"When I die, and you have closed my eyes, as I trust you will, give this paper to my son and successor, for it is my legacy to you, and I hope my son will honor it and recognize in you the wife of my heart, and care for you." "Oh! speak not of dying, Frederick," cried Wilhelmine, embracing him tenderly; "may they condemn me, and imprison me as a criminal, when you are no more! What matters it to me what befalls me, when I no longer possess you, my beloved one, my master?
Not on that account will I preserve the precious paper, but for the love which it has given me, and of which it will one day be a proof to my children.

This paper is my justification and my excuse, my certificate and my declaration of honor.
I thank you for it, for it is the most beautiful present that I have ever received." "But will you make me no return, Wilhelmine?
Will you not swear to me, as I have sworn to you ?" She took the knife from the table without answering, and pointing it to her left arm-- "Oh, not there!" cried the prince, as he sought to stay her hand.

"Do not injure your beautiful arm, it would be a sacrilege." Wilhelmine freed herself from him, as he sought to hold her fast, and in the mutual struggle the knife sank deep into her left hand, the blood gushing out.

[Footnote: The scar of this wound remained her whole life, as Wilhelmine relates in her memoirs .-- See "Memoires of the Countess Lichtenau."] "Oh, what have you done ?" cried the prince, terrified; "You are wounded!" He seized her hand and drew the knife from the wound, screaming with terror as a clear stream of blood flowed over his own.

"A physician! Send quickly for a physician," cried he.