essarily more deeply
laid than any he had heretofore practised. It was accordingly with a
mingled emotion of pleasure and anxiety that he watched the progress of
the attachment between the two lovers. Although he feared that her
attachment might prove too strong to be easily shaken, he still hoped to
be able to involve them in embarrassments, and then, under the guise of
friendship and pretence of assisting them, further his own unprincipled
views. The impetuosity of the young nobleman, and certain circumstances
that he could not foresee, brought the affair to a crisis both
unexpected and disastrous.

The Baron walked out one afternoon towards old Morelli's cottage,
without any fixed object, for the unequivocal dislike that Bianca always
manifested towards him, had determined him to cease his visits to her
father's house, and make his approaches with the utmost caution. He
approached a retired spot near the house, where the lovers frequently
strolled to enjoy each other's society. Bianca had also wandered there
in the hope of meeting Frederic. She was occupied gathering flowers, and
arranging them in a nosegay, when a rustling among the bushes attracted
her attention. She hastily advanced towards the spot, exclaiming
"Frederic!" when the Baron, the man whom of all others she most hated,
and, for some undefinable reason or other, feared, stood before her.

"Fairest Bianca!" said Plindorf, advancing, "let me not alarm you,
although I am not the person you seemed to expect; let me hope that the
presence of a friend and well-wisher to both parties is not disagreeable
or terrifying."

Bianca, exceedingly alarmed at the sudden apparition of one so odious to
her, had sunk down upon a rude seat. The Baron approached, and taking
her passive hand, seated himself by her side. Mistaking the cause of her
quietness, he ventured to press her trembling hand to his lips, and
attempted to pass his arm around her waist. The terrified girl suddenly
sprang from him with a loud shriek, and attempted to fly; the Baron
again caught her hand, and endeavored forcibly to detain her. At that
moment the Count Altenberg suddenly stood before them, his eyes flashing
with rage.

"Villain," he exclaimed, as soon as his passion would give him
utterance, "deceitful, cowardly scoundrel! take that"--striking him a
violent blow, and at the same time unsheathing his sword.

The Baron was ready in an instant, but as soon as the Count felt his
weapon cla