Six years afterwards, on a cold, dreary November day, a grumbling, discontented crowd was waiting before the building in which the weal and woe of the country of N---- were decided. An important conference had just been concluded,--a consultation concerning increasing the severity of the punishments inflicted upon political criminals. Carriages drove up, and ministers and councilors entered them. At last a brilliant equipage, drawn by two snorting, spirited gray horses, dashed up so quickly that the crowd shrank back in terror, and looked at the door in eager expectation. Two servants hastily let down the steps. A slender man appeared who had not yet reached middle life, but on whose pallid face sharp lines were already visible. He did not vouchsafe to cast a glance at the throng, but as he entered the carriage he heard those near him whisper, "That is Ottmar; he is one of the worst of them." The door was closed, the footmen sprang back to their places, and the impatient steeds dashed through the crowd like griffins.

"Do you hate me at last?" murmured the cold man in the carriage. "It is well; if I once see I am hated I shall be able to shake off this remnant of conscientiousness that still tortures me, and henceforth live only for myself and my own aims."

The carriage stopped before a castle-like building, the state prison. Ottmar had for some time been commissioner of one of the revolutionary provinces of the country, where of late a new uprising was feared, and had therefore received orders to try to draw from the political prisoners, who were natives of that region, disclosures which might place some clue to the conspiracy in the hands of the government. The prince had selected him for this office because his cold watchfulness, smoothness, and skill in dealing with different natures seemed to make him peculiarly fitted for it. During the short time that Ottmar had been in the employ of the N---- government he had risen to the rank of privy councilor and member of the council of state, and displayed his talents in the widest spheres. He was the trusted friend of the young prince, over whom he exerted an inexplicable power, executor of the most secret measures, not unfrequently employed to deal with the agents of foreign courts, and his enemies began to fear him more and more when they perceived too late that his influence had already pervaded the whole court.

What it had cost him to submit and cringe to a system which his inmost soul abhorred, though with the longing to be or strive for something better he had violently crushed down every other feeling, as egotism and ambition had always suppressed the better emotions of unbiased convictions, was stamped in terrible characters upon the haggard, pallid, but still handsome face, the frail but haughtily erect figure.

He walked in gloomy silence behind the guide, who was taking him to the worst criminals in the lower story. A cold breeze blew over him, chilling his breast, and he involuntarily said to himself, "Yet men are compelled to live here!" It seemed as if the sound of despairing sobs reached his ear through one of the iron doors. He paused and listened. A low, soft voice appeared to be speaking words of solemn warning.

"Open this cell," he said to his guide; but the latter did not move.

"Oh, Herr Baron!" he said, imploringly, "shall we not go to the others first?--the man in there is very violent."

"Open the door!" said Heinrich, imperiously.

"Have mercy; we are all ruined men if you do not have mercy upon us!" stammered the guide, in the greatest confusion.

"What is the matter with you?" asked Heinrich, extremely perplexed. "I will be merciful if I can, but open the door at once."

The man hesitatingly unlocked the low door, and Heinrich stood in the entrance as if spell-bound. A young girl, thoughtful and beautiful as artists paint the Muse of History, was sitting on a stool holding in her lap a book, from which she had apparently just been reading aloud. She was bending over the prisoner, who had thrown himself weeping on the ground at her feet, and speaking to him consolingly. Heinrich motioned to the guide to be silent, and hastily retreated behind the door that he might not be seen.

"You have come too early, surely. I have not yet spent half an hour with Sebastian," said the young girl. A pale sunbeam fell upon her as she raised her head and shook back from her face a mass of luxuriant curls. Her full lips pouted a little as she asked the jailer, "What is the matter with you to-day? why do you look at me so?"

"You must come out now," said he.

She rose slowly.

"Stand up, Sebastian; be reasonable."

She bent over the despairing man and tried to help him rise; but he pressed his face still more closely to the damp ground.

"Stand up!" she suddenly commanded. "Behave like a man, not like a child, if you wish me ever to come here again."

The prisoner rose. He was an old man, decrepit and thin, with the staring eyes peculiar to those who for years have vainly endeavored to pierce with their glances the dungeon walls that surround them.

"Oh, do not be angry!" he pleaded. "I am calm now."

"Farewell for to-day, my poor Sebastian!" she said, returning to her former wonderfully gentle tone, and walked quickly along the passage to the next door. As she looked round to see if the warden was going to open it for her she perceived Heinrich, who could now no longer conceal himself. He advanced towards her, and she watched his approach with surprise, but very calmly. Her gaze had only been fixed upon his breast, which glittered with orders; but as he stood silently before her in his manly dignity she raised her dark eyes to his, and their glances met like electric sparks. A flush slowly suffused the young girl's clearly cut face, and she involuntarily cast down her eyes as if she had received a shock.

"I am very much surprised to find such charming society in these inhospitable apartments, FrÄulein," Heinrich began.

"I do not think it so very astonishing if the jailer's daughter seeks to aid her father in his arduous duties."

"Pardon me, FrÄulein, if I take the liberty of doubting the accuracy of that statement," said Heinrich. "A jailer's daughter does not use such language; besides, the alarm displayed just now when I wished to enter the cell was far too great for me not to attribute more importance to your incognito. I am, unfortunately, compelled to look at your romantic appearance here through the extremely prosaic spectacles of an official, whose duty it is to obtain information in regard to every unusual event; therefore, by virtue of my office, I must inquire your name as well as request an explanation of your object."

The young girl looked at him with a long, steady gaze, while an expression played around her lips which Heinrich had never before seen on a woman's face,--a slight shade of irony.

"Very well, sir; if these people have already betrayed me I need use no further deception. I did not employ it for my own sake, but on account of these poor employees whom I have estranged from their duty. My name I hope I may be permitted to conceal; but I owe you an explanation about my object: it is only to do good. As others go to hospitals to heal diseased bodies, the majority of which can no longer be saved, I come hither to aid sick souls, where often the best and highest results may be effected. Do you think that so romantic? I have surely done no wrong in bribing the officials here, partly by money, partly by kind words, to allow me to make a daily round through the cells. In charitable institutions the doors and gates stand open to all who wish to bring aid and consolation to the sufferers. The thrice wretched unfortunates in our prisons are refused all means of cheering and ennobling them. No account is taken of individuality here, where individuality is the sole standard of measurement. A chaplain is sent to admonish criminals to repent, who is to convert them all in a lump according to his own theories; but people trouble themselves very little about the result of this manufacturing method of conversion, and when at the expiration of their imprisonment the criminals are sent back into the world, they begin again just where they stopped years before."

"Oh, FrÄulein, you go too far! The punishment itself does most, for it terrifies them," replied Heinrich.

"Some, but certainly by far the smallest number. Many in the course of years become so hardened to it by custom that it loses its terrors, and the only moral the majority draw from imprisonment is--to manage more cautiously in future. There is only one guarantee for the permanent harmlessness of the criminal who cannot be imprisoned for life--amendment; but this principal object of punishment is always made subservient to the principle of avenging the insulted law."

"Well, and can you tell me also how this amendment is to be effected?" asked Heinrich, with increasing interest.

"I think by the admitting of judicious, trustworthy persons who can understand these different characters, and influence by advice and instruction, where the latter is needed."

"I admire your sanguine, philanthropic ideas," replied Heinrich; "but tell me yourself, my honored FrÄulein, would not the state have too much to do if it was compelled to take into account the peculiarities of each individual criminal, and establish and pay a whole corporation of amendment officials?"

This jeer wounded the young girl, and a deep flush crimsoned her noble, intellectual brow for a moment; but after a pause she continued, undaunted: "Such a task would perhaps be too visionary and comprehensive for the government; but the citizens would come to its aid in this as well as in benevolent institutions, and from the hearts of the populace a corps of volunteer amendment officials would arise, in which our noblest patriots would undoubtedly be associated. But I have no intention of discussing a subject upon which folios have been already written, and which you understand better than I. I only wished to give the motive for my actions; and your recent sneer," she added, in a slightly defiant tone, "has fully convinced me that you will at least consider these 'sanguine philanthropic ideas' in the mind of a fanciful young girl too harmless to put them on official record, so my examination is doubtless over."

"Not yet," said Heinrich, firmly. "Your ideas and language do not seem to me quite so harmless as you suppose. I cannot help desiring to obtain more exact information concerning the motives of your acts and the bearing of your influence. I must and shall find means to do so. You stand too proudly and firmly before me for me to be able to believe so implicitly in the purposelessness of your enthusiasm. I am a servant of the government; as such it is both a duty and a right to ask, 'Who are you? in what relations do you stand towards the prisoners? what is your object?'"

"Who I am I shall not tell you; in what relations I stand towards the prisoners and what influence I exert you can learn from themselves; as for my object, can you not understand it? I am making myself useful. Do you think it requires another and more important purpose to act as I have done?"

"Making yourself useful?" repeated Heinrich, thoughtfully. "Do you really imagine you are of much use here?"

"How much is not for me to measure, I make myself as useful as I can. If every one only did this the world would be happier. It is not the success, but the will, that determines the value of an act. Vanity asks only about the result, honest purpose is satisfied with the doing."

"Indeed!" said Heinrich. "Are you so totally free from vanity?"

"Oh, no!" She suddenly burst into a merry laugh, and a ray of bright healthful enjoyment sparkled in her eyes. "I will not say that. God forbid that I should surround myself with a false halo. I am as vain as every other young girl; it is only where the sphere of my earnest labor is concerned that I am humble and modest, then my own person retires completely into the background, and I live solely to accomplish my purpose. But in the outside world, where I am least useful, I am vain, assuming, and selfish. I have often thought of this contradiction."

"I understand that," said Heinrich; "you feel small in comparison to your ideas and wishes, because like all gifted human beings you always desire more than you can accomplish. But when, outside of this sphere, you meet with commonplace, petty natures, you feel great, because you desire and accomplish so much more than they. Am I not right?"

The girl raised her eyes in astonishment, and looked at him earnestly. "You are right, and must have studied psychology more than one would have expected from a 'servant of the government.'"

"There is a singular blending of jest and earnest in your disposition," said Heinrich. "I have never before witnessed such rapid transitions from gay to grave and grave to gay in any one. Yes, I might really believe you followed only your own impulses without motive or purpose."

"Indeed, indeed you can! Believe me, I am doing nothing and want nothing, except to prove my love for mankind in every possible way. You seem to give me credit for political intrigues and dangerous connections. Oh, go to the prisoners, and convince yourself whether the spirit I instill is a revolutionary one or one of humility and repentance! By the manner in which I have taught these people to bear their misfortunes you will see whether my intentions are good and pure; and then you will give no information, but permit me to continue my office here, will you not?"

Heinrich made no reply; he was gazing earnestly into the sparkling eyes of the suppliant. Suddenly he pointed to the nearest door. "Go in to the prisoner there,--unobserved; I will watch how you discharge the duties of your office and then decide."

The warder opened the door, and the young girl quietly entered. A shrill cry of joy greeted her. "Oh, Prison Fairy! dear Prison Fairy! have you come at last?" exclaimed a young man.

"Why does he call her that?" Heinrich asked the turnkey, in a low tone.

"One of the prisoners gave her the name, and since then we have all called her by it, because we know no other, and this suits her so well."

"Oh, dear Fairy, I have passed another terrible night! So long as you are here I am as good as a child," continued the prisoner; "but when you go away, the old sorrow bursts forth again in all its fury. Oh, if I could go out into the world and satisfy the impulses of my own heart! Something might be made of me now, but after five years it will perhaps be too late. I felt that last night. True, the power to do evil may perhaps be broken in a ten years' imprisonment, but so is the strength to do well; and when I am sent out of this place, crippled in body and soul, an outcast from society, robbed of all civil honors and ability, it will get the dominion over me again. Then I shall be a mere idiot, who can no longer think of or feel anything except the greatness of his own misery; and for the assault I committed in a moment of passion, a twofold murder will have been practiced upon my body and soul during these ten years!"

"Albert, why are you in such a horrible mood to-day?" asked the young girl, in alarm. "You have not been so for a long time."

"Because I have been obliged to wait for you during so many painful hours; because I thought you were not coming again, and felt that in you alone is rooted the power which has upheld me for the last three years, that I should be lost if you remained away. No, I have not deserved this punishment."

"Albert, shall I repeat what I have always told you? Repeat it yourself."

"You said I was aware of the punishment, and voluntarily drew it upon myself by my crime, that I must bear what was the result of my own guilt; but I assure you again and again that if that terrible moment I had been sufficiently master of myself to be able to think, I should never have committed the crime; not from fear of the punishment, but of the sin."

"That excuses you in my eyes, but not in those of the law. Will you never be able to perceive that a man of such blind passions must be made harmless? Who will guarantee that the next instant, spite of all good resolutions, he may not be attacked by the same madness and commit a second murder?"

"Harmless! Yes, yes, I have been made harmless!" he groaned. "Why do you conjure up all the stings of conscience when I so greatly need consolation?"

"Because I see more clearly than ever that only the memory of your guilt makes your misery endurable; because you complain of the injustice of your punishment, and always become calmer when forced to acknowledge that, if not deserved, it was at least necessary and unfailing. And has not God sent a comfort to you in your sorrow,--a soul which understands you, which brings news of your beloved into your dungeon, and keeps the heart of your betrothed bride faithful to you? Is not this a divine mercy which can cheer you?"

"Yes, yes, I acknowledge the blessing, and for the sake of this mercy will strive and hope that I may procure for you the only reward you can receive, noble, wonderful creature!--the consciousness of having saved a soul!"

"Yes, my friend, give me that reward; it is the noblest gift which can be bestowed upon me for my efforts; and if I live to see the day when, purified and ennobled, you return to the world, I shall thank God more fervently than ever for having given me a heart to suffer with others, and also make them rejoice."

"And some day I will tell my children of the 'Prison Fairy!'" cried the young man, transported with hope.

Just at that moment Heinrich appeared in the doorway. "Well, sir," said the young girl, "is any other motive needed for my conduct? Do you now believe that such a moment would outweigh years of fruitless toil?"

"I understand and believe you, for you are a perfect enthusiast," said Heinrich, seizing her hand.

"Do you call this enthusiasm?" she said. "If so, every great act of love, from Christ's down to our own times, has been enthusiasm, and nothing is true and real except enthusiasm and its results. I confess, sir, that if all mankind shared your views, I would rather live with my prisoners in this dungeon than in the outside world!"

Heinrich gazed in astonishment at the proud, girlish figure, with the natural dignity of a pure, unshaken self-appreciation on the undaunted brow, and the alluring grace of true womanhood in the soft, undulating outlines of the whole frame; and an admiring reverence overwhelmed him, such as, for many a long year, no woman had inspired in his breast.

"Do not misunderstand me, FrÄulein. You take the word in a different sense from the one intended. Where enthusiasm is united to such energy as you possess, it has always accomplished the noblest deeds the world has ever known; but we usually give that name----"

"To what we have no power to feel ourselves," involuntarily interrupted the excited girl; and it seemed as if her glance rested sorrowfully upon Heinrich's beautiful, expressive features.

Heinrich stood speechless. He felt as if a burning brand had suddenly been cast into the dark recesses of his soul, and his spiritual eyes were following the light as it penetrated deeper and deeper.

Just at that moment the prisoner's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Pardon me, sir," he began, timidly, "have I not the honor of seeing Herr von Ottmar?"

"Albert!" exclaimed Heinrich, "is it really you? I thought I recognized you, but doubted it, because I should have expected to find you in a monastery rather than a dungeon, and besides, you are very much altered. How did you, of all the world, happen to be placed in such close confinement?"

"Oh, Herr von Ottmar, you were so kind to me at college, may I tell you the story of my misfortune?" said Albert, the person who had been at the Jesuit college with Heinrich, and of whom he had spoken in his interview with Severinus.

"Will you allow it, FrÄulein?" asked Heinrich.

"Certainly," replied the young girl, joyfully. "Perhaps the tragical history may for once arouse even in you the enthusiasm of compassion."

With these words she glanced at Heinrich with a pleading, inexpressibly charming smile. The latter could not turn his eyes away from the wonderfully changeful face, but murmured, as if in assent, "Prison Fairy!"

Meantime Albert had commenced his story. At first Heinrich gave it very little attention; gradually, however, he became attracted and listened eagerly, even anxiously. Albert related how, after being expelled from the order in the second year of his novitiate, he had for some time earned a scanty support, and at last lived several years as a tutor in the family of a wealthy German merchant. Six years before, this family removed from Italy to Germany, and in fact to the very capital where Ottmar had lived before his departure for N----. "There," said he, "I became acquainted with a young girl,--a girl who was really as pure and blooming as a rose. I had never loved a woman before,--the dark, ardent Italians were repulsive to my quiet nature,--but when I found the thoughtful, golden-haired German maiden, I clung to her with fervent affection. She loved me; and I, who had been tossed about the world from a child, was intoxicated by her tenderness, as if it were the aroma of some costly wine. I gradually neglected my pupils, my duty, and several times received censure; but in vain. Passion, so long repressed, was aroused, and locked me, the novice, completely within its magic circle.

"But now I became the sport of other feelings, which were more dangerous to me,--I grew jealous. My beloved suddenly seemed changed. She became timid, absent-minded, embarrassed, and day by day colder. I spoke to her father. The old man asked me whether I doubted the virtue of his child. The fever of jealousy and suspicion increased. I had no thoughts for anything else, and no longer knew what I was doing. Then one day my employers dismissed me. They had grown weary of my indolence and absence of mind, and I was penniless. With an agonized soul I hurried through the gathering twilight to seek my betrothed. I wished to find her heart once more,--the heart for which I had sacrificed and lost all. She was deeply moved when I told her of my misfortune and the tortures I had suffered for her sake; and as in decisive moments a long-concealed truth is often revealed, her innocent breast in this agitation could no longer hide its secret. She confessed, amid tears of agony and remorse, that she was on the point of being lost to me forever; that an aristocratic, handsome, brilliant gentleman had tempted her, and she was too weak to withstand him; that he had loaded her and her father with favors of all kinds, and she had thought gratitude made it her duty to obey him; nay, he had even persuaded her to come to his garden, but there, heaven be praised! she had been saved from disgrace by his old valet. The gentleman must have gone away an a journey, for she had heard nothing more from him.

"So I had sacrificed everything, and this was my reward. I stood silent, trembling from head to foot, as I leaned against the window in the little dark room on the ground-floor. I was not accustomed to say much, but I felt all the more. A cold perspiration trickled down my forehead; my clammy hands clinched the sill; the lights out-of-doors cast strange, unsteady shadows into the room, and dim, restless shadows settled upon my brain. At last I asked with difficulty, 'Who is the scoundrel?' The young girl had been standing beside me pale and trembling, with her eyes fixed intently upon the street. Suddenly she screamed and retreated from the window alarm. There he comes! so he hasn't gone yet! It is he! he is coming!' I saw a tall, slight figure, closely wrapped in a cloak approach the house; heard that it was he! The blood rushed to my brain! I seized an axe that was lying near the stove, dashed out, and felled the approaching figure to the ground! The young girl ran after me terror, saw the wounded man, and screamed, Jesus Maria! it is not he! You have killed an innocent person!' I felt bewildered and unable to move. Just then the man opened his eyes, looked at me, and gasped my name. My heart seemed to stop beating! I had killed Father Severinus!"

A long pause ensued. The prisoner was living over these scenes again, and needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

Heinrich gazed fixedly at the floor in silence. The Prison Fairy, in her dark dress, leaned calmly against the wall, her eyes resting on Heinrich's agitated face.

"What is the young girl's name?" asked Heinrich.

"RÖschen, the daughter of Martin the beadle," replied Albert.

"And you do not know the name of your rival?"

"I have never learned it," continued Albert "I said no more to RÖschen that terrible evening. She was the first to regain composure, and made me understand I must go home. Her father returned immediately after, and procured assistance for the wounded man, who did not again recover his consciousness while in his house. The old man stated that he had found him in the street. He could swear to this deposition, for he did not suspect the true state of affairs. So no one thought of me except RÖschen. She thought he would never open his eyes again to betray me, and before the police came to Martin's house, to avoid a possible cross-examination, went to one of Princess Ottilie's maids. The latter instantly took her to the princess--"

"What, to Ottilie?" eagerly interrupted Heinrich.

"Certainly," replied Albert; "the princess has known her for a long time through the maid, who was well disposed towards RÖschen, and often gave her work. The princess, gracious and benevolent as she always is, had once told her if she had anything to ask to come to her. So on this terrible day RÖschen told the noble lady all her troubles, and the princess induced her to take an oath never to reveal to me nor any one else who her tempter was."

"Did RÖschen mention his name to her?" asked Heinrich.

"Yes; and the princess must have been very kindly disposed towards the gentleman,--she insisted so earnestly that it should remain concealed. Then she gave RÖschen money to aid me to escape and enable me to support myself for a long time, and promised to take her under her protection. In the firm conviction that Severinus could not survive the blow, I was mad enough to fly to N----, my native country. But although the doctors gave him up, he recovered his senses sufficiently to denounce me as the criminal. He expressed the most positive suspicion that I had made the murderous assault solely from revenge towards him because he had been the first in the college to declare me useless. A warrant was issued, and I was arrested and brought up for trial."

"But how did you happen to receive so severe a punishment, when Severinus escaped with his life and you had no premeditated design?" asked Heinrich.

"But I had no means of proving the fact!" cried Albert, despairingly. "I could do nothing but protest that I did not wish to punish Severinus, but the man who had tempted my betrothed bride. I could not tell who this tempter was, for I did not know; and I wished to conceal the name of my betrothed, for I would have died rather than bring the hitherto blameless girl into a disgraceful trial and brand her for life. Thus I could not prove the circumstances which might have placed my act in a more favorable light, and consequently my whole defense was rejected as a mere subterfuge. The statements of the angry Severinus were far more clear and positive than mine, so I was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment in irons, and would gladly bear my misery, nay, even death," he added, gnashing his teeth, "if I had only struck down that scoundrel of a seducer instead of the innocent Severinus, or at least could ever discover who he is!"

"Who he is? Look at me, Albert!" cried Heinrich. "I am that scoundrel!"

"Sir, you only tell me so because I stand before you in chains," cried Albert, starting like a wounded animal. His veins swelled, his fingers tore at his fetters, his breast heaved convulsively.

"Do you think so, unhappy man?" cried Heinrich. "Now let us see whether you will venture to lay hands upon me."

With these words he led the young girl out of the cell, and ordered the jailer to remove the irons at once.

"I command it, and will be responsible," he said, imperiously, as they hesitated, "and then lock us both in from the outside." The fetters were taken off, and the turnkeys withdrew, locking the door behind them.

"Now summon up your courage; you see that I am unarmed and your chains are removed," said Heinrich, standing directly before him, and gazing at him with an unwavering glance.

The unhappy roan stood motionless for a moment, engaged in a most violent struggle with his emotions. At last his whole frame trembled, his hands fell as if weighed down by fetters of double weight, and he sank at Heinrich's feet, unable to utter a word.

The latter gazed at him a moment in silence, and then knocked on the door. The turnkeys came in anxiously and raised Albert, but his knees still trembled so violently that he was obliged to sit down on his bed. The Prison Fairy, with a sublime expression of sympathy, stroked his burning brow, and gazed at Heinrich with imploring expectation.

The latter quietly approached the group. "Albert, I have convinced myself that you can subdue your passions. You are worthy of the freedom I shall now help you secure. You shall no longer suffer for my frivolity, and both you and this lady shall be convinced that I am no scoundrel. Farewell for to-day."

Albert suddenly clasped his hands over his brow, and a flood of tears relieved his oppressed heart. Heinrich looked for a long time at the young girl, who, with pallid face, was gazing silently at the floor, then begged her to follow him, and left the cell.

When they were outside, he asked, "What do you think of me now?"

"If you go on and give yourself up to the law, as the best proof of Albert's deposition, I shall think well of you."

"I have determined to do something of the kind," said Heinrich, "and I hope you will then be convinced that I am not so entirely destitute of all enthusiasm."

"I shall be very glad, for the sake of my prisoners."

"Only for your prisoners? Why not for your own sake too?"

"Because it will principally concern the welfare of the unfortunate men who are now apparently dependent upon your compassion. I, thank God, have nothing to hope from you."

"Indeed!" said Heinrich, in an irritated tone. "But if, after those words, I refuse you permission to go to your protÉgÉs again?"

"You will not do that," replied the young girl, firmly. "If you really feel compassion, you will not, merely from an irritable whim, deprive the prisoners of the only comfort that can be afforded them in their cheerless situation."

"FrÄulein," said Heinrich, with his usual winning courtesy, "you certainly do very little to bribe the government official; yet this very course wins me still more, and I do not merely permit, I entreat you to return and accept me as your assistant."

"So long as you are with the prisoners, sir, they will not need me. Permit me to come here at a time when you are absent."

"You have become suspicious of me; we are farther apart now than at the first moment of meeting. My candor in your presence was over-hasty. Forgive me, and mingle a little of your kindness of heart with the austerity of your youthful ideas of virtue, that you may not utterly condemn. Will you? You forgive, and try to reform even criminals: reform me too. Why are you so intolerant to me alone?"

She gazed at him with gentle earnestness, and slowly shook her head. "When I enter a prison, I know I shall find a criminal, and am prepared for arguments about sin which are not too difficult to disprove. But with you I am disappointed and embarrassed, for your face promised something better, and I cannot enter into your delicate sophistry. I am an 'enthusiast'; you a 'servant of the government': the two characters are not easily harmonized. Farewell. Allow me to choose the time of my visits here, and forgive the poor jailers whom I have outwitted." With these words she hastily ran up the stone staircase.

Heinrich stamped his foot angrily on the floor. "Willful, haughty witch!" he murmured, as he hurried after her.

She paused on the upper step and nodded to him with all the winning charm of heartfelt emotion. "Be kind to my prisoners, Herr von Ottmar, and I will be kind to you!" Then, turning a corner, she disappeared before Heinrich could follow her. He gazed into vacancy, as if he wished to trace in the air the shadow into which she seemed to have dissolved before his eyes.

The jailers timidly approached him with their petition for pardon. "You shall be forgiven for the sake of this lady's eloquence, which is difficult to resist. But on pain of losing your places let no one hear of what has taken place to-day, or may occur in future," said Heinrich, sternly, and left the building.

The two turnkeys looked at each other a long time in silence; at last one said, as the result of his meditations, "It's the Prison Fairy!"

Heinrich's astonishment was raised to the highest pitch by the appearance of this young girl. Even the thought of the strange fatality which had made Severinus the innocent victim of the sensuality he had denounced so bitterly, a few weeks before, could not long fix his attention. He was convinced that Severinus had discovered to what "rose" he had wished to open his doors, and had gone to Martin's house with the intention of obtaining his daughter's confidence, and using it against him. "Poor Severinus!" said he. "You were compelled to pay dearly for your efforts to save souls. The ghost of the artist whose Hebe you so mercilessly shattered has revenged itself upon you; but the innocent tool of this vengeance was the very person whom you had most deeply injured, the poor, rejected Albert! Oh, the wonderful justice of fate!"

Then he returned again to the remarkable apparition of the young girl, which unceasingly occupied his thoughts. She had such a peculiar, changeful temperament that she had pleasantly affected every chord of his being. A deep earnestness gleamed through the naÏve coquetry by which she had sought to bribe him to favor her protÉgÉs. He perceived that hers was a kindred spirit, that she too, like himself, was under the influence of supernatural powers, but in her childlike soul had unconsciously united these forces in harmonious, changeful action, instead of, like him, being their sport.

This perception awed him. He felt that he would be understood by this nature if he showed himself openly to her, and rejected a thousand plans to discover who she was. "What strength is it that, in a feeble woman, rules powers which have crushed and conquered me--a man? Would not this strength exert a blissful influence over me also? With what joyous pride she said, 'I am making myself useful.' She is happy in the thought, and wants nothing more. Is it possible? Yet it must be. In her character lies concealed that spirit of martyrdom which dies smiling for its idea.

"There is something strange in a philanthropy which rejoices in making others happy. Hitherto I have not desired to give joy to any one except myself! Perhaps she will teach me her art.

"She joyously collects the tears of her dirty criminals as if they were the most precious pearls. I wear on my breast the jewels of various orders,--and yet all have never given me so much pleasure as a single tear causes her.

"Who knows, perhaps I have not yet done as much to earn my orders as she was compelled to do to win her pearls from the secret depths of those hardened souls. Oh, she is a glorious creature! She has the cleverness of a man, and yet is so thoroughly womanly. She proves conclusively that woman can really rise above her narrow sphere of ideas without becoming unwomanly, and that the true emancipation of the mind has nothing in common with that emancipation from principles and forms which so often repels us in those termed women of genius. Yes, such a woman would be capable of obtaining an influence over me.

"But what shall I do to find her again? First of all, I will do what she desired, I will confess the truth to the prince and obtain Albert's pardon. Noble as she is in thought and feeling, she will be touched and conciliated,--will believe in me. So, when occasion offers, I am doing a good deed once more. The prince is a sensible man. He will see the affair in its true light and not refuse me the little favor."