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Carl Werner

an imaginative story; with other tales of imagination
  
  

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6. VI.

But the youth had plucked up courage during
the brief and sudden progress of their indignation.
With an air of greater resolution than before, he
repeated his demand; and was just about to give
sundry good reasons why he should be considered
the properest person in the world to take charge
of a maiden so young and interesting as Bertha of
Staremberg, when the baron, with more coolness
and composure — perhaps, too, with something
more of condescension in his manner — proceeded
to interrupt him:

“Say no more, Rodolph; say no more. You
are a good youth, and I knew your father. He
was my most intimate friend, and I loved him very
much — very much, Rodolph. I love you too,
Rodolph; you are a good youth, but you cannot
have Bertha.”

“No; you cannot have my daughter,” cried the
old lady.


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Page 10

“No; you cannot have our daughter,” said the
baron.

“I am shocked,” said the baroness, “that you
ever thought that you could have my daughter.”

“It is, indeed, very surprising, Rodolph, that
you should have fallen into such an error,” said
the baron; “but now that I have explained it, I
trust that you will give up such a foolish, such an
extravagant idea.”

“Such an audacious — such an impious idea —
my daughter!” exclaimed Lady Staremberg, with
an echo to her husband like that of Killarney.

“Never!” exclaimed the youth, with a voice of
thunder. “Never! Give up Bertha? Better
tell me to give up life.”

“Ay, and that might be advisable, when there's
no money. Life, without money, is but a baggage
wagon, on a long march, without stores or
provisions,” very coolly responded the baron;
“Bertha you can never have, unless your castle is
manned, and repaired, and furnished, and you can
show me wealth like that of baron — the baron
with the big name — to whom, if he is pleased to
accept her, I propose to give her hand. Produce
proofs of wealth like his, Rodolph, and, as I loved
your father and love you, I shall give you a decided
preference.”


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Page 11

The youth, muttering curses, hurried away in
despair, bent upon carrying up his appeal to a
gentler, if not a higher court.