The time went on; whether long or short he could not tell. He did not keep count of the minutes or hours. His whole consciousness seemed to resolve itself into a desire to be gone, which had grown overpowering and intense, when a quick tap at the door was heard, then it was opened, and Sebastian’s voice said, ‘I say, Hugo, do you mean to go to this entertainment or not? Because if--why, what _is_ the matter with you?’ ‘I never knew, Sebastian! Upon my soul and honour I never knew till Mrs. Mallory told me to-day!’ exclaimed Hugo, starting up and confronting his horrified friend, with pale face, scintillating eyes, which bore traces of recent weeping, hair wildly tossed up and down his head, and generally demoralised aspect. ‘Didn’t know _what_, my dear fellow? What is all this excitement about?’ ‘Mrs. Mallory told me, just a little while ago, the _truth_ about myself,’ said Hugo, speaking rapidly and vehemently in German, as he nearly always did when agitated, and he began to stride excitedly about the room. ‘It was not right ... no, no! it was very cruel! you should not have done it. I have no right to reproach you, but you should not have laid such a burden upon me--a burden which is greater than I can bear ... _aber, Gott im Himmel_! what do I mean by reproaching you, when I owe you the very bread I eat, the very clothes I wear! Sebastian! Sebastian! It was not _right_!’ he reiterated passionately, coming to a stop, and standing before the other, upon whose mind the truth began to dawn. His mother had played the traitor--had betrayed the trust which he had been weak enough to repose in her before he had understood her so well as he did now, and the result must be, in any case, a very painful explanation, and perhaps failure to convince Hugo; perhaps the alienation of a love which he prized more highly at this present moment than he ever had done before. For the moment, the first moment, his heart sank very low: he suddenly seemed to see everything that he most prized deserting him. Adrienne was lost to him, and his heart was yet smarting under that conviction. Yesterday he had seen Myles Heywood depart, expressing his gratitude, but, as he felt, unconquered, untouched at heart. Now, here was Hugo bitterly reproaching him for not having done what was right towards him. One stroke coming upon the other almost unmanned him momentarily, for the men with warm hearts and cool heads are necessarily more susceptible both to failure and success than the men with cool heads and cold hearts to boot. Then he suddenly gathered himself together. Hugo was not gone; he was only drifting away from him. He would make a very strong struggle to still hold him fast to him; if he succeeded, he might take it as a good omen for the future--if not, the future must look after itself. He came into the room and closed the door. ‘You startle me, Hugo. This is something I did not expect. Suppose you tell me all about it, and we can discuss it. Shall we?’