our seclusion, and assume the station in the world due to us both. Yes, we will flee, Ludovicka, we will flee, no matter where!”

“Oh, I hope I know a place of refuge, where we may be sheltered from the first wrath of our relatives, my Frederick. I have friends, influential, mighty friends, who will gladly furnish us with an asylum, and from whom we may accept it. To them I shall turn to them apply for a retreat. They will provide us with the means for flight. Only, my beloved,” she continued, hesitating and with downcast eyes, “only one thing is needful to enable me to flee with you.”

“What is that, my beloved, tell me?”

“Frederick, I can only follow my husband, only go with you as your wife.”

“Yes, you sweet, lovely girl, you can only follow me as your husband. To-morrow night we make our escape, and ere we escape we must be married, and a priest shall bless our love. You say you have influential and powerful friends here, and indeed I know that the richest, noblest men in Holland vie with one another for one kind glance from my Ludovicka. Oh, not in vain have the States stood godfather for my bride, and given her their name. Now will some rich, powerful citizen of Holland prove that he, too, is godfather to the lovely Princess Hollandine, and in Java or Peru, or perhaps on some ship, find us a republic. I accept it, beloved, I accept it, and swear beforehand that the future Elector shall reward the rich mynheer and the whole of Holland for the good now done to the Electoral Prince and his beloved Hollandine. Speak, therefore, to your good, rich friends; tell them they may help and assist us. I agree to everything, I accept everything. I only want you, you yourself, for you are my all, my life, my light!”

“You give me full power, then, to make arrangements for our flight, my Frederick?”

“I give you full power, my beloved; you are wiser, more thoughtful than I am; besides, you are not so strictly guarded, so encircled by spies as I am.”

“No; to-morrow I am still free,” exulted she “to-morrow the Electoral Prince of Hesse has as yet no power over me, and no one will be observing me. My mother has been detained by sickness at The Hague, and here at Doornward there are no spies. Yes, I take charge of all, beloved. I shall manage everything, and to-morrow night I shall expect you.”

“To-morrow night I shall come here to take you away, my, beloved.”

“No, not here, for to-morrow my mother comes home, and then the castle will no longer be so solitary and quiet; then there will be many people here, and our movements might be watched.”

“Well, where else shall I find you, Ludovicka?”

She clung to him, and gazed tenderly into his glowing eyes. “Oh,” she said, “you do not know what I have ventured and dared for you. Do you remember with what animation and rapture you spoke to me recently of the secret league which exists at The Hague, of the rare feasts which you solemnize there, of the pleasure and delight you experience there? Do you remember how you lamented that we could not enjoy this glorious companionship together, that I could not be there at your side? Well, see, beloved, now you must admit how much I love you, and how ready I am to please you. I have in perfect secrecy and silence had myself initiated into the order of the Media Nocte.”

“You have done that?” cried the Prince, in joyful astonishment. “You belong to this glorious company of great minds, naming hearts, and noble souls? Oh, my Ludovicka, I recognize your love in this, and I thank you, and am proud of it that my betrothed belongs to the genial, the intellectual, and the elect. Oh, you are not merely my destined bride, you are my muse, my goddess, and in humility I bow my head before you, and I kiss the hem of your robe, beloved mistress, chosen one!”

He bent his knee and kissed her robe, and bowed lower to kiss the tiny foot in its blue satin shoe. Then he raised one of these pretty feet and kissed it again, and placed it on his breast, holding it fast there with both his hands.

“Mistress,” he whispered, lifting up to her his countenance, beaming with love and enthusiasm “mistress, your slave lies before you. Crush me, let me be dust beneath your feet, if you do not love me; let me die here, or swear to me that you will ever love me, that to-morrow night you will link your destiny indissolubly with mine!”

“I will ever love you,” she breathed forth, with a magical smile; “to-morrow night I will link my fate to yours.”

“Give me a pledge of your vow, a sign, a token of this hour!” entreated he, still holding the little foot between his hands.

“What sort of pledge do you require, beloved of my heart? Ask, command; whatever it may be, it shall be yours!”

With beaming, happy look he gazed upon her glowing countenance, and nodded to her, and whispered words full of tenderness and love, and at the same time with fondling hand loosened the silver buckle which fastened the blue satin shoe upon her foot, drew off the slipper from her little foot, whose rosy hue was transparent through the white silk stocking, and smilingly thrust it into the breast pocket of his velvet jacket. “But, Frederick, my shoe give me back my shoe,” said she, laughing; and her little hand and wondrous arm dived into his pocket to recover the stolen shoe. But the Prince held fast the little hand, whose warm, soft touch he felt to the deepest recesses of his heart, and pressed warm, glowing kisses on that ravishing arm, which seemed to quiver and tremble at the touch of his lips.

“My shoe,” she breathed softly “give me my shoe!”

“Never!” said he energetically. “No, I swear it, so truly as I love you, I shall never give back to you this precious jewel. Mine it remains, and not for all the treasures of the earth do I give it back again. Here, on my heart, it shall rest, the charming little shoe, and when I die it shall rest beside me in my coffin.”

“No, no, I will have it again!” cried Ludovicka. “My heavens! what would my chambermaid say, if to-morrow morning one of my shoes had vanished been spirited away?”

“Let her say and think what she pleases, dearest. Tell her you will direct her where to find it on the day after to-morrow. Think you not that when our flight is discovered, she will readily guess who has stolen your shoe?”

“But see, Frederick, see my poor foot; it is freezing, pining for its house!”

And smilingly Ludovicka extended toward the Prince her shoeless little foot. He took it between his hands and breathed on it with his glowing breath, and pressed upon it his burning lips.

“Forgive me, you beautiful foot, for having robbed you of your house. But look you, dear foot, the little house shall now become a sacred memento of my love and my betrothal; and look you, dear foot, I swear to you that you shall walk in pleasant paths. I shall strew flowers for you, you shall tread upon roses, and not a thorn shall prick you and not a stone bruise you. That I swear to you, you little foot of the great enchantress, and therefore forgive me my theft!”

“It shook its head, it will not!” cried Ludovicka, swinging her foot to and fro.

“It shall forgive, or I will punish its mistress!” cried the Prince, while he sprang up, ardently encircling his beloved with his arm. “Yes, you shall pay me for your cruel foot, and

All at once he became silent, and, hearkening, looked toward the wall. Ludovicka shrank back, and turned her eye to the same spot.

“Is there, a door there?” whispered he.

“Yes,” she breathed softly, “a tapestry door leading to the small corridor, and thence into my sleeping apartment.”

“Is any one in your sleeping room?”

“My little cousin, Louisa of Orange, who came to-day, and insisted upon staying here Hush, for God’s sake! she is coming. Hide yourself!”

He flew across the room and jumped behind the door curtain, through which d’Entragues had gone out a little while before. The curtain yet shook from the violence of his movement, when the little tapestry door on the other side was opened, and a lovely child appeared upon the threshold. A long white nightgown, trimmed with rose-colored favors, concealed the slender delicate form in its flowing drapery, falling from the neck to the feet, which, perfectly bare, peeped forth from beneath the white wrapper like two little rose-buds. Her fair hair was parted over the broad, open brow, and fell in long, heavy ringlets on each side of the lovely childish face. The big blue eyes looked so pious and innocent, and such a soft, gentle smile played about the fresh crimson lips! In this whole fair apparition there was such a wondrous magic, so superhuman a loveliness, that it might have been supposed that an angel from heaven had descended and was now entering this apartment, which was yet aglow with the sighs and protestations of passionate earthly love, and radiant as a consecrated altar taper shone the candle in the silver candlestick which she carried in her hand. Lightly and inaudibly the child tripped across the floor to the Princess, who had thrown herself upon the divan, and assumed the appearance of just being aroused from a deep slumber.

“Forgive me, dear, beautiful Aunt Ludovicka,” said the little girl, in a low, soft voice, while she placed the candle upon the table and leaned over the Princess “forgive me for waking you up. But I had such a fearful dream, and I fancied it was real. It seemed to me as if robbers were in the castle. I heard them laugh and talk quite plainly, and I was dreadfully distressed, and called you. You did not answer me, and then I thought they had already murdered you, and I sprang from the sofa where they had prepared my couch, near to your bed. You were not there, your bed was cold and empty, and still I heard quite plainly the loud laughing and talking of the robbers, and I was so dreadfully anxious and distressed that I must see where you were I must see if they had not murdered you. I took the light and came here running, and, God be thanked! here is my dear Aunt Hollandine, and no robbers have taken her away from me, and no murderers have killed her.”

With her slender childish arms she embraced the Princess, and pressed her rosy cheeks tenderly against Ludovicka’s glowing face.

“You little blockhead, how you have frightened me!” said Ludovicka, repulsing her almost rudely. “I was asleep here, dreaming such sweet dreams, and all at once you have come and waked me, you little night owl. Go, go to bed, Louisa, and do not be so timid, child. No robbers and murderers come here, and in our castle you need not be afraid.”

“Ah, Aunt Hollandine,” whispered the child, while she cast a frightened, anxious glance around the room “ah, Aunt Hollandine, I am afraid that this castle is haunted. It was either robbers or evil spirits who made such a noise and talked and laughed so loud. And” she stooped lower and quite softly whispered “and you may believe me, dear, good aunt, it is haunted here. I plainly saw the curtain across there shake as I entered. Evil spirits are abroad to-night. Do you hear how it howls and whistles out of doors, and how the windows rattle? Those are spirits, and they have flown in here and laughed and danced. O aunt! you did not hear, but I did, for I have been awake, and have heard and seen how the door curtain shook, and there they lurk now, those wicked spirits, and look at us and laugh. Oh, I know that, I do! My nurse, Trude, told me all about it the other evening, and she knows. There are good and bad spirits; but the good spirits make no noise, and you would not know they were here. They come to you so quietly and so gently, and sit by your bed and look at you, and their faces shine like the moon and their eyes like stars, and their thoughts are prayers and their smiles God’s blessing. But evil spirits are noisy and boisterous, and laugh and make an uproar as they did to-night!”

“You have been dreaming, little simpleton, and fancy now that you really heard what dull sleep alone was thrumming about your ears. All has been quiet and peaceful here, and no evil spirits were in this room trust me.”

“Neither were good spirits here, aunt!” cried the child; with tearful voice. “The door curtain did move, and I did hear laughter believe me. And, dear Aunt Hollandine, I beg you to give me your hand and come with me into your sleeping room, and please be kind enough to your poor little Louisa to take her with you into your great fine bed, and let us hug one another and pray together and sleep together; then the evil spirits can not get to us. Come, dear aunt, come!”

With both her hands she seized the Princess by the arm, and tried to lift her from the divan. But Ludovicka hastily pushed her away.

“Leave such follies, Louisa, and go to bed!” she said angrily. “Had I known what a restless sleeper you were, I should not have gratified your wish of staying with me, but had you put to bed on the other side of the castle with the little princesses, my sisters.”

“Aunt,” said the child, in a touching tone of voice, “I will be perfectly still and quiet, I shall certainly not disturb you, if you will only be good and kind enough to come with me.”

“No,” said Ludovicka, “no, I am not going with you, for I have something still to do here. But if you are good and docile, and go back quietly and prettily to the sleeping room, and creep into your little bed, then I promise you to come soon.”

“Well, then, I will go,” sighed the child, and dropped her little head like a withered flower. “Yes, I will be good, that you may love me. But please come soon, Aunt Ludovicka, come soon.”

She again took the candlestick from the table, nodded to the Princess and tried to smile, while at the same time two long-restrained tears rolled, like liquid pearls, from her large blue eyes over her rosy cheeks. Softly and with her little head always bowed down she crossed the apartment to the tapestry door; but, just as she was on the verge of the threshold, she stopped, turned around, and an expression of radiant joy flashed across her pretty face.

“Dear aunt,” she cried, “Trude told me that when we pray evil spirits must fly away, and have no longer any power. I will pray, yes, I will pray for you.”

And the child sank upon her knees. Placing the candlestick at her side, she folded her little white hands upon her breast, raised her head and eyes, and prayed in a distinct, earnest voice: “Dear Heavenly Father and all ye holy angels on high, protect the innocent and the good! O God! guide us to thee with the golden star which shone upon the shepherds in the field when they went out to seek the child Christ! Blessed angels, come down and keep guard around our bed, that no evil spirits and bad dreams can come to trouble us! God and all ye holy angels on high, have pity on the innocent and good! Amen! Amen! Amen!”

And at the last amen, the child rose from her knees, again took up her light, and tripped lightly and smiling out of the room.

Ludovicka sprang to the door, shut it close, and leaned against it. The Electoral Prince stepped forth from the curtain on the other side, and his countenance was grave, and his large eyes were less fiery and passionate, as he now approached the Princess.

“Poor child,” he whispered, “how bitterly distressed she is! Go to her, my precious love, and pray with her for our happiness and our love.”

“Are you going away already, my Frederick?” she asked tenderly.

He pointed with his finger to the tapestry door. “She is so distressed, and her dear little face was so sad, it touched me to the heart.”

“How foolish I was,” she murmured impatiently “how foolish not to think of it, that the child might disturb us! She has often before spent the night with me, and never waked up, never

“Never has she been disturbed,” concluded the Prince, smiling. “Never before have evil spirits chattered and laughed within your room, and roused her from her sleep. But she shall yet see that her prayer has not been in vain, but that it has exorcised the evil spirits. Farewell, dear one! Farewell, and this kiss for good-night this kiss for my beloved promised bride! The last betrothal kiss, for to-morrow night you will be my wife! God and all ye holy angels on high, protect the innocent and good!”

He kissed once more her lips and her dark, perfumed hair, then hastened with rapid step across the apartment, hurriedly opened the window, lowered the rope ladder, and swung himself up on the windowsill.”

“Farewell, dearest, farewell! To-morrow night we shall meet again!” he whispered, kissing the tips of his fingers to her. Then he seized the rope ladder with both hands, and ere the Princess, who had hastened toward him, had yet found time to assist him and offer her hand to aid him in descending, his slight, elastic figure had disappeared beneath the dark window frame.

Ludovicka leaned out of the window, and with all the strength of her delicate little hands held firm the rope ladder, which swayed backward and forward and sighed and groaned beneath its burden. All at once the rope ladder stood still, and like spirit greetings were wafted up to her the words, “Farewell! farewell!”

“He is gone,” murmured Ludovicka, retreating from the window “he is gone! But to-morrow, to-morrow night, I shall have him again. To-morrow night I shall be his wife. O Sir Count d’Entragues! you shall be forced to acknowledge that the Electoral Prince loves me, and that his declaration of love is synonymous with an offer of marriage! I think I have managed everything exactly as it was marked out on the paper. Let us look again.”

She again drew forth the paper from the casket on her writing table, and read it through attentively. “Yes,” she murmured as she read, “all in order. Offer of marriage elicited. Alarmed by the threat that they will unite me to the Prince of Hesse. Not betray who the friends are who will render me their aid. Secret marriage arranged. Time presses, To-morrow night. All is in order. The Media Nocte, too, confessed. Only one thing is still wanting. I only omitted telling him that our rendezvous must be in the Media Nocte, and that we make our escape from there. Well, never mind, I can tell him to-morrow, and about ten o’clock the orange-colored ribbon may flutter from my window, and Count d’Entragues will be so rejoiced! Oh, to-morrow, to-morrow I shall be my handsome Electoral Prince’s wife!”

She stretched forth her arms, as if she would embrace, although he was invisible, the handsome, beloved youth, whose kisses yet burned upon her lips. Her flaming eyes wandered over the apartment, as if she still hoped to find there his fine and slender shape. Now, not finding him, she sighed heavily and fixed her eyes upon the great portrait, which hung upon the wall above the divan. It was the half-length likeness of a woman, a queen, as was shown by the diadem of pearls surmounting her high, narrow forehead, and behind which a crown could be discerned. A rare picture it was, possessed of magical attractions. The large blue eyes, so glowing and tender, the soft, rounded cheeks, so transparently fair, the full, pouting lips, so speaking all seemed to promise joy; and yet in the whole expression of the face there was so much melancholy and so much pain! Princess Ludovicka walked softly to the portrait, and lifted up to it her folded hands.

“I, too, will pray,” she whispered. “Yes, I will pray to you, Mary Stuart, queen of love and beauty! O Mary! holy martyr, graciously incline thy glance toward thy grandchild. Let thy starry eyes rest upon me, and graciously protect me in the path that I shall tread to-morrow, for it is the path of love! Oh, let it be the path of happiness as well! Mary Stuart, pray for me, and protect me, your grandchild! Amen!”