“I was not thinking of his wife, for I do not know her; I fear for the Rosenbergs—Hildegarde would be sure to attract him.” “He would, however, have no chance of success in that quarter, I am sure,” said Hamilton. “It is hard to say; her nature is passionate, and I should be sorry to see her an object of attention to such a man. The fact is, I find it impossible to forget her, and as long as I know her to be free, I cannot cease to indulge hopes that she may eventually be mine. What I most apprehend is a sudden and violent passion on her part for some person as yet, perhaps, unknown; for I believe her capable of loving desperately.” “And you very naturally wish to be the object of this desperate love? But how are you to obtain your father’s consent to your union?” “Of that I have no hope whatever; but as I am an only son, I have every chance of pardon were I once married. My mother’s opposition is much less violent, but quite as determined as my father’s, and the astonishment of both was indescribable when I confessed that I had been refused without explanation or chance of recall. All my hopes are now centred in my sister, who is a dear, good little soul, and has promised to assist me when she can. By-the-by, she made a remark which may, perhaps, interest you.” Zedwitz stopped and looked very hard at Hamilton. “Pray let me hear it.” “She said she was sure I should not have spoken in vain had not Hildegarde loved another——” “Well, that was your own modest idea, was it not?” said Hamilton, interrupting him. “Yes; but it was not my idea that _you_ were the object of her preference.” Hamilton laughed. “Perhaps you are already aware of it?” asked Zedwitz, growing very red. “No, indeed,” replied Hamilton, trying to look serious, “I am only amused at your sister’s strong imagination; were she, however, to see us together, and hear us speak, she would soon think differently.” “You forget that my sister was at Seon, and had opportunities of making observations.” “But she is not aware how desperately we quarrel; she does not know——” “I have told her all that, and she insists that Hildegarde likes you without being herself conscious of it.” “But I assure you she has told me more than once that she hates me.” “I am glad to hear it,” said Zedwitz, dryly, and immediately after he changed the subject.