ime bidding her not to kneel to him as to an image.

The lady rose and sought the nurse, who, from fright, had withdrawn into
the shrubbery, and stood staring at the king with wide-open eyes. "Go
home, Louisa, and put the child to sleep," said she, quickly.

The nurse obeyed promptly, and when alone, the king demanded again, "Who
are you? and to whom does the child belong?"

"Your majesty, I am the daughter of your chapel musician Enke, and the
child is the son of Prince Frederick William of Prussia," she replied,
in a firm and defiant manner.

The king's eyes flashed as he glanced at the bold speaker. "You say so,
but who vouches for the truth of it? You permit yourself to use a
high name, to give your child an honorable father! What temerity! what
presumption! What if I should not believe you, but send you to the house
of correction, at Spandau, as a slanderer, as guilty of high-treason, as
a sinner and an adulteress?"

"You could not do it, sire--you could not," cried Wilhelmine Enke, "for
you would also send there the honor and the name of your successor to
the throne."

"What do you mean?" cried the king, furiously.

"I mean, your majesty, that the prince has holy duties toward me. I am
the mother of that child!"

"You acknowledge your shame, and you dare confess it to me, your king,
that you are the favorite, the kept mistress of the Prince of Prussia,
who has already a wife that has borne him children? You do not even seek
to deny it, or to excuse yourself?"

"I would try to excuse myself, did I not feel that your majesty would
not listen to me."

"What excuse could you offer?--there is none."

"Love is my excuse," cried Wilhelmine, eagerly. "Oh! my ruler and king,
do not shake your noble head so unbelievingly; do not look at me so
contemptuously. Oh, Father in heaven, I implore Thee to quicken my
mind, that my thoughts may become words, and my lips utter that which
is burning in my soul! In all these years of my poor, despised, obscure
life, how often have I longed for this hour when I might stand before
my king, when I might penitently clasp his knees and implore mercy for
myself and my children--those poor, nameless beings, whose existence is
my accusation, and yet who are the pride and joy of my life! Oh, sire,
I will not accuse, to excuse myself; I will not cast the stone at others
which they have cast at me. But it is scarcely charitable to judge and
condemn a young girl fourteen years of age,