Heinrich excused himself from the evening gathering on the plea of illness, and went to the prison. Here be ordered Albert to be removed to another, as he asserted, healthier cell, and remained in his stead in the narrow, gloomy dungeon, which, according to his opinion, the young girl would doubtless visit first. He also gave the most positive orders that nothing should be said to her about his presence or the change that had been made in Albert's cell, and thus hoped that she could not escape him. At eight o'clock in the morning he was listening in the greatest suspense to every step that approached his door. All passed by. His expectation increased to impatience,--his impatience to longing. He, who was accustomed to command, to whom all hastened, sat in a lonely cell like a poor criminal, and was forced to wait patiently until the moment of deliverance approached. He, who had so often been ardently expected behind silken curtains and flowers, now gazed through the iron bars of a little grated window at a the patch of sky, as if imploring that he might be granted what he desired. He had not even thought of taking a book with him, and the most terrible ennui was added to the monotony of the one thought that occupied his mind. The clocks in the various steeples struck the quarter and half hours; to count the near and distant strokes was the sole interruption of his dull reverie. And he had submitted to all this for the sake of a coy young girl, a stranger to him, though he did not even know who and what she was, or what she could ever be to him! He voluntarily put himself in the place of the prisoners, especially that of Albert, who had probably listened with a beating heart for days to hear if she were coming,--she, the only thing he still possessed in the eternal monotony of his imprisonment. His excited fancy pictured more and more vividly how the prisoner must live, year after year, exposed to the most terrible ennui, with only the sight of his four bare walls and his gnawing thoughts; how the only signs of human life that could reach him were a dull roar and the sound of the bells, and the only change in his slowly dragging days the transition from light to darkness. "I can open this door when I choose,--can go out when I please; only the necessity of gratifying an idle whim detains me; and yet the thought of being compelled to spend twenty-four hours here chills my breast, to say nothing of three hundred and sixty-five days and nights, and five times,--ten times as many!" He drew a long breath, and, merely to employ his thoughts, began to calculate with nervous eagerness how many hours this would be. How often Albert must already have reckoned it! What does such a man think during the long years? The soul needs nourishment as well as the body. Albert would doubtless have become imbecile had it not been for the Prison Fairy. She is the one thought that keeps his soul awake. The clock struck eleven. "I have been waiting three hours already. Suppose she should not come? What must it be to the prisoner, when she remains away all day, and he has waited through the twenty-four hours in vain!"

Worn out by involuntary idleness, he sinks upon his couch at night, looks up to the little window, and watches for the thousandth time the motions of the clouds and the gathering darkness; perhaps even greets a twinkling star as a joyful event, compares it to the eyes of the Prison Fairy, and wonders why she did not come to-day, and whether she will come to-morrow, until he falls into his feverish slumber. He wakes early in the morning longing for her, would gladly hasten the hours with his panting breath, urge on the strokes of the clocks by the pulsations of his heart, and yet he has no resource but patience,--continual patience. His soul rises and falls between fear and hope, his head burns, his limbs ache under the pressure of his chains. The sun sends its wandering rays into the cell and shines upon the door; suddenly it springs open, and, as if allured by the rays, bathed in the splendor, the beautiful figure stands in the entrance in all the brightness of her living, loving presence, greeted by a cry of joy as piercing as I heard yesterday from Albert's lips. "Prison Fairy!" She approaches him; she touches the fetters with her flower-white hands, and they become light; her breath cools his feverish brow; she speaks to him a tone thrilling with the melody of enthusiastic feeling; she looks at him with her mysterious eyes, and on her brow is throned that dignity which no bold desire, no injustice, dare approach.

Oh, how longingly he must await such consolation! how he must----

The door opened: a female figure was about to enter; he turned, and the painful suspense escaped in a shrill exclamation,--"Prison Fairy!" The door was closed, and light footsteps rapidly retreated. As in a dream we often vainly strive to reach something with trembling haste, the width of the little space he must pass to pursue the fugitive seemed far too great for Ottmar. His hands trembled so violently in his hurry that he opened the heavy old lock with difficulty, and when he emerged she had disappeared.

"Where is she?" he asked of a jailer who was just coming up the passage.

"Does your lordship mean the Prison Fairy? I have not seen her to-day."

"That is a lie! She was here just now."

"Yes, your lordship, it may be so; she always bids the Herr Inspector good-morning before she goes to the prisoners."

"Call the inspector here," said Heinrich, returning to the cell.

The official, an elderly man, with honest features, obeyed the summons.

"Herr Inspector," said Heinrich, sternly, "you have for several years allowed a lady secret access to the prisoners."

"Yes, Herr Geheimrath," said the man, with dignified composure.

"Have you ever received permission to do so from any higher authority?"

"No, Herr Geheimrath."

"And yet you have exceeded the limits of your instructions?"

"I must bear the punishment patiently."

"Are you so courageous?"

"Herr Geheimrath," said the old man, modestly, "I have done what my own heart dictated, and was aware that in following my convictions of Christian duty I was violating only the letter, not the spirit, of my office."

"A prison official, and possessed of a heart! The two do not harmonize, Herr Inspector."

"Pardon me, I did not know it. I cherish the belief that our wise government desires to have the criminal justly not cruelly treated; and to serve the arm of justice is an office which a man who has a heart can hold, although it sometimes falls heavily upon it."

"These are the subtle reasonings of the Prison Fairy, as she is called here. Yet I am disposed to pass over the affair if you will instantly tell me the lady's name, social position, and residence."

"Herr Geheimrath," said the inspector, smiling, "I think if my offense deserves pardon you will be sufficiently just to grant it without conditions, for I cannot possibly fulfill those you have just mentioned."

"Herr Inspector!"

"Herr Geheimrath, I give you my word of honor that I do not know who the lady is, nor where she lives."

"I must believe you; but in that case your course is all the more inexplicable."

"I see, Herr Geheimrath, that I owe you a detailed account of the matter, and am ready to confirm each of my statements upon oath."

"Well?" said Heinrich, with ill-repressed curiosity.

"When, five years ago, the jail was filled with political prisoners, a young man named Reinhold was brought in who excited my compassion in the highest degree. He had taken part in the conflicts in the Province of B----, but seemed so feeble and gentle that I could not understand how he had been concerned in such deeds. He was sentenced to death, but the prince commuted the decree to an imprisonment of twenty years. His winning, lovable character aroused the sympathy of all who saw him. Day by day the unfortunate man grew paler and more feeble; but he said nothing. No one heard a word of complaint from his lips, and he always had the same gentle smile for all who entered his cell. Even the jailers pitied this quietly endured, silent suffering, and remarked to each other that the prisoner seemed ill. I went to him, and urgently pressed him to tell me what was the matter. He thanked me and protested that he was quite well; his heart was heavy, but no one could help him there except the one whose coldness had made him rush into his crime and misfortune, and whom he must love till the day of his death. I did not wish to press him with any further questions, because the recollection seemed to exhaust him. One day the young lady of whom we are speaking came to me and implored me through her tears to procure her an interview with the prisoner, Reinhold. I refused. The next day she came again, as she said, to inquire after the prisoner's health, and begged me to allow her to do so daily. This, of course, I could not deny her. She appeared in my little room regularly every afternoon at a certain hour, and I must confess that the young girl soon became as dear to me as if she had been my own child. She did not tell me who she was, but her whole conduct showed that she must belong to a good family, and be perfectly pure in heart; besides, I was too modest to ask what she did not tell me of her own free will. One day I could give her no good news about the prisoner's health. His weakness had greatly increased. She received my communication with so much sorrow that I could no longer doubt some close tie bound her to Reinhold, and that she was the very person for whom he was grieving so bitterly. She clasped my hands in agony and implored me only to let her look at him a moment through the open door of his cell. I could not refuse the poor child this. I led her to the spot, went to the prisoner, and left the door slightly ajar, that she, concealed behind it, might look in. But who can depend upon the unruly heart of seventeen? Scarcely had I addressed two words to Reinhold when she rushed in, and, with a cry of agony, threw herself upon his breast. Neither could speak, and my own tears flowed freely. The unhappy man was so weak that he could not endure this tempest of joy, but fell from her arms pale and lifeless. She sank on the floor beside him and silently took his head in her lap. There she sat as if the Virgin had appeared in bodily form with the dead Christ. Herr Geheimrath, no one worthy of the name of man could have separated them; it would have seemed to me like sacrilege!"

"Go on," said Heinrich, in the greatest suspense.

"When Reinhold had partially recovered, a touching scene ensued,--a scene which may be felt but not described. They had never spoken to each other before; she did not even seem to have returned his affection, and implored his forgiveness for her want of love which had driven him out into the world to his ruin. But she would make amends. She called me to witness that she solemnly betrothed herself to him, and implored me in the name of the God before whom I should one day have to stand in the great and final account, to give her once for all free admittance to her betrothed husband's cell. I perceived how she had outwitted me by so completely captivating me during her daily visits, that I could no longer refuse her anything. I was convinced that the prisoner had in her one who would faithfully care for his soul, for she is pure and gentle as a child, wise and firm as a man. So I granted her desire, and up to this moment have never repented it; she has brought a better spirit into the institution, and exerts a remarkable power over the prisoners."

"And the betrothed bridegroom 2" asked Heinrich.

"She thought she could still save him by her affection, and nursed him with admirable tenderness. He was happy; but even as grief had once threatened to destroy him, so it was now with love,--he slowly languished.

"After a time she perceived it and attributed it to prison life. She found that the greatest suffering a man can feel is loss of freedom, bore in her heart the deepest compassion, not only for him but his companions in misfortune, and several times assured me that if she did not need all her time for Reinhold she would gladly visit the other prisoners, but she did not wish to deprive him of a moment."

"Just then a political criminal who had been sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment was brought in, so infuriated by his fate that he tore at his chains with his teeth, and tried to dash out his brains against the heavy irons like Caius Coelius, as he said; in short, he behaved like a madman. No one could obtain any influence over him; he cursed all who approached him and scoffed at the priests. Then I thought I would ask the Prison Fairy--her lover had jestingly called her so because she forbade him to mention her real name--if she would not try to bring the lunatic to reason. She went to him with the utmost readiness, and the man was so charmed by her beauty and courage that he yielded to her and obeyed her with the greatest devotion. If he ever regain freedom, he will owe it to that girl that he is not lunatic or a reprobate.

"Six months had elapsed, when we heard a cry of despair from Reinhold's cell; and when we hurried to it, found her in the same attitude as on their first meeting,--kneeling on the floor supporting her lover's head in her arms. But this time he was not to wake again,--he was dead. The Prison Fairy wept over the pallid face so bitterly that the jailers crept noiselessly out of the cell, that they might not see her grief. The physician attached to the prison was summoned; said that he had had heart disease, and perhaps would have lived no longer under any circumstances. We talked to her as well as we could; and when she saw how deeply her sorrow grieved us, she composed herself and consoled us. But when the prison door opened and the corpse was borne out, she broke down, and shrieked, Poor Reinhold, now you are free!' The tone still rings in my ears; I shall never forget it as long as I live.

"When we were alone she thanked me with touching affection, and entreated me henceforth to grant her admittance to all the prisoners, to alleviate the mental tortures, which often far exceeded the crime and the purpose of the punishment. After witnessing her success with the furious Sebastian, I could not refuse the noble and benevolent wish in which her soul sought consolation; and you must permit me to believe, Herr Geheimrath, that a blessing follows her wherever she goes."

"But does she seem to be entirely consoled now?" asked Heinrich.

"For two years she mourned deeply; nay, I often watched her with real anxiety; but at last time and her healthful nature asserted their rights. She grew stronger, gradually became calmer, even gay, and for the last year has been the same vivacious child she was five years ago. Now you know all, honored sir, and can judge for yourself."

Heinrich gazed into vacancy long and thoughtfully. At last he said, kindly, "Under such extraordinary circumstances people must of course make exceptions. You are an honest man, Herr Inspector!"

"I thank you, Herr Geheimrath!"

"But now, tell me, has it never occurred to you to send some one after this strange girl, to see what direction she takes?"

"She always went to the stand of hackney-coaches and drove away in one of them. There is a consistency in everything she does, which would sometimes terrify one if he had not learned to know her kind heart."

"I thank you for your report. Farewell, Herr Inspector." Heinrich took his hat and went out.

"Albert must be free! the Prison Fairy must become mine!" said he, as he left the prison.