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402 ST. IDA Enno. The huntsman was shamelossly wearing the wedding ring. Henry sent for Euno and demanded to Boe the ring. The innocent and un- suspecting servant showed it. Count Henry, without waiting for a word of explanation, ordered him to be tied to the tail of a wild horse, which was to be sent at a gallop down the castle-hill. In vain he begged to be heard, and attempted to clear himself. Henry would not listen, but rushed to his wife's room, assailed her with oppro- brious words, and threw her out of the window into the abyss at least four hundred feet deep. Soon he felt cooler, and began to be horrified at what he had done. All the vassals and neigh- bours were in dismay. Nobody believed a word against the countess. Domenic was glad, and persuaded Henry von Toggenburg to give out that they de- served their fate and that the subject was never to be mentioned. Meantime, the good countess, whom every one supposed had been dashed to pieces on the rocks, was safe and well, in a thicket in the forest. The wood of Eabenstein was thick and dark, and was seldom disturbed by human steps. She resolved to stay there and devote her time to prayer. She found a cave overshadowed by a thick fir tree, whose boughs swept the ground; a clear little stream flowed over the neighbouring rock. Here she settled. She had little trouble in making this shelter weather-tight and in gather- ing herself a bed of moss. She found a quantity of bilberries growing near, which served her for food. These, with nuts and roots, she collected and dried ; and she made mats and baskets of reeds and bark. She found quantities of moss for covering, but it would hardly keep the cold from killing her. She had no candle and no fire. Thus she lived for nearly seventeen years in religious contemplation, sur- rounded by angels. She was very peaceful. Her husband, on the con- trary, was a prey to remorse. Domenic tried to stifle all his doubts as to his wife's guilt, but his heart constantly upbraided him for the double murder and for the injustice of his basty re- venge. He was afraid to enter her apartmenta At last he determined to leave the castle, where he could never rest. Be- fore he set out, he sent Domenic to Eirchberg to tell Ida's parents that he had discovered her crime and punished it with death. They did not believe her guilty, but they could not bring so powerful a nobleman to justice, so they had to submit to the insult and wait for the judgment of God, Henry went with Domenic aU about the world, but they could not leave their consciences behind. They came back, but they could not bear the place where Euno was killed, nor the coun- tess's apartments. Henry's only solace was occasional hunting. Meantime, Ida continued to pray for him. At last, one of his men who had succeeded Euno, went to hunt, and found the hermitage. Ida, dressed in bark with only some rags of her former clothing, looked very extraordinary. The servant recognized in her rags part of the robes that belonged to her former rank, and the more he looked, the more he believed in her identity. At last he exclaimed, *< You are our good Countess Ida I " She confessed, and when she heard how miserable her husband was, she gave the servant leave to tell him she lived. He rushed eagerly into the count's apartment, crying out that the countess was alive. Henry thought him mad, but accompanied him with a beating heart and with prayers and hopes to the hermitage in the forest, where he found his injured wife and implored her forgiveness. A reconciliation took place, but she had vowed not to return to the world, so he had to build her a little dwelling by the chapel at Homlein, near the Abbey of Fischingen. She assumed common, simple clothing instead of her miserable covering. She was sorry to leave the place where she had lived so long and where she had set up a cross. She made the chaplain bring her the sacrament before she left The count made her a comfortable little house and garden in the meadow near