the universe are carried on. But, if the ancients | words, one being ogus, (oxys,) acid, and the other failed to perceive that water was the result of a yevvaw, (gennao,) I produce; the compound term union between two widely different principles, the oxygen denoting something which produces acids; moderns were not quick in observing this fact. It a name given to this gas from its property of formwas not till the latter part of the eighteenth cen- ing acid substances, when combined with certain tury, that the severely trained philosophy of Europe other bodies. Thus, if sulphur receives a large could answer the question "What is water?" There mixture of oxygen, it becomes sulphuric acid, or is something surprising in this long ignorance oil of vitriol. It produces a brilliant flame respecting a substance which is daily before us, when fired by heated substances; thus a piece of which the farmer and mechanic depend upon for heated iron wire burns with vivid corruscations daily comforts and necessaries, and which, in the when plunged into a vessel filled with oxygen. Such form of rivers, rain, and dew, must have been are the properties of one of the constituents of continually soliciting the attention of scientific water. minds. Distant planets and comets had been measured, their mysterious journeys noted as accurately in the astronomers' tables as the various details of an English county in the hand-book of the topographer; but the nature of water was yet unknown. Such a fact proves that things near and common are often the least understood; so little are we trained to see nature's plainest signals, or listen to her voice. The other, hydrogen gas, resembles oxygen in three respects, being without colour, taste, or smell; but differs in its extreme lightness, common air itself weighing 14 times heavier than this gas. It is inflammable. A jar full of it when fired will burn till all is consumed; and a particular combination of it with the substance called carbon produces the brilliant gas-light which nightly illuminates our towns and cities. The name is formed from two Greek words, vdwp, (hydor,) water, and yevvaw, (gennao,) and thus the word hydrogen expresses the fact, that this gas is the basis or principal element of water. Let us first state the nature of water, and then narrate the steps by which its composition was discovered. This widely-diffused fluid is formed from the union of oxygen and hydrogen gas, in the proportion of eight weights of oxygen to one of hydrogen. That is, eight grains of oxygen, mingled with one of hydrogen, will produce nine grains of water; and from nine grains of water the chemist can again obtain eight grains of oxygen and one of hydrogen. We have spoken only of the proportionate weights of the two gases required for the production of water; but, as hydrogen is among the lightest of gases, one grain of it will be of much greater bulk than a like weight of oxygen. If these gases be mingled by bulk or measurement, the proportion will be two measures of hydrogen to one of oxygen gas. Thus, whilst the weight of oxygen in water exceeds the hydrogen in the proportion of eight to one, there is more volume of the latter gas in the ratio of two to one. When we speak of these gases being mingled, we do not refer to any kind of mixture; for, if such proportions of oxygen and hydrogen are put together in a vessel, and there left, water will not be formed; the mixture must be set on fire, an ex-give out light during the combustion; but water plosion then ensues, the two gases totally disappear, and water alone remains in the vessel. In this case it is evident that nothing except the gases contributes to the production of the water; from these therefore it must be formed. The gases may be set on fire by passing an electric spark into the vessel containing them. Thus the glass of water on the reader's table, the river which adds to the beauty of his neighbourhood, and the whole mass of the ocean-waters, are resolvable into common gases. Before proceeding, let us briefly describe those two elements of water. Oxygen is without taste, colour, or smell, and a little heavier than the common atmospheric air; it is the chief supporter of animal life, being extracted from the air by the lungs, and thus keeps the wonderful mechanism of our bodies in motion. But this fluid, so necessary to our existence when moderated by admixture with other gases, becomes destructive when breathed in its pure state, as it then excites the vital functions so rapidly that premature death is the result. A man is reckoned to consume 46,000 cubic inches of this gas daily. Its name is derived from two Greek Such are the two substances which form the fluid of our oceans, seas, and rivers. There are some particulars which here call for attention. We have remarked the similarity of these gases in their want of odour, colour, and taste; and their product, water, resembles them in the same particulars, as pure water, unaffected by mineral, earthy, or other matter, is certainly tasteless; it will take any colour, but cannot be said to have itself a colour, and odour we cannot detect. So far the compound resembles the primitives. An inattentive thinker may assert that sea-water is not without taste, but that is not pure water, being mixed with several || foreign substances, such as muriatic acid, sulphuric acid, soda, lime, and magnesia, which, it must be admitted, are quite sufficient to impart a pretty strong taste to the water. But further resemblance between the gases and their product cannot be traced, as the compound possesses some properties completely opposed to those of its elements. Both oxygen and hydrogen are combustible, and tends to extinguish heat and flame. Previously to experiment, we might have inferred, that when two combustible bodies were combined, the resulting compound would also be combustible. Where are the combustible qualities of the gases? Locked up in the secret cells of the water so securely that no force can draw them out, so deeply hidden that the most delicate senses cannot detect their presence. Again, oxygen gives increased energy to the vital powers, even developing them into an overwrought and destructive activity; whilst hydrogen, though it may be respired for some seconds, cannot be long breathed without being followed by death. Now we might have supposed that the admixture || of the two gases would produce a wholesome air, the excessive power of the oxygen being corrected by the antagonist properties of the hydrogen; whereas the result is a fluid destructive to terrestrial life. The density of water is another singular result, ducts are much less frequent than the combinations of Oxygen. (1) Hydrogen also contributes to form some acids, but these pro when we consider the extreme lightness of hydrogen, and that oxygen is but a little heavier than common air. Yet, from these aeriform substances, results a fluid capable of supporting enormous floating forts in the shape of first-rate line-of-battle ships. A cubic foot of hydrogen weighs about thirty-eight grains; the same bulk of oxygen about five hundred and eighty grains; whilst a like volume of water weighs 437,500 grains. Nevertheless, a certain weight of these gases will always produce a like weight of water, the point of difference being in the densities. Thus, while eight grains of oxygen, and one of hydrogen, equal a bulk of about seventy-five inches, the same weight of water will not be the twentieth part of an inch; such is the concentration produced by the chemical union of gases. the Let us now trace the steps by which water was ascertained to consist of two gases, a discovery which some claim for the French chemist, Lavoisier, who was guillotined in 1794, and others for our countryman, Cavendish: other names must, however, have some share in the detection of this long hilden fact. In 1776, Pierre Joseph Macquer, a member of the French Academy, and one of the writers in the Journal des Savans, noticed a fact in the course of one of his experiments which must here be mentioned. Over a vessel filled with burning hydrogen gas he held a porcelain saucer, and observed that the usual sooty deposit caused by flame was not produced upon the outside of the saucer, but that some drops of a pure dew-like liquid were formed. This attracted Macquer's attention; it was one of those signals thrown out by nature, through the observance of which men are led into the depths of her secret places. The product of the combustion was analyzed, and found to be water. Macquer was now on the verge of a great discovery: the book of nature was open, he read its characters, but failed to interpret their deep meaning. He simply recorded the fact observed, but drew no conclusion; and therefore left the prize for succeeding minds. The water on the saucer was of course produced by the hydrogen in the vessel uniting with the oxygen in the air, and thus causing the deposit noticed by Macquer, who lived just long enough to hear Cavendish, Watt, and Lavoisier, interpret the fact he had failed to understand. In 1781, Priestley noticed that, whenever hydrogen gas and atmospheric air were mingled and exploded, water was the result; he made an inference from this, but not the correct one; as the water was supposed by him to be a mere deposition from the moisture existing in the air mixed with the hydrogen. The production of water from the gases was as yet a hidden thing. About two years after, in April, 1783, Cavendish made another step in advance, by exploding together hydrogen and oxygen instead of oxygen and common air; water was of course produced, but Cavendish saw not the cause. Almost contemporaneous with these experiments of Cavendish, Priestley made a most important observation; he found that the water produced was always equal in weight to that of the oxygen and hydrogen used in its production. This was the key, the guiding fact, which might have suggested the unknown physical law to a philosopher. But Priestley stopped at this point, wondering at, but not understanding, the phenomenon, though his last observation respect ing the corresponding weights of the gases and water placed him in a position most favourable for completing the discovery. He now reported his observations to Watt, whose clear philosophic mind saw the meaning of the whole phenomena; and he declared that water must be a compound of oxygen and hydrogen, then called dephlogisticated air, and phlogiston (flame). This inference was quickly communicated to the Royal Society, and the world at last could answer the question "What is water?" At this point the honour of discovery seems due to Priestley and Watt; the former having ascertained the relations between the weight of the gases and that of the produced water, whilst Watt supplied the true theory of the facts noted by Priestley. But Lavoisier and Cavendish appeared subsequently as the elaborate expounders of the discovery; the former read his paper before the French Academy in 1783, and the latter expounded his views in an essay entitled "Experiments on Air," in 1784, before the Royal Society. Perhaps it may be proper to state that Sir Charles Blagden declared he communicated the discoveries of Cavendish to Lavoisier, whilst the latter was performing his experiments, and that such communications involved all the essentials of the theory. Having noticed the steps in the advance to a knowledge of this great element of nature, we must now pursue some further considerations connected with this subject. The facts attending the production of water bear a strong resemblance to those which accompany the formation of rain during a thunder-storm; there are in both cases a mingling of elements, a combustion, and an explosion, followed by the deposition of aqueous particles. Thus the agencies operating during a tempest may be similar to those employed in the experiments of Cavendish, Priestley, and Lavoisier. Water may be said to take three distinct forms, the first being that usually exhibited at the ordinary temperature, to which condition the term water is alone commonly applied; the second that of steam; and the third, ice. A certain degree of heat, 2120 of Fahrenheit's thermometer, is called the boiling point, as at that temperature water produces steam. This is the usual boiling point, but there is some variation even under ordinary circumstances; for water will boil at a less heat on the top of a mountain than in a valley, as the atmosphere there presses less upon the surface of a boiling liquid, and this enables it to vapourize at less heat. When the barometer stands at 30 inches, which represents the usual pressure of the atmosphere, the boiling point of water is 2120, but at 29 inches, water boils at 211°; and should the barometer rise to 30 inches, the temperature must be raised to 213o. If water be placed in a vessel under the receiver of an air-pump, it may be made to boil at various descending degrees; thus at a pressure answering to 23 inches of the barometer, it boils at 200°; at 15 inches, the boiling point is 180°; and so the temperature required to make water boil will decrease as the pressure of the air diminishes, fintil all the air is pumped out, when the water, having no pressure on its surface, will boil at a point under 100° of Fahrenheit. Thus, the greater the atmospheric pressure, the more heat is developed in raising water to the boiling point. The general rule is, that, for every one-tenth of an inch which the barometer rises, the boiling point also rises about one-sixth of a degree. The usual pressure of the atmosphere is fifteen pounds on every square inch of the earth's surface, and thus a square foot of water is forced down by a weight of 2,160 pounds. Now, if the atmosphere had a pressure represented by fifteen inches of the barometer, this same surface of water would be pressed down in the vessel by a force equal to 1,080, instead of 2,160 pounds. It would, therefore, exhibit much less heat when boiling in the former than in the latter case, the temperature being but 180° instead of 212°. Thus we see a correspondence between the heat shown in the boiling water of a tea-kettle, and the bulk of the whole atmosphere. lost much of its heat by contact with the greater quantity of water. But the actual result is, that the whole mass is raised to the boiling point, and we find in the vessel six and a half ounces of water at the temperature of 212°; that is, the ounce of steam at 212° has raised five times and a half its weight of water from 32° to 212°, and yet has lost no sensible heat; though it must have imparted nearly 1,000 degrees of heat to the cold water, which could not otherwise have been brought to the boiling state. This quantity of heat must therefore have been latent or hidden in the steam, and has been set free by the conversion of the steam into a liquid. But at present the reader must be left in possession of the simple fact, that It is, of course, known to some readers that whilst the thermometer indicates no difference of water cannot, under the usual atmospheric pres- temperature between two substances, the cne may sure, be heated to a higher degree than 2129; no in reality possess 1,000 times more heat than the application of heat can raise it beyond this, as it is other. We do not, however, call this body warmer, then converted into steam. Water is said to boil or hotter, because those terms would imply under the atmospheric pressure; but, if this be that the heat was evident to the senses, which is doubled, so as to reach thirty pounds weight, or contradictory to all we have been stating. This trebled, so as to amount to forty-five pounds, the singular property is of immense use to engineers, boiling point will of course be raised in a corre- and all who use the agency of steam. It is clear sponding degree. Thus, under a pressure of thirty it would be exceedingly dangerous did water pounds, steam is not produced till the water has "flash into steam" in a moment without the least reached 230 of the thermometer; with forty-five previous warning. This it must do if the steampounds on each square inch, the temperature will heat were not gradually accumulated; and thus the rise to 276° before steam begins to form. Between gigantic power, instead of rising instantaneously, 32°, the freezing point, and 2120, the boiling point, prepares itself at certain stages for its grand effort. is the range of water; below that temperature it Suppose that no steam could be formed till the is ice; above, it is steam. The latter element is moment when all the water in a boiler reaches the frequently under our notice in these times, when temperature of 1,180° of Fahrenheit, and that the the roar of the locomotive is heard in all parts of whole mass was then instantly turned to steam; the land. The great peculiarity of water in its what machinery would be safe against such an exsteam state, and that which most impresses the plosion? As it is, all proceeds in beautiful order. majority of minds, is its power. One cubic inch of At the boiling point part of the water begins to rise water turned into steam will raise twenty hundred- into steam; the remainder makes a pause; the weight a foot from the ground; and such a pro-heat appears to stand still; the thermometer deduction of force is shown in ten thousand cases notes no rise in the temperature; yet heat is really every day in England. When water is thus vapour-rushing in from the furnace, though the increase is ized under the usual circumstances, it occupies 1,800 times the space which it previously filled; thus each cubic inch of water expands into more than a cubic foot of steam. In the course of this expansion a remarkable effect arrests the attention of the philosopher. There is in steam an immense amount of heat which the thermometer does not indicate; for water at 212, and steam at 212°, exhibit the same degrees of heat; whereas the heat in the steam exceeds that in the boiling water by nearly 100 degrees. This, being hidden from observation, and not capable of detection by the thermometer, is called latent heat. Its existence is fully proved by conclusive experiments, one of which may here be given. Let five and a half ounces of water, at the temperature of 32o, be placed in a vessel, the water will be close to the freezing point. Let one ounce of water be raised to the state of steam at 212°, as shown by the thermometer; then let this steam be conveyed into the jar containing the five and a half ounces at 32°, this latter will of course have its temperature increased by the admission of the steam; but how much increased, is the question. Many would probably expect the cold water to be heated, and the steam condensed into hot water, so that the whole mixture shall consist of hot water considerably under 212°, that is, under the boiling point. This supposition would not be absurd, since the one ounce of steam must have not manifested until all the water is turned into steam. Let us now view water in a directly opposite state, in the ice-form, which may be called the antipodes of the steam condition. When we consider the primary constituents of water, the hydrogen and oxygen gases, and take up a piece of ice, we must admit that little resemblance exists between such substances. Yet how closely are they allied. At twelve o'clock, on a winter's day, we may explode these gases, and produce water; in a few minutes that water may be a lump of ice. What is the link which connects these opposite states? A spark alone. It is not our purpose to discuss the general properties of ice, but those only which belong to it, considered as water in a particular state. In both the steam and ice-form, water is expanded; for ice occupies more space than the unfrozen fluid, and thus breaks vessels in which it is confined. At 40°, water is most dense; from 40° to 32°, it expands, thus presenting an exception to the general law by which heat increases the volume. There is also an expansion in the act of freezing, as if the crystals were then making a final arrangement of their atoms, so as to prevent the ice from sinking to the bottom, and thus blocking up the beds of rivers by a solid mass of frozen matter. When ice is changed into water, vast quantities of heat are received, but not indicated; just as in 2524 in a vacuum; thus serving for a standard both of measures and weights. Water is not, strictly speaking, an incompressible fluid, though formerly it was supposed incapable of reduction to a smaller bulk by any force, however great. It has, however, been compressed a little by the application of vast powers, nine cubic feet having been pressed into eight by a force equal to a weight of 30,000 pounds on a square But, for most practical purposes, and in the management of hydrostatical and hydrodynamical machines, water may be considered incompressible, not yielding save to enormous pressures. the transformation of boiling water to steam. Thus | Some answer has now been given to the question, "What is water?" and we must therefore conclude this article on a fluid which has in past ages contributed, by its silently accumulating deposits, to form vast mountain ranges of strata, abounding with the vegetable and animal remains of ancient times; and is now producing new islands and deltas where succeeding tribes of men may yet found populous cities. BLACK FRITZ. CHAP. III. Two days after, during which Frederick knew how to prevent, by an ingenious contrivance, his cousin from passing through the picture gallery, he led her from her chamber with a look of triumph; and, whilst he promised to show her something in a very mysterious manner, he brought her straight before the portrait of the wretched prisoner, which she had so often regarded with such deep sorrow, and said, "Now see, Luitgarde!" Water has several properties which render it useful in various applications of machinery, and in many scientific investigations. For instance, a relation exists between the weight of the atmosphere and the height to which water rises in a tube, whence all the air has been pumped out. In such a pipe, water will rise to the height of thirty-four feet, being forced up by the pressure of the air on the water outside the tube. A column of water, thirty-four feet high, and covering a square foot of Frederick followed her, glorying in the frightful consurface, weighs as much as the whole perpen-sequence of his art, and in his adroit surprise; he found dicular pressure of the atmosphere on a like area. her trembling in all her limbs, supported by a column, Thus the water-column balances the air-column; in another room: her bosom palpitated, her entire frame and the effect of this is seen in the making of was agitated. pumps, the working of steam-engines, and in drawing water from deep mines. Upon these principles a most effective barometer is formed, water being used instead of mercury, and a thirty-four feet tube employed in place of one thirty inches high. For as air presses with a force of fifteen pounds on each square inch, and as a column of water thirty-four feet high, with an area of one inch, is of the same weight, it is evident that one column will balance the other. If the atmosphere become lighter, the water in the tube will fall; if heavier, the aqueous column will rise. Such a barometer gives notice of the slightest atmospherical changes, which the large divisions of its scale, more than thirteen inches for each inch of the mercurial barometer, enable the observer to read with great minuteness. Quite overcome, she retreated. The face of the prisoner was turned fully towards her, and the features of the unknown, and his large, deep-set eyes were fixed on her in gloomy despair. With a loud shriek she put her hands before her face, and disappeared. Water is also useful in preserving the standards of weights, and measures of capacity from variation. A cubic inch of water, at a fixed temperature, say sixty degrees of Fahrenheit, and at a constant atmospherical pressure, such as thirty inches of the barometer, will always retain the same bulk; in other words, it will never become more, never less, than a cubic inch; nor will its weight vary in the least, keeping at 2521 grains nearly in air, and you? "Good heavens, dearest cousin! what is the matter with you? Can, then, an artistic experiment so frighten point; you found the portrait so decidedly interesting, because the features were not to be seen, and one could fancy them to be what one wished. I always considered it was only a painter's caprice, that he did not dare represent the suffering and desperation of the captive. Now I have endeavoured to solve the problem, I have given to the captive the face of the robber chief." You know we have often combated on that "Alas!" said Luitgarde, with a trembling gesture. "I can assure you it is as like as possible; and your fright bears testimony to its successful execution. But come again, and look at it once more." "Not for any consideration on earth," said she, with "into that chamber will I never set foot firmness; again." "Do not be so childish. It was a bold fancy of mine, I avow, but I must regret that it has so completely succeeded, since I have disgusted you by that means with the portrait. I find "Find what you like!" exclaimed she; "but be assured you have given me infinite pain." "Pardon me, cousin, I had no wish to do that, and though I understand that the first glance could frighten you, still I do not comprehend (1) Hydrostatics is that part of scientific mechanics which relates to fluids at rest, and hydrodynamics to fluids in motion. "O, my God! my God!" exclaimed Luitgarde, and her tears burst from her eyes. Frederick stood amazed; he endeavoured to tranquillise her, for it grieved him to see his amiable and fair friend in such deep agitation. It was flattering on the score of his own vanity, because he ascribed the whole affair to the successful effect of his great art. At length Luitgarde recovered; she went to her chamber, but not again through the gallery where the altered portrait, with its unfortunate resemblance, and expression of frightful despair, came before her like a terrifying spectre. The old count heard of the event; he highly disapproved of his son's inconsiderate joke, and had the portrait removed to another place, in order that his niece should not be obliged many times every day to make a long circuit through cold passages, and over steps. Still, however, though the picture was removed, and her road again open, she never went through the gallery without the portrait of the wretched captive rising up before her. The degradation into which an existence of a noble nature was sunk, and the prospect of a terrible future, where he, even so laden with chains, deprived of liberty, of the light of day, would number by deeply-cut notches the duration of a lamentable existence in dark despair,-all this lacerated her very heart, and in the background that gloomy dungeon view; and what did that offer to her sight? Death, by an executioner's hand, and the eternal damnation of a soul which was made for salvation, and which, perhaps, still at that moment was capable of better feelings. One thought most powerfully seized her, and occupied her perpetually; it was a bright point, towards which her soul, in the cruel embarrassment that surrounded her, was guided with ardour and continuallyincreasing love. To save his soul, if it were possible, and that youth to whom she could not deny the warmest sympathy, who had shown himself towards her nobly and tenderly, and whom she might reclaim from his frightful ways. The more she reflected on this project, the more brilliantly did it present itself to her; she thought that this was a truly beautiful object, and might even become a redeeming subject for a whole existence occupied with it, and she wove a thousand plans and possibilities, how this might take place through her in the best manner. The winter was now gradually approaching to its end; warm breezes passed over the earth, and melted in all places the snow from the hills, and broke the ice of the river; winter's mute rigidity yielded to the murmur of the falling drops, and of the discharged waters; spring, with all the feelings that follow in its train, was all in motion in animated and inanimate nature. While Frederick looked forward with great satisfaction to his approaching marriage, Luitgarde felt her breast affected by painful presentiments, of which the cause was not this festival; indeed, every mention of it, of which now there were daily more, struck as with an icy hand into the buds of her melancholy hopes. Still was it the wish of her honoured uncle; the distinctly-expressed will of the whole family; and Frederick was so kind, so attentive to her, that her stronger reason imposed acquiescence on her rebellious feelings, and she took every pains to share the joy of the whole house upon the approaching gladsome event. In the mean time, a particular circumstance occurred to retard the marriage. An unforeseen, but important, matter claimed the presence of the old count at Prague for some time, which obliged him to defer for an uncertain period its celebration. Frederick was to remain at the castle, and attend to all the arrangements and domestic matters, but Luitgarde, who could not properly remain with him, was to accompany his father. Two days of the journey were happily accomplished, and the travellers thought they had no longer any dangers to fear, when suddenly, in a forest where the | bad road obliged the carriage to move slowly, a number of mounted robbers sprung forward from both sides of the way, forced the postilion and servants, who were about to defend themselves, with loaded pistols at their heads, to come down from the carriage, and then with furious voice demanded of the travellers their money and valuables. The count replied intrepidly to them, but one of the robbers took out a pocket-pistol, and was about to fire it at his head. At this moment Luitgarde rose up in great terror, drew from her bosom the ring, held it to the robber's face, and cried out, "Begone, and leave us; respect the commands of your chief!" The robber fell back, examined the ring, took off his cap, called his comrades together with a whistle, and they all sprung at full gallop into the thicket. At the end of a long pause of mute astonishment, the count at last asked an explanation of the strange occurrence; and Luitgarde, deeply blushing, was obliged to confess and relate what had taken place with regard to the ring. Count Martinitz listened to the narration of his niece with deep vexation. A robber's love for her; the evident interest which the audacious youth had succeeded in inspiring her with; the reflections on his son's fate; -all agitated his inmost soul with painful sentiments. Still he preserved a gloomy silence, and only desired to see the ring. Luitgarde handed it to him." Gracious heavens !" exclaimed the count, "this is the Lansky arms! It is a seal ring which I have often seen on my friend's finger, but without the diamonds that now adorn it! How does the man come by this ring-and it is dear to him-has he told you-and yet he has presented it to you!" and the count shook his grey head. "Lansky! Lansky!" repeated Luitgarde, slowly and reflectingly; and that child, destroyed by the flames, and the parrot's talk, fell heavily on her heart. Victorin von Lansky had been destined for her by her mother and his father, and who had brought to her the parrot, and who taught it the name of her lost intended husband? She shuddered; for, from the very depth of confused feelings and thoughts, there arose a presump tion, which awoke in her terror, sorrow, and painful pleasure. "How came the highwayman by this ring? Do you know anything about it?" asked the count. Nothing, dear uncle, but what I have already told you. The ring is very dear to him, as he assured me. I wished to send it back to him, when I had no longer occasion for it; but he refused it with evident displeasure." "The man is in love with you, that is clear. Now that explains many other things, and the present of the stolen parrot. A laughable, but shameful affection, indeed, between my niece and a bandit chieftain!" This word sunk deeply and painfully into Luitgarde's breast; she was no longer able to restrain her tears; but from the open wound arose pride and the resolution to remain true to the unfortunate man, who, in the very midst of his evil doings, was yet capable of better feelings, and courageously to take his part. Mostly in silence, and in deep reflection, they reached Prague. Count Martinitz pursued his affairs, and with them secret inquiries about the ring. Luitgarde felt she was watched, and not so unconstrained as in the country. This annoyed her; for she knew she was innocent of any criminal conduct, or evil intention; she had earnestly combated every seductive recollection; she intended to give her hand to Frederick; to be his affectionate and devoted wife. More he himself did not ask, for more he did not give; and the place, which probably a certain portrait held in Luitgarde's heart, was quite clearly and openly occupied in her cousin's breast by his collections and works of art. She did not look too closely at the point where she herself was deficient. The history of the count's extraordinary escape from |