Alvina was about to speak, and acknowledge that she had bestowed it; but before she could utter a syllable, the page exclaimed,--

"I confess all--I stole it."

"Enough!" cried the count. "Daughter, retire to your apartment."

"Father!" cried the wretched girl, wringing her hands.

"Silence, countess!" cried the count, with terrific emphasis.

"Remember that I wield the power of life and _death_!"

Casting one look of mute agony at the undaunted page, the hapless lady retired from the room.

"Zabitzki," said the count, addressing the foremost of his attendants, "take me this thieving dog into the court yard, and lay fifty stripes upon his back. Then bear him to the dungeon in the eastern turret that overlooks the moat; there keep him till you learn my further pleasure."

The page was brave as steel. His cheek did not blanch, nor did his heart quail, as he heard the dreadful sentence. His lips uttered no unmanly entreaty for forgiveness; but, folding his arms, and drawing up his elegant figure to its full height, he fixed his eagle eye upon the count, with a glance full of bitter hatred and mortal defiance.

And afterwards, when submitting to the ignominious punishment, with his flesh lacerated by the scourge, no groan escaped his lips that might reach the listening ear of Alvina. He bore it all with Spartan firmness.

Midnight had struck when the young countess, shrouded in a cloak, and bearing a key which she had purchased by its weight in gold, ascended to the eastern turret, resolved to liberate the prisoner. The door swung heavily back on its rusted hinges as she cautiously entered the dungeon. Drawing back the slide from a lantern she carried in her left hand, she threw its blaze before her, calling out at the same time, "Alexis!"

No voice responded.

"They have murdered him!" she murmured, as she rushed forward and glanced wildly around her.

The cell was empty. She sprang to the grated window. The bars had been sawn through and wrenched apart, with the exception of one, from which dangled a rope made of fragments of linen and blanket twisted and knotted together. Had Alexis escaped, or perished in the attempt? The moat was deep and broad; but the page was a good swimmer and a good climber, and his heart was above all proof. There was little doubt in the mind of his mistress that fortune had favored him. Sinking on her knees, she gave utterance to a fervent thanksgiving to the almighty Power which had protected the hapless boy, and then retired to her couch to weep in secret. The next day the castle rang with the escape of Alexis. Messengers were sent out in pursuit of him in every direction; but a fall of snow in the latter part of the night prevented the possibility of tracking him, and even the dogs that the count put upon the scent were completely baffled. The next day the count and his daughter started on their journey.

CHAPTER II.

For time at last sets all things even; And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong.

BYRON.

Years had pa.s.sed away. The storm of war had rolled over the country, and the white eagle of Poland had ceased to wave over an independent land. Count Willnitz and his daughter had returned to the old castle; the former stern and harsh as ever, the latter completely in the power of an inexorable master. She had received no tidings of Alexis, and had given him up as lost to her forever. Her father, straightened in his circ.u.mstances and menaced with ruin, had secured relief and safety by pledging his daughter's hand to a wealthy n.o.bleman, Count Radetsky, who was now in the castle awaiting the fulfilment of the bargain.

"Go, my child," said the count, with more gentleness than he usually manifested in his manner. "You must prepare yourself for the altar."

"Father," said the young girl, earnestly, "does he know that I love him not?"

"I have told him all, Alvina."

"And yet he is willing to wed me!" She raised her eyes to heaven, rose, and slowly retired to her room.

Louisa, the old woman presented in the first scene of our tale, decked the unfortunate girl in her bridal robes, and went with her to the chapel, where her father and Radetsky awaited her. An old priest mumbled over the ceremony, and joined the hands of the bride and bridegroom. The witnesses were few--only the va.s.sals of the count; and no attempt at festivity preceded or followed the dismal ceremony.

Alvina retired to her chamber when it was over, promising to join her bridegroom at the table in a few moments. The housekeeper accompanied her.

"I give you joy, Countess Radetsky," said the old woman.

"I sorely need it," was the bitter answer. "I have sacrificed myself to the duty I owe my sole surviving parent."

The old woman rubbed her hands and chuckled as she noted the tone of anguish in which these words were uttered.

"I can now speak out," she said. "After long years of silence, the seal is removed from my lips. I can now repay your childish scorn, and bitter jests, by a bitterer jest than any you have yet dreamed of.

Countess Radetsky----"

"Spare me that name," said the countess.

"Nay, sweet, it is one you will bear through life," said the hag, "and you had better accustom yourself early to its sound. Know, then, my sweet lady, that the count, my master, had no claims on your obedience."

"How?"

"He is a childless man. He found you an abandoned orphan. Struck with your beauty, he brought you to his lady, and, though they loved you not, they adopted you, with a view to making your charms useful to them when you should have grown up. The count has amply paid himself to-day for all the expense and trouble you have put him to. He has sold you to an eager suitor for a good round price. Ha, ha!"

"And you knew this, and never told me!" cried the hapless girl.

"I was bound by an oath not to reveal the secret till you were married. And I did not love you enough to perjure myself."

"Wretch--miserable wretch!" cried Alvina. "Alas! to what a fate have I been doomed! Ah! why did they not let me rather perish than rear me to this doom? My heart is given to Alexis--my hand to Radetsky!"

"Go down, sweet, to your bridegroom," said the old woman, who was totally deaf to her complaints, "or he will seek you here."

Alvina descended to the banquet hall, uncertain what course to pursue.

Escape appeared impossible, and what little she knew of Radetsky convinced her that he was as pitiless and base as her reputed father.

She sank into a seat, pale, inanimate, and despairing.

At that moment, ere any one present could say a word, a man, white with terror, rushed into the hall, and stammered out,--

"My lord count!"

"What is it, fellow? Speak!"

"The Cossacks!" cried the man. And his information was confirmed by a loud hurrah, or rather yell, that rose without.

"Raise the drawbridge!" cried the count. "Curses on it!" he added, "I had forgotten that drawbridge and portcullis, every means of defence, were gone long ago."

"The Cossacks are in the court yard!" cried a second servant, rushing in.

"A thousand curses on the dogs!" cried Radetsky, drawing his sword.

"Count, look to your child; I will to the court yard with your fellows, to do what we may."

By this time the court yard of the castle was filled with uproar and turmoil. The clashing of swords was mingled with pistol shots and groans, the shouts of triumph and the shrieks of despair. Alvina, left alone by her father and Radetsky, trembled not at the prospect of approaching death; she felt only joy at her deliverance from the arms of a hated bridegroom. But when the crackling of flames was heard, when a lurid light streamed up against the window, when wreaths of smoke began to pour in from the corridors, the instinct of self-preservation awakened in her breast, and almost unconsciously she shrieked aloud for help.

Her appeal was answered unexpectedly. A tall, plumed figure dashed into the room; a vigorous arm was thrown around her waist, and she was lifted from her feet. Her unknown preserver, unimpeded by her light weight, pa.s.sed into the corridor with a fleet step. The grand staircase was already on fire, but, drawing his furred cloak closely around her, the stranger dashed through the flames, and bore her out into the court yard. Almost before she knew it, she was sitting behind him on a fiery steed. The rider gave the animal the spur, and he dashed through the gate, followed by a hundred wild Cossacks, shouting and yelling in the frenzy of their triumph.

Grat.i.tude for an escape from a dreadful death was now banished from Alvina's mind by the fear of a worse fate at the hands of these wild men.

"You have saved my life," she said to her unknown companion; "do not make that life a curse. Take pity on an unfortunate and sorely persecuted girl. I have no ransom to pay you; but free me, and you will earn my daily prayers and blessings."