man, seemingly about fifty, and one who apparently knew the place well. Ursaline dropped on her knee; he raised her kindly, and, following the direction of her look, turned and clasped Theresa in his arms.
"My child! my sweet child!" and he gazed long and earnestly on her beautiful face.
"Your father, the Baron von Haitzinger," murmured Ursaline.
But as our explanation will be more brief than one broken in upon by words of wonder, regret, and affection, we will proceed to it; holding that explanation, like advice, should be of all convenient shortness. So much good luck had the Baron von Haitzinger had during the first thirty years of his life, that fortune seemed under the necessity of crowding an inordinate portion of evil into a small space, in order to make up for lost time. The same day brought him intelligence of his wife's desertion, and of his attaintment as a traitor; and, further, that this accusation had been chiefly brought about by the intrigues of his former partner. A price being set on a man's head, usually makes him very speedy in his movements; and the Baron fled from his castle with the rapidity of life and death, but not unaccompanied. Wrapt in his mantle he bore with him their only child, a little girl of two years old. As boys, he and the Count von Hermanstadt had often hunted in the forests around Aremberg; his own foster-sister had married one of the dependants of the family; and to the care of Ursaline, now a
