“but I really cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes, and must request you to let me look at that book for a moment.” “No, you shall not,” she answered, leaning back on the sofa, and becoming very pale while she added, “It is very disagreeable being startled and interrupted in this manner. I thought you told mamma you would meet her at Neuberhausen.” “Very true; perhaps I may meet her there; but before I go I must and will see that book. On it depends my future opinion of you.” “You shall not see it,” cried Hildegarde, the colour again returning to her face. “The book,” said Hamilton, seizing firmly her disengaged hand. “The book, or the name of it!” “Neither; let me go!” cried Hildegarde, struggling to disengage her hand. Like most usually quiet tempered persons, Hamilton, when once actually roused, lost all command of himself; he held one of her hands as in a vice, and, when she brought forward the other to accelerate its release, he bent down to read the title of the book, which was immediately thrown on the ground, and the then freed hand descended with such violence on his cheek and ear that for a moment he was perfectly stunned; and, even after he stood upright, he looked at her for a few seconds in unfeigned astonishment. “Do you think,” at length he exclaimed vehemently—“Do you think that I will allow you to treat me as you did Major Stultz, with impunity?” And then, catching her in his arms, he kissed her repeatedly, and with a violence which seemed to terrify her beyond measure. “I gave you fair warning more than once,” he added, when at length he had released her. “I gave you fair warning, and you knew what you had to expect.” She covered her face with her hands, and burst into a passion of tears. “I cannot imagine,” he continued, impetuously walking up and down the room—“I cannot imagine why you did not, with your usual courage, tell me at once the name of the book, and prevent this scene.” Hildegarde shook her head, and wept still more bitterly. “After all,” he said, seating himself with affected calmness opposite to her, leaning his arms on the table, and drumming upon the book, which now lay undisputed between them, “After all, you are not better than other people! Not more to be trusted than other girls, and I fancied you such perfection! I could have forgiven anything but the—the untruth!” he exclaimed, starting up. “Anything but that! Pshaw! yesterday when you told me that the books had been sent back to the library, I believed you without a moment’s hesitation—I thanked you for your deference to my opinion—ha, ha, ha! What a fool you must have thought me!” Hildegarde looked up. All expression of humility had left her features, her tears ceased to flow, and, as she rose to leave the room, she turned almost haughtily towards him, while saying: “I really do not know what right you have to speak to me in this manner. I consider it very great presumption on your part, and desire it may never occur again.”