"For G.o.d's sake, what are you thinking about, Barbelle," said she, as she placed the jug on the table and approached the maiden; "what are you thinking about, to sit and spin there with your new bodice on? And she has got her new petticoat on, too, and the silver chain, I declare, and has taken a clean ap.r.o.n and stockings out of the chest! What a piece of vanity, you foolish thing! Don't you know that we are poor folks, and that you are the child of an unfortunate man?"

The daughter patiently allowed her bustling mother to expend her astonishment; she cast her eyes down, it is true, but there was a roguish smile on her face, which proved that the lecture did not sink very deep. "Ah! what's the use of being angry?" she answered; "what harm can it do to my dress, if I wear it once on a week day? The silver chain will not suffer, and I can easily wash the ap.r.o.n."

"So! as if we had not washing and cleaning enough? But tell me, what has put it into your head to make yourself so smart to-day?"

"Ah! don't you know, mother," said the blushing Swabian child, "that to-day is the eighth day? Did not my father say the gentleman would awake on the eighth day, if his medicines had their desired effect? And so I thought----"

"Yes, this is about the time," replied the mother, kindly; "you are quite right, child: if he awakes and sees everything about him slovenly and dirty, we shall get into trouble with the father. And I am not fit to be seen! Go, Barbelle, and fetch me my black jacket and red bodice, and a clean ap.r.o.n."

"But, mother," said the young one, "you had better go and dress yourself, while I remain here, for perhaps the gentleman may awake when you are putting your things on."

"You are right again, girl," replied the mother, and, leaving the breakfast on the table, retired to adorn her person. Her daughter opened the window to the fresh morning air, for the purpose, according to her usual practice, of feeding her pigeons, which were a.s.sembled before the house waiting for their accustomed meal; larks and other little birds saluting her in full chirping chorus, partook also of her bounty, which the young girl enjoyed with innocent pleasure.

At this moment the curtains of the bed were opened, when the head of a handsome young man looked out; we need not say it was Albert von Sturmfeder.

A slight colour, the first messenger of returning health, played on his cheeks; his look was as brilliant as ever, and his arm felt as powerful. He surveyed his situation in astonishment; the room, with its furniture, were strangers to him; everything about him was a riddle.

Who had bandaged his head? who had put him in this bed? His position appeared to him like that of one who had pa.s.sed a jovial night with his companions, and, having lost his senses, awoke in some out-of-the-way place.

He observed the girl at the window for some time. He could not keep his eyes off her, as she was the first object he had seen; for the purpose of drawing her attention, he made a rustling noise with the curtains as he threw them further back.

She' started when she heard the noise, and looking round, exhibited, to Albert's astonishment and delight, the beauty of her countenance, now slightly tinged with a blush. His sudden apparition appeared for a moment to deprive her pretty smiling mouth of the power of finding words to welcome the invalid to returning life. She soon collected herself, however, and hastened to the bedside, but immediately after checked her steps, as if she were not quite certain of her patient being really awake, or whether it were proper to be in the room when he returned to his senses.

The young man, observing the embarra.s.sment of this beautiful maiden, was the first to break silence.

"Tell me, where am I? how came I here?" asked Albert. "To whom belongs this house, in which, it appears, I awake out of a long sleep?"

"Are you really in your senses again?" cried she, clasping her hands for joy. "Ah! thank G.o.d, who would ever have thought it? But you look at one as if it were true, though you have been so long ill as to make us very fearful and anxious about you."

"Have I been ill?" inquired Albert, who scarcely understood the dialect of the Swabian girl. "I have only been a few hours without consciousness?"

"Eh! what are you thinking about," giggled the girl, and bit the end of the tress, to suppress a rising laugh; "a few hours, did you say? This night will just be the ninth that I have been watching you."

The young man could not comprehend what he heard. Nine days, and not arrived at Lichtenstein, to see Bertha? And with this thought his recollection of the past returned in full force to his mind; he remembered having renounced the service of the League,--that he had determined to visit Lichtenstein,--that he had crossed the Alb by unfrequented paths, and that he and his leader had been attacked. But now, when he looked about him, fearful doubts oppressed his mind. Am I a prisoner, he thought to himself; and immediately put the same question to his pretty attendant.

She had noticed, with increasing anxiety, the placid countenance of the young knight, as it became ruffled, and the wild look his features had suddenly a.s.sumed. Fearful he might relapse again into his former situation, which the languid tone of his voice seemed to indicate, she hesitated what to do, whether to remain in the room, or call in the a.s.sistance of her mother.

She did not return an answer, and retired towards the door. Her heart was touched at the distress which appeared to oppress her patient; and Albert, judging by her silence and the anxious expression of her countenance, which he construed into an affirmation to his question, that he was now in the hands of his enemies, exclaimed, "I am a prisoner then, separated from her without hope, without consolation, without the possibility of hearing from her perhaps for a long time!"

The shock was too great for his weak state of body to withstand; a tear stole from his eye.

The girl observed the tear: her anxiety was changed into pity, she approached nearer, and seating herself again by the bed-side, ventured to take the hand of the young man. "You must not give way to grief,"

she said, "your honour is well again, and----you can very soon proceed on your journey," she added, with a cheerful smile.

"Proceed on my journey?" asked Albert, "then I am not a prisoner?"

"Prisoner? no, certainly not; you might have been so, indeed, once or twice, for the patroles of the League often came to our house, but we always concealed you, because my father told us not to let any one see you."

"Your father!" cried the young man, "who is your father? Where am I?"

"Where are you?" answered Barbelle, "why, in Hardt, to be sure."

"In Hardt?" a glance at the walls adorned with musical instruments convinced him that he was indebted to the man for his life and liberty, who had been sent to him from Bertha as a guardian angel. "So I am in Hardt? and your father is the fifer of Hardt, is he not?"

"He does not like to be called by that name," said the girl; "he is certainly a musician, but he prefers being known by the name of Hans."

"But how did I come here?" inquired Albert.

"Don't you recollect anything about it?" smiled the young girl, and played with her hair again. She then related, in Swabian dialect, that after her father had been absent many weeks, he suddenly arrived nine days ago, in the night, and knocked at the door some time before it awoke her. Having recognised his voice, she hurried down to let him in.

He was accompanied by four men, carrying a wounded man, covered with his cloak, whom they brought into the house. When her father withdrew the cloak from the sick man, and desired her to bring a light, she was terribly frightened at seeing a person bleeding, and apparently half dead. He then ordered her to heat the stove immediately, and they brought the wounded man into the room, and laid him on the bed. His dress was that of a person of distinction. "My father," added she, "applied some herbs to his wounds, he also prepared a cordial for him, for he understands the art of medicine both for man and beast. The young man was for two days very restless and violent, which caused us all great anxiety. But after my father had given him a third dose of medicine he became easy and quiet, and then he said that, on the eighth morning, the invalid would be himself again, and his prediction has actually come to pa.s.s."

Albert listened to the story of the young girl with much interest; he was obliged occasionally to interrupt her in her narration, when he did not exactly understand the expressions she made use of in her Swabian dialect, or when she described more minutely the herbs with which the fifer of Hardt had prepared his medicines.

"And where is your father?" he asked.

"How can we know where he is?" she answered, as if she wished to avoid the question; but, recollecting herself, she added, "I think I may tell you, because you must be a good friend of his; he is gone to Lichtenstein."

"To Lichtenstein?" cried Albert, and blushed deeply; "and when will he come back again?"

"He ought to have been here two days ago, as he told us, if nothing happened to detain him. Folks say the cavalry of the League are on the look-out for him."

The mere mention of Lichtenstein seemed to invigorate his weak frame with renewed strength. He fancied himself strong enough to mount his horse immediately, and, by the rapidity of his movements, make up for the time he had lost on the bed of sickness.

His next and most important question, therefore, was to inquire after his horse; and when he heard it was quite well in the cow-house, he thought he would be able to set out without further loss of time. He thanked his kind little nurse for the care she had taken of him, and asked for his jacket and cloak. She had long since cleaned his clothes, and carefully washed out all spots of blood; and taking them out of the carved painted chest, where they had been placed among her Sunday's attire, spread them out one by one before him, and appeared pleased with the grateful acknowledgements which he expressed for her attention. She then hurried out of the room to acquaint her mother with the joyful news of the young knight's restoration to health and vigour.

We know not whether she told her mother that she had had half an hour's gossip with the handsome gentleman; we have reason however to doubt it, for that good lady had learnt from the experience of her youthful days, and thought it necessary to repeat the warning constantly to her daughter, that "she should take good care not to speak to a smart young fellow longer than it would take to repeat an 'Ave Maria.'"

END OF VOL. I.

J. B. Nichols and Son, 25, Parliament-street.

THE BANISHED.

VOL. II.