For a moment the four remained mute and motionless: then Amy, like all timid things, took refuge in flight, and Sidney followed her into the garden, glad to see the allies separated. Helen, with the courage of her nature, tried to face and repulse the foe; but love was stronger than pride, maiden shame overcame anger, and, finding it vain to meet and bear down the steady, tender glance of the blue eyes fixed upon her, she drooped her head into her hands and sat before him, like one conquered but too proud to cry “Quarter.” Her lover watched her till she hid her face, then drew near, knelt down before her, and said, with an undertone of deep feeling below the mirthful malice of his words,— “Mademoiselle, pardon me that I am a foolish baron, and dare to offer you the title that you hate. I have served you faithfully for a month, and, presumptuous as it is, I ask to be allowed to serve you all my life. Helen, say you forgive the deceit for love’s sake.” “No; you are false and forsworn. How can I believe that anything is true?” And Helen drew away the hand of which he had taken possession. “Heart’s dearest, you trusted me in spite of my disguise; trust me still, and I will prove that I am neither false nor forsworn. Catechise me, and see if I was not true in spite of all my seeming deception.” “You said your name was Karl Hoffman,” began Helen, glad to gain a little time to calm herself before the momentous question came. “It is; I have many, and my family choose to call me Sigismund,” was the laughing answer. “I’ll never call you so; you shall be Karl, the courier, all your life to me,” cried Helen, still unable to meet the ardent eyes before her. “Good; I like that well; for it assures me that all my life I shall be something to you, my heart. What next?” “When I asked if you were the baron, you denied it.” “Pardon! I simply said my name was Hoffman. You did not ask me point blank if I was the baron; had you done so, I think I should have confessed all, for it was very hard to restrain myself this morning.” “No, not yet; I have more questions;” and Helen warned him away, as it became evident that he no longer considered restraint necessary. “Who is Ludmilla?” she said, sharply. “My faith, that is superb!” exclaimed the baron, with a triumphant smile at her betrayal of jealousy. “How if she is a former love?” he asked, with a sly look at her changing face. “It would cause me no surprise; I am prepared for anything.” “How if she is my dearest sister, for whom I sent, that she might welcome you and bring the greetings of my parents to their new daughter?” “Is it, indeed, so?” And Helen’s eyes dimmed as the thought of parents, home and love filled her heart with tenderest gratitude, for she had long been an orphan. “_Leibchen_, it is true; to-morrow you shall see and know how dear you already are to them, for I write often and they wait eagerly to receive you.”