Hildegarde looked up; her lips were no longer blue, and her eyes had regained their usual serenity. “To-morrow,” she observed, with evident satisfaction, “to-morrow you can go out directly after dinner, when the sun is shining.” “Exactly; pray don’t forget to bespeak a little sunshine for me,” he cried, laughing, as he ran out of the room. “Where is my little tormentor?” he asked, on perceiving that the carriage was unoccupied. “How could you expect her to wait for you?” said Zedwitz, gravely. “She has had the good sense to go home.” “I am glad of it,” cried Hamilton, springing gayly into the carriage, “very glad.” “It is confoundedly cold,” said Zedwitz, impatiently throwing the folds of his cloak over his shoulder. “I must say your minute was a long one.” “Why, my dear fellow, considering that I had to drink all that hot water, and put Hildegarde in good humour again, I do not think I required much time.” Zedwitz looked out of the window in silence. Hamilton leaned back and indulged in reflection of no disagreeable kind. “Halt!” cried Zedwitz, suddenly, “we are at the lake.” “Let us drive on. I don’t mean to skate to-day,” said Hamilton. “You don’t mean to skate!” exclaimed Zedwitz. “No. I promised Hildegarde merely to take an airing.” “Why did you not tell me that before?” “Because I feared being deprived of your agreeable society.” “Halt!” cried Zedwitz, vehemently; and the carriage stopped. “I can tell you,” he said, kicking the door to assist Hans in opening it, “I can tell you that you have just received an extremely great proof of my friendship, for if there be any one thing I particularly detest in this world, it is driving about in a machine of this kind. I have an inveterate antipathy to a hackney coach.” “I understand and share your feelings on this subject, generally speaking,” said Hamilton, amused at his violence; “but after being confined to one’s room for three or four weeks, the air enjoyed even through the windows of a hackney coach is agreeable and refreshing. Come, you may as well drive back with me.” “Sorry, I have a most particular engagement,” began Zedwitz, who was now standing on the road, and stamping his feet on the frozen ground, as if they had been cramped. “You forget you intended to skate with me,” cried Hamilton, laughing, while he jumped out of the carriage, took Zedwitz’s arm, and walked off quickly with him, neither speaking for several minutes. “Are you jealous?” asked Hamilton, at length. “You know best whether or not I have cause to be.”