In the midst of his painful thoughts, on the hour of separation from his love, Albert could scarce refrain from laughing at the cunning ingenuity of the girls; he proffered his hand heartily to the welcome messenger, and prepared to follow his friend.

The garden was situated on the banks of the Danube, about two thousand paces below the bridge. It was not large, and bore the appearance of being kept with care and attention. The fruit trees were as yet not clothed with foliage, neither were the curiously formed flower beds ornamented with flowers; a long walk of yew trees skirting the bank of the river, and terminating in a large arbour, formed a pleasing picture by their bright green colour, and gave sufficient protection to a white neck and arm, against the piercing rays of a burning sun. The two girls, awaiting the arrival of the young men, were seated on a commodious stone bench in the arbour, and had an extended view, up and down the Danube, through apertures made in the side of it.

Bertha sat there in sorrowful thought, her arm resting on one of the apertures, and her head, weary from grief and weeping, supported on her hand. Her dark glossy hair threw out in strong relief her beautiful white complexion, which sorrow had rendered a deadly pale colour; sleepless nights had robbed her brilliant blue eye of its usual animation, and given to it a languishing--perhaps so much the more interesting--look of melancholy. Beside her sat the rosy Marie, fresh and plump, a perfect specimen of a merry heart. Her golden tresses, animated round face, bright hazel eyes, light and lively movements, were peculiarly striking when compared with the dark locks, oval careworn countenance, and thoughtful look of her dejected cousin.

Marie appeared to have summoned up her most agreeable mood, expressly for the purpose of consoling her cousin, or at least to dissipate her pain. She prattled about indifferent things--she laughed at and mimicked the gestures and peculiarities of many of their acquaintances--she tried a thousand little arts, with which nature had endowed her--but with little success; for only now and then a painful smile spread over Bertha's beautiful features.

As a last resource, she took to her lute, which stood in the corner.

Bertha was an accomplished performer on this instrument, and Marie would not have been easily persuaded to play before so expert a mistress on any other occasion; but now, she hoped to be able to elicit a smile, at least, if it were only on account of her bad performance.

"What is Love, I'm ask'd to tell: Fain we would his nature know; You who've studied it so well, Why he pains us, prithee show.

Joy it brings, if love be there; If pain, of love 't is not the spell;-- Oh, then, I know the name that it should bear."

"Where did you get that old Swabian song?" asked Bertha, who had lent a willing ear to the music and words.

"It is pretty, is it not? but the remainder is still more so; would you like to hear it?" said Marie. "A music master, Hans Sacks, taught it me in Nurnberg. It is not his own composition, but Walther's, the bird-feeder, who lived and loved a good three hundred years ago. But listen:

"How I rightly may divine Love's enigma, prithee say.

'Tis the charm of pow'r to join Two hearts, where each must own its sway; One heart avails not, each must share Its influence: dear mistress mine, Say, wilt thou share with me, thou lovely May?

"Well, though you have shared your love equally with the poor young man," said the playful Marie, "I pity you, from my heart, the painful burden of its weight. If such be its chains, cousin Kraft, who would willingly give me a portion of his, must wait awhile, and groan under the load of carrying the whole charge of it on his own shoulders. But I see you are again absorbed in thought," she added, "so I must sing you another of Walther's songs:

"I know not what has chanced, I ween My sight was never on this wise.

Since in my heart she first was seen, I see her still without my eyes.

What miracle is this? What pow'r Enables me, without the aid of sight, To see her every day and every hour?

"Would you then learn the organs and the art, By which I see to earth's extremest zone?

They are the thoughts I nourish in my heart; They penetrate through walls of brick and stone; And, should these watchers fail, her presence still Is evermore, as 't were, before my eyes, Seen by my heart, my spirit, and my will."

Bertha praised the song of Walther the birdfeeder, as being consolatory in separation. Marie agreed with her. "I have one more verse," she added, smiling:

"Though she wander'd in Swabia, far and wide, Through castles and walls her course he espied.

O'er the Alb unto Lichtenstein had she gone, His eyes would have follow'd through rock and stone."

Marie was going on with her singing, when the garden door opened.

Footsteps were heard in the walk, and the girls rose to receive their expected visitants.

"Albert von Sturmfeder," began Marie, after the usual salutations were over, "you will pardon me for having ventured to invite you into my father's garden; but, as my cousin, Bertha wishes to give you some commissions, for her friend, I have taken the liberty." She then turned to Dieterich von Kraft, and said, "We will not interrupt their conversation; so, come and talk over the ball of last evening." Upon which she took the hand of her cousin, and led him away down the yew-tree walk.

Albert seated himself beside Bertha, who laid her head on his breast, and wept bitterly. His most soothing words were unable to calm her grief. "Bertha," he said, "you were always so stout-hearted; how can you thus give up all hope of a happier destiny?"

"Hope?" she replied, sorrowfully: "to our hope, to our happiness, there is an eternal end."

"But hearken, dearest," replied Albert, who, to cheer up her drooping spirit, endeavoured to inspire her with courage; "let not this slight interruption to our hopes throw its chilling influence over the purity of our love, as if it were to extinguish altogether its bright flame.

All will be well yet. Rather let us put our trust in G.o.d, and wait his almighty will; for I never can believe that He who knows the secret of our hearts, and has joined them together by the indissoluble tie of faithful attachment, will not, in his own way, make all things to work for our good." These consoling words produced a smile upon her countenance; but it pourtrayed the character of despondency rather than of hope.

She replied, after a short silence, "Listen to me with attention, Albert. I must acquaint you with a profound secret, upon which hangs my father's life. He is as bitter an enemy to the League, as he is the firm friend of the Duke. He is not come here solely for the purpose of fetching his daughter home; no, he is using his utmost endeavour to find out the plans of the enemy, and with money and address to spread distrust and confusion among them. Do you suppose, then, that such a determined adversary to the League, would ever consent to give his daughter to a man who seeks to raise himself by our destruction? to one who has attached himself to a party, whose object is not justice, but plunder?"

"Your zeal, Bertha, for the Duke's cause, carries you too far," the young man interrupted her; "you ought to know that many an honourable man serves in our army."

"And even if this were the case," she replied, with animation, "still they are deceived and led away, as you yourself also are."

"How are you so certain of that?" answered Albert, who, though he suspected she was somewhat right, blushed to find the party he had espoused should be so vilified by his beloved: "might not your father be also equally blinded and deceived? How can he serve with such zeal the cause of that proud ambitious Duke, who murders his n.o.bility, treads his citizens in the dust, squanders the industry of the land in riotous living, and allows his peasantry to starve with hunger?"

"Yes, his enemies represent him in this light," she replied; "this army speaks of him in the same terms; but ask those below, on the banks of the Neckar, if they do not love their hereditary Prince, though his hand may lay heavy on them at times? Ask those faithful men who have rallied around him, whether they are not willing and ready, to shed their blood for the grand-child of Eberhard, rather than allow that proud Duke of Bavaria, that rapacious n.o.bility, those needy townsfolk to tread their land?"

Albert was thoughtfully silent for a time. "But," he asked, "how can his warmest supporters exculpate him from the murder of Hutten?"

"You are very ready to talk of your honour," Bertha answered, "and will not suffer the Duke to defend his own. Hutten did not fall by treachery, as his partisans have given out to the world, but in honourable fight, in which the Duke's life was equally exposed. I do not wish to excuse him for all his actions, but it is but just to remember, that a young man, like him, surrounded by evil advisers, has not the power always to act wisely. But he is really good, and if you knew how mild and humane he can be!"

Albert was piqued that Bertha should speak in such glowing terms of the Duke's virtues, and jealousy for a moment took possession of his soul and ruffled his temper. He replied with a sarcastic and malignant smile, "A little more, and you would call him the handsome Duke; who, for aught I know, if he were aware what an advocate he had in you, might think it worth his trouble to ingratiate himself in your heart, and supplant poor Albert."

"I really did not think you capable of such petty jealousy," Bertha answered, and turned away, with a tear of indignation starting into her eye, from a feeling of wounded dignity. "Cannot you believe it possible for the heart of a young girl to beat warm in the cause of her country?"

"Do not be angry with me," Albert implored, and felt ashamed at the injustice of his remark; "really, I meant it in joke."

"Can you indulge in a joke at this moment, when our life's happiness is at stake! My father leaves Ulm to-morrow, war being declared. It will be long, perhaps very long, before we see each other again--and can you joke now? Ah! could you have witnessed the many nights I have prayed G.o.d, with burning tears, to incline your heart to our side, to defend us from the misery and pain of being separated for ever, you certainly would not have trifled so cruelly with my feelings."

"He has not inclined it to happiness," said Albert, looking about him, agitated.

"And is it still impossible," said Bertha, as she took his hand, with the most expressive tenderness, "is it still impossible? Come along with us, Albert; think how happy my father would be to present a young warrior to his Duke? He has often said that one gallant sword is of great price in such times; you will be highly esteemed by him, you will fight by his side, my heart will not then be torn or divided between the conflicting parties, my prayers for prosperity and victory, will not wander in doubtful agitation between the two armies."

"Stop, for heaven's sake, stop!" cried the young man, and covered his eyes with his hands; for the conquest of conviction beamed from her looks, the power of truth was encamped on her sweet lips. "Do you wish to persuade me to become a deserter? I entered but yesterday with the army, war is this day declared, and shall I ride over to the Duke to-morrow? Is my honour so indifferent to you?"

"Honour!" Bertha said, "is such honour dearer to you than your love?

How different were his words, when Albert swore eternal fidelity! Well, then, go and be happier with them than with me! But when the Duke of Bavaria creates you a knight on the field of battle, for carrying desolation through our fields, when he decorates the neck of Albert von Sturmfeder with the chain of honour, for having been the foremost in crushing Wurtemberg's citizens, may the joy of your thoughts not be troubled then, by having broken the heart of one so true to you--of one who loved you so tenderly!"

"Dearest," answered Albert, whose breast was torn by conflicting feelings, "grief does not permit you, to perceive how unjust you are.

But be it so; you conceive that I prefer the glory, which is leading me onwards, to making a sacrifice of it to love. But hear me. I dare not come over to your side. I will give in my resignation to the League.

Let those fight and conquer who will; my dream of glory is thus at an end."

Bertha sent a look of grat.i.tude to heaven for this avowal, and rewarded the words of the young man by a sweet acknowledgment. "Oh! believe me,"

she said, "I know how much this sacrifice must cost you. But do not let me see you look so sad, when you cast your eyes at your sword. The sun will still shine upon our happiness one of these days. I can now bid you farewell with consolation in my heart, for, whichever way the war may end, you can appear unconstrained before my father, who will rejoice to hear of your having made the heavy sacrifice for my sake."

Marie now gave her friends the signal that she was unable to retain the clerk of the council any longer, which roused them from their absorbing conversation. Bertha quickly composed herself, and with Albert quitted the arbour.

"Cousin Kraft wishes to depart," said Marie, "and requires his friend to accompany him."

"I must indeed go with you, if I wish to find my way home," replied the young man, who was too well acquainted with the received customs of his day, not to be aware that he, a stranger, could not remain with the young ladies, without their cousin being of the party, precious as the last moments, before a long separation from his love, might be to him.

They proceeded down the garden, the silence only broken by Dieterick, who expressed his sorrow, in very courteous terms, at the prospect of his cousin leaving Ulm so soon as the morrow. But Marie, thinking she discovered something in the look of Albert's eye, which expressed a wish not yet satisfied, and to the accomplishment of which witnesses might be unwelcome, drew cousin Kraft on one side, and questioned him so closely upon a plant, whose leaves were just bursting, that he had not time to observe what was going on behind his back.

Albert took immediate advantage of the happy moment, and pressed Bertha once more to his heart. The noise occasioned by her heavy silken dress, and the clattering of his sword, drew the scribe's attention from his botanical observations; he looked around, and oh, wonder! he saw his very reserved cousin in the arms of his guest.

"That was a salute for the dear cousin in Franconia, I suppose?" he remarked, after he had recovered from his surprise.

"No, Mr. Secretary," answered Albert, with firmness, "it was a salute for me alone, and from her whom I hope one day to call my own. Have you anything to say against it, my friend?"