flashed into my mind, and took possession of it.
It was too well founded. In due time, my innocent child,
my poor unconscious Wanda, became
a mother. On a bright morning in May she
brought a lovely boy into the world. Oh, her
face of ecstasy when, after those hours of mortal
agony, I laid her baby on her breast!

"Luckily, Count Berchtold was still abroad,
and I did not know where to write to him. I
do not think I should ever have found courage
to do so. As for Wanda, Heaven wrought a
miracle upon her through her love for her little
one. She nursed him with the most doting
tenderness, and was never tired of rocking his
cradle, and singing and cooing to him. As she
nursed him, and as the baby grew, her senses
seemed to come back to her, and by the time he
was four months old she was hardly different
from any other people. But, unfortunately for
us, of course this state of things could not endure
for ever. Count Berchtold returned to
the castle at last, and Joseph Hartmann, to
whom I had been obliged to confide our trouble,
drove over from Altheim, had an interview with
him, and told him what had befallen his hapless
child. He was frenzied with rage! He flew
to the stable, ordered his horse, and tore off to
Wallendorf; Hartmann following at full speed
in the carriage, to prevent mischief if possible.
Wanda had just set her boy to sleep, and was
rocking the cradle and singing. I was mending
up one of the baby's night-shirts in the front
room; Elizabeth was in the garden, and saw
them coming. She ran in to tell me, but she
had hardly got the words out, when the count
entered, blaspheming with passion.

"'Infamous wretch!' he shouted, 'is this
what I have paid you for? Is this the way you
discharge your trust? Low-born beggar! Do
you know what the honour of a noble name
means?'

"At this instant Wanda appeared at the door
of the inner room. She came up to him, not
knowing in the least who it was. 'Do not be
angry,' she said to him, and put her hand upon
his arm; 'do not speak so loud. Hush! hush!
you will wake my child.'

"The count seized her by both wrists. 'Be
silent!' he said, between his teeth, and quivering
with rage; 'your child sleeps, does he? I
wish both he and you were sleeping the sleep
of death in your graves!' He flung her from
him, and made for the inner room. Wanda
flew like lightning into the room before him,
and shut the door against him, while Hartmann,
Elizabeth, and I, all stood before the
door on the other side, and pushed him from
it. It was a frightful scene! He suddenly turned
sharp round upon Hartmann: 'Take the accursed
little creature away from that shameless
idiot!' he said. 'She shall not glory in her degradation
any longer! Bring it away with you
this moment, as you value your position and my
favour.' With that he left the cottage, and rode
off again at full gallop.

"How shall I describe all that followed? Our
having to break this terrible news to Wanda,
and the poor unfortunate creature's agony when
at last she understood that, she was to lose her
child! She lay down at Hartmann's feet, and
begged for mercy. He was crying his eyes out,
poor man, but he had a wife and a family of
little children, and his place was all he had to
depend upon. He waited a long while, but at
last he said he could wait no more. I whispered
to Elizabeth to get the poor thing out
into the garden if possible, that he might take
the child while she was away; but anguish
seemed to have sharpened all her senses, and
she heard me. She stood right up in the midst
of us, shaking like a leaf, and said, 'I will fetch
my child myself—I will give him my child myself
—I will only nurse him once more—and
then he shall go.' She went back into her room,
and we all remained where we were, talking
together in a low voice: we were very miserable!
Hartmann was a kind man, and had a
baby of his own—it went to his heart to take
the child away—but he promised us to ask the
count's leave to bring it up with his own, and
we thought that, so, the poor mother would often
have a chance of seeing it when the count was
away. I got up, and went to look what the
poor thing was doing; she had got her baby at
her breast, and was singing to him as she always
did. She looked up and smiled at me as I
opened the door. Any amount of sorrow would
have been less dreadful than that awful smile.
We sat for about another quarter of an hour,
and then Hartmann got into his gig, and desired
me to fetch the child. I was just going for it,
when Wanda came into the room with her baby
in her arms ; she had wrapped him up in a large
shawl, and he was sound asleep. She looked so
terrible that it made us speechless; she was as
white as marble, and her lips as deathly pale;
she walked straight out of the house, looking
neither to right nor left, and down the little
garden, to Hartmann, who was waiting in his
gig at the gate. She handed the child up to
him, and he laid it carefully down on the seat
by his side. 'Tell him not to wake my child'
she said, with a little laugh, that made my blood
run cold. I was standing oehind her, and I made
a sign to Hartmann to drive off, for I wanted to
end this horrible tragedy as last as possible.
He drove away, and Wanda stood as if she
were made of stone ; when he came to the turn
in the road, and went out of sight, she dropped
down as if she had been shot. We got her into
the house, and put her to bed; before next
morning, raging brain-fever had set in. We had
sent for the doctor from the village, but he had
been called up to attend some one already, and
was out. At last I heard wheels, and ran to the
door hoping it was he: it was Hartmann, with
a face as white as ashes, and I knew something
more dreadful yet was to come. My presentiment
was unerring. When he had arrived at the
castle the day before, and took the baby in his
arms, it was cold and dead. The count had
sent him now to hunt us out of our home, and
out of the country, but we could not go then,
for Wanda could not be moved. For weeks