University of Virginia Library

5. V.

“Where is she? — where is Anastasia, my
bride? — why comes she not?” was the demand
of Wallenberg.

Where was she, indeed? The hour had elapsed
— the moment was past — why came she not, in
glittering robes, heading, in kindred gladness, the
garlanded group of damsels that had gathered to
wait upon her? The castle was soon in commotion,
and a strange anxiety filled every countenance.
The bridal chamber was empty — the
maiden was not to be found. The castle was
searched from turret-top to donjon, but in vain.
They were compelled to seek her elsewhere. They
hunted through grounds and gardens, dispersing
every-where, but without success. They next
sought the forests. As they penetrated the thick
woods, the sky suddenly became dark and over-cast
— vivid flashes of lightning added to, while
illuminating and making perceptible, the gloom.
A storm of frightful energy passed over the wood,
prostrating every thing before it, and subsiding
with equal suddenness. The sky became instantly
clear, and the moon shone forth in purity, unconscious
of a cloud. The firmament had not a
speck. The bewildered groups proceeded in their
search. A soft and gentle strain of melody seemed
to imbody itself with the winds. They followed
the sounds into a dark and gloomy enclosure
of high overarching trees, thickly fenced in with
knotted vines and brushwood. The thunderbolt

had been there, and it was scorched and blackened.
They advanced — the music still leading them
onward — until, in a small recess, they found indubitable
tokens of the maiden, in the half-consumed
remnants of her hat and shawl. They now
beheld her destiny. They saw that she had been
spirited away by the fiend. She had become the
victim of the demon. He had triumphed in the
garb of the early and lost lover — and she had
fallen a victim, in a moment of sad credulity, to
the arts of a designing and an evil angel. They
continued the pursuit no longer. She was lost to
them for ever — but still not lost. Amid the horrors
of the tempest she pursued her way with her lover.

“Oh, save me, Albert —what a dreadful storm!”
was her pleading and terrified address, as they hurried
on through the devious paths of the forest.
The violence of the storm filled her heart with apprehensions.
She knew not the fearful extent of
her security.

“I will — fear not, dearest — there, is no danger.”

“It pursues us,” she cried, with increasing terror.

“It will not harm us — it will soon be over,”
was his assurance.

A stream of ground lightning, like a wave of

the sea, rushed up the hill at that moment, and followed
close upon their footsteps. The maiden
darted forward in desperation — Albert seized her
in his arms, and throwing aside her hat and shawl,
which encumbered him, he bore her away like an
infant. He bore her to the edge of the forest,
and laid her down upon the greensward in safety.