University of Virginia Library

1. I.

“I will come to thee, at midnight, dear Anastasia
— with life only will I fail thee.”

These were the parting words of the enamored
boy; and the tones of his voice, not less than the
language which he used, spoke for his deep devotion.

“At midnight, dear Albert,” was the reply.

“I live not till then!” said the youth, passionately;
“and, if thou meet me not, Anastasia — if
thou fail me —”

“Fear me not!” was the low but emphatic interruption
of the maiden. “In life or death, dear
Albert, I am only thine. I will not fail thee.”

The leaves of the grove parted, and by the pale
glimmer of evening the two might be seen taking
their farewell and fond embrace. She, a tall and

slender maiden, lovely as the light, and softer than
the new born zephyr; and he, manly and strong,
yet young — having a frame of the most perfect
symmetry, and a face full of beauty and expression.
A fond, sweet kiss, a parting word and
sigh, an earnest and longing glance of rapture —
and the lovers separated.

They had not, however, been unseen. The
eyes of jealousy were upon them, and the gloomy
and fierce Wallenberg — a suitor for the hand of
the damsel — had watched them throughout the
interview.

“At midnight!” he muttered, as he saw the
youth depart. “It is well — I will be there also.”
And he shook his hand after the departing form of
Albert, and his brow was covered with a cloudy
anger, which sufficiently denoted the terrible
thoughts of his mind, and the malignant feelings
which were working in his heart. Yet Wallenberg
was a nobleman of high birth, and renowned
for deed of valor and great achievement. He
was not less so, for his great family estate and wide
possessions. These had commended him to the
family of Anastasia D'Arlemont, with which he
was connected. They all knew him for a coarse,
rude, rough-handed nobleman; yet, as the terrors
of his claws were calmed in gold, he was thought

no unfitting match for the gentle and shrinking
Anastasia. But she trembled at his approach, and
it was with a pang like death that she learned how
far his suit had met with the approbation of her
parents. Her attachment to Albert was unknown
to them, and to have made it known, would, she
well knew, avail her nothing. The passionate
persuasions of her sanguine lover relieved her
from the difficulty before her. He had persuaded
her that her only hope was in flight — in flight
with him. There was nothing so terrible in that.
Would she not have died for him? Could she live
without him; and what was life, with such a bear
as Count Wallenberg. Albert found but little
difficulty in convincing her reason, through the
medium of her heart — the medium through which
young damsels are most usually convinced. At
midnight, then, she was to fly with him. Such
were the resolves of the lovers; but Wallenberg
resolved otherwise.

Albert of Holstein was even then a student in
one of the German universities of the time, the
name of which is unnecessary to this narrative.
He was, at the period of which we write, just entering
his eighteenth year. Until his sixteenth, he
had been under the guardianship of a good, but
weak and misjudging mother. While yet an in

fant, he had lost his father, who had fallen in a domestic
feud with some rival baron, occasioned by
a difference of opinion on some matter of great
importance or of no importance at all, which had
suggested itself to them for discussion, while over
their cups. The son — Albert — but for a mind
and temper naturally excellent, would have been
utterly ruined by the various and misconceived indulgences
of his surviving parent. Nature, however,
who is not often strong enough for so trying
a toil, resisted the mother long enough to save the
son from utter ruination; and, when sixteen years
of age, he was ready to go to college. After the
usual preparation, he was admitted into one of the
leading universities, where he soon had occasion to
test for himself the propriety of that course to
which he had so imprudently been subjected. It
is not our object, however, to analyze or dwell
upon the impressions of his mind under the new
changes of his condition — affecting, as they must
have done, the whole structure of his early habits,
and pruning and converting, as it were, the dead
branches of excess into a new and fresh capacity
of life. It is enough to say that he rapidly threw
aside the follies of habit and of thought which the
error of his mother had engendered. The resources
of his own mind — a case not very common —
enabled him to contend with, successfully, and
finally to counteract, the thousand mistakes of a
foolishly fond parent, and a cringing crowd of domestic
parasites.