HAMILTON was taken up senseless. Zedwitz rushed to his assistance. Madame Rosenberg could not leave her children, but was obliged to hold them fast by their hands. Major Stultz endeavoured with a half-offended air to tranquillise Crescenz, whose screams had begun to subside into a flood of tears. Raimund coolly exclaimed to Mademoiselle de Hoffmann that Hamilton had been aware of the viciousness of the horse when he purchased it, but had imagined himself too good a rider to be thrown. Hildegarde, having obtained a flacon de l’eau de Cologne from a stranger, was soon beside Zedwitz, endeavouring to restore Hamilton to consciousness; he very soon opened his eyes, looked around him, and on Zedwitz asking him where he was hurt, began to speak incoherently in English. “We must get a carriage and take him home as soon as possible,” said Zedwitz; “he seems more seriously injured than I imagined from the slight wound on his temple.” “Well, this is really dreadful!” exclaimed Madame Rosenberg; “and there is not a soul in our house, for I gave Walburg leave to go out. Here is the key of the door—what can I do with the boys?” “Let me take charge of them,” said Madame de Hoffmann. “I am as much obliged to you for the offer as if I could accept it,” replied Madame Rosenberg, “but unfortunately they are so unruly that I cannot leave them with you more than with their sisters and the Major. There is no help for it. Hildegarde, you must go in the carriage, and send old Hans directly for Doctor Berger.” “May I not go, too?” said Crescenz, timidly; “I am so tired!” “Oh, of course,” replied her mother, ironically; “another fit of screaming would greatly benefit Mr. Hamilton. Here, Hildegarde, take the key and be off.” On their way home, Hamilton alone was loquacious; he spoke English incessantly, sometimes murmuring, sometimes vehemently. Hildegarde blushed deeply, and appeared unusually embarrassed, which Zedwitz interpreted to his own advantage, totally unconscious that she understood the ravings of Hamilton, which had already revealed much he was anxious to conceal from her; his last thought before his fall had been of her, his last feeling annoyance on her account, and he now unreservedly poured forth both with wild volubility. “I think we had better bind a handkerchief over his forehead,” said Hildegarde at last. “The motion of the carriage has made the blood flow.” “I ought to have thought of that,” said Zedwitz, assisting her; “he does not seem to know either of us, and evidently thinks you some other person. Who is this Helene of whom he is speaking now?” “Some one in England, I suppose.” “Poor fellow! most probably he fancies himself at home. I am very glad to perceive that he is beginning to be exhausted. There is something frightful in this sort of raving, even when one does not understand it.” “Do you think there is any danger to be apprehended?” asked Hildegarde, calmly.