“You may be quite sure I shall never offend you in this way again,” he said holding the book towards her. “What a mere farce the writing of that list of books was!” “No, for I had intended to have read all you recommended.” “And all I recommended you to avoid, too! This—this, which you tacitly promised not to finish——” He stopped; for, while she took the book in silence, she blushed so deeply, and seemed so embarrassed, that he added sorrowfully, “Oh, how I regret having come home! How I wish I had not discovered that you could deceive me!” “I have _not_ deceived you,” said Hildegarde. Hamilton shook his head, and glanced towards the subject of dispute. “Appearances are against me, and yet I repeat I have not deceived you. The books _were_ sent to the library yesterday evening——but too late to be changed. Old Hans brought them back again, and I found them in my room when I went to bed. I did not read them last night.” “But you stayed at home for the purpose to-day,” observed Hamilton, reproachfully. “No; my mother gave the servants leave to go out for the whole day, and as she did not like to leave the house unoccupied, she asked me to remain at home. I, of course, agreed to do so; without, I assure you, thinking of those hateful books. I do not mean to—I cannot justify what I have done. I can only say in extenuation that the temptation was great. I have been alone for more than two hours—my father’s books are locked up. I never enter your room when you are absent, and I wished to know the end of the story which still interests and haunts me in spite of all my endeavours to forget it. The book lay before me; I resisted long, but at last I opened it; and so—and so——” “And so, I suppose, I must acknowledge that I have judged you too harshly,” said Hamilton. “I do not care about your judgment. I have fallen in my own esteem since I find that I cannot resist temptation.” “And is my good opinion of no value to you?” “It was, perhaps; but it has lost all worth within the last half-hour.” “How do you mean?” “I have seen you in the course of that time suspicious, rough, and what you would yourself call ungentlemanlike.” “A pretty catalogue of faults for one short half-hour!” exclaimed Hamilton, biting his lips. “You were the last person from whom I should have expected such treatment,” continued Hildegarde, while the tears started to her eyes, and her voice faltered, “the very last; and though I did get into a passion and give you a blow, it was not until you had hurt my wrist and provoked me beyond endurance.” She left the room and walked quickly down the passage. “Stay,” cried Hamilton, following her, “stay, and hear my excuses.” “Excuses! You have not even one to offer,” said Hildegarde, laying her hand on the lock of her door.