ay that,"
murmured she, "and you have not once said that you love me."

The prince shouted with rapture, and, falling upon his knees, he
exclaimed, "I love you! I adore you! I want nothing, will accept
nothing, but you alone; you are my love, my hope, my future. Wilhelmina,
if you do not intend me to die at your feet, say that you do not spurn
me--open your arms and clasp me to your heart."

The princess stood immovable for a moment, trembling and swaying from
side to side; her lips opened as if to utter a wild, mad cry--pain was
written on every feature. The prince saw nothing of this--his lips were
pressed upon her hand, and he did not look up--he did not see his
wife press her pale lips tightly together to force back her cries of
despair--he did not see that her eyes were raised in unspeakable agony
to heaven.

The battle was over; the princess bowed over her husband, and her hands
softly raised him from his knees. "Stand up, prince--I dare not see you
lying at my feet. You have a right to my love--you are my husband."

Prince Henry clasped her closely, passionately in his arms.

CHAPTER IV. THE FETE IN THE WOODS.

No fete was ever brighter and gayer than that of Rheinsberg. It is true,
the courtly circle waited a long time before the beginning of their
merry sports. Hours passed before the princely pair joined their guests
in the music-saloon.

The sun of royalty came at last, shedding light and gladness. Never had
the princess looked more beautiful--more rosy. She seemed, indeed, to
blush at the consciousness of her own attractions. Never had Prince
Henry appeared so happy, so triumphant, as to-day. His flashing eyes
seemed to challenge the whole world to compete with his happiness; joy
and hope danced in his eyes; never had he given so gracious, so kindly a
greeting to every guest, as to-day.

The whole assembly was bright and animated and gave themselves up
heartily to the beautiful idyl for which they had met together under the
shadow of the noble trees in the fragrant woods of Rheinsberg. No gayer,
lovelier shepherds and shepherdesses were ever seen in Arcadia, than
those of Rheinsberg to-day. They laughed, and jested, and performed
little comedies, and rejoiced in the innocent sports of the happy
moment. Here wandered a shepherd and his shepherdess, chatting merrily;
there, under the shadow of a mighty oak, lay a forlorn shepherd singing,
accompanied by his zitter, a love-lorn ditty to his cru