Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily descended, was, at the
epoch of this narrative, an infirm and doting old man, remarkable
for nothing but an inordinate and inveterate personal antipathy to the
family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses, and of
hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age, nor mental
incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the
chase.
Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet
Mary, followed him quickly after. Frederick was, at that time, in
his fifteenth year. In a city, fifteen years are no long period- a
child may be still a child in his third lustrum: but in a
wilderness- in so magnificent a wilderness as that old principality,
fifteen years have a far deeper meaning.
The beautiful Lady Mary! How could she die?- and of consumption!
But it is a path I have prayed to follow. I would wish all I love to
perish of that gentle disease. How glorious- to depart in the heyday
of the young blood- the heart of all passion- the imagination all
fire- amid the remembrances of happier days- in the fall of the year-
and so be buried up forever in the gorgeous autumnal leaves!
Thus died the Lady Mary. The young Baron Frederick stood without a
living relative by the coffin of his dead mother.
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