captivity,” exclaimed she, in one of those thrilling voices which have a magic beyond even their music; “you are not a prisoner too?” asked she, seeing the bewildered expression of Ernest’s countenance.
“A prisoner! No,” said he, too much astonished to know what he was saying, and taking one of the small and delicate hands which were extended so imploringly towards him.
“You will save me–help me, will you not?” asked the girl; “they have kept me here many years, and I long to go into the beautiful world that lies beyond these high walls. I sometimes wish I were a bird, and then I would spread my wings on the free air, and fly away, and be so happy. But you will take me with you, will you not?” whispered she, looking up in his face with the sweet and impatient look of a pleading child. “You look very kind–I may trust you, may I not?”
“With my life I will answer to that trust,” cried young Hermanstadt; “but who are you,–who keeps you here?”
“My uncle, the Baron von Lindorf,” muttered she, in a low frightened voice. “They tell me that there is a castle, and vassals, and gold, that should be mine, and that is why he keeps me here. He is very cruel!”
“Good God!” cried Ernest, “come this moment with me–and in his usurped place–before his own guests–I will force him to do you right.”
“No, no,” replied the captive, her lip whitening, and the pupils of her large eyes dilating with sudden terror. “No, let us fly,–you do not know how cruel he is, and how strong. Let us only get beyond these high walls. How did you get in?”
“I found by chance a long, concealed passage.”
“And you can come again? Ah! now I shall not mind being a prisoner. You will come and talk to me–and not tell me to be quiet, like old Clotilde, or frown upon me like Heinrich?”
“You shall not stay here–come with me this moment. I will protect you from them all!”
“No,” replied the captive, “not now; you do not know my uncle’s power–he would kill us both; we must escape without his knowing it. Do you think you can manage it in a few days?”
“Certainly! but the sooner the better.”
“What is your name?” interrupted the prisoner.
“Ernest von Hermanstadt.”
“They call me Minna. I used to have another name, but it is so long ago that I have forgotten it; I have grown so much since I was here. I could not reach those flowers when I came here first;–my pretty flowers, and my singing fountain–I shall be sorry to leave you! You never scold Minna; but it is a brave world yonder–you will take me into it, Ernest?” asked she; and again those sweet eyes were raised beseechingly to his.
“Come with me now–I will pledge my life for your safety!”
“No, come to-morrow–can you–without being seen? To-morrow morning, when those clouds are reddening, and the waters of the fountain are rosy with their shadows? I always come here then, I love the fresh air of the morning.”
At this moment a shrill voice in the distance was heard calling–“Minna, Minna.” Ernest would have pressed forward, when the maiden caught his arm, trembling from head to foot. “Go, go,” whispered she, then, clasping her little hands with an air of passionate entreaty, she
