ttered a cry of delight. She recognized the voice, the commanding
manner, and rushed through the anteroom to open the door. The prince
encircled her in his arms, pressed her to his beating heart, and,
lifting her up, bore her into the room.

"Why did you leave Potsdam, Wilhelmine? Tell me quickly, why did you
do it?" asked the prince, tenderly kissing her, as he sat her upon the
divan at his side. Overcome with her tears, she could not answer. "What
mean these tears? Has any one dared to wound your feelings or injure
you?"

"Yes, Frederick, and he who injures me hazards nothing--for it is the
king! I met him in the park at Potsdam this morning. He has crushed
me with his scorn and anger. He has threatened me with a fearful
punishment--no less than the house of correction at Spandau! He has
told me that the spinning-wheel is in readiness for me if I excite his
further contempt."

A cry of fury escaped the prince. Springing up, he paced the room with
rapid strides. Wilhelmine remained upon the divan, but her tears did not
prevent her following the prince with a searching glance--to read his
face, pale with rage. "I must bear it," he cried, beating his forehead.
"I cannot protect those that I love!"

A ray of joy lighted up Wilhelmine's face as she listened, but
it disappeared with the tears which flowed afresh. "I am a poor,
unfortunate child," she sobbed, "whom every one despises, and fears not
to injure, who has no one to counsel or protect her, and who is lost if
God does not have compassion upon her."

The prince rushed to her, seizing both hands. "Wilhelmine, do not drive
me mad with sorrow," he cried, trembling with excitement and anger. "Is
it my fault that I cannot protect you against him? Have I not defended
you from all the rest of the world? Have I ever allowed any one to treat
you with contempt?"

"I have never given occasion for it, dearest. I have studiously avoided
all men, to escape their contempt and scorn. Shame is hard to bear,
fearfully hard. I felt it today, as his beautiful eyes flashed upon me
with contempt, as his haughty language crushed me to the earth. This
is the yoke, Frederick William, that I and my children must bear to our
graves!"

"No, Wilhelmine, not as long as we live--only while he lives! Wait, only
wait; let me rise from want and slavery; let the day come which makes
me free--which exalts me: my first act will be to lift the yoke from you
and our children, and woe to those--a