“You do look ill,” said Hamilton, “and change of air and scene might be of use to you—but is it advisable to remain out in this rain if you are feverish?” “Certainly not advisable—but I cannot set out on my travels without taking leave of you.” “Travels! where do you mean to go?” “To Paris—or Rome—or Athens—or Jerusalem.” “Will your father consent?” “I think so. To-morrow I intend to go to Lengheim and commence negotiations—I have determined on quitting the army at all events; for I have no fancy for country quarters, and as to remaining in Munich, the thing is impossible. What are all my resolutions when I see her? and see her I do—continually—although unseen by her, or any of her family.” “You were in the street this evening, I know. She recognised your cloak immediately.” “My cloak, ah! very true—I must have another—adieu, Hamilton, I will not detain you longer in the rain—we shall scarcely meet again before I leave——” “Write to me then,” said Hamilton. “I should like to know where you are to be found. Perhaps I may join you in the spring.” “You shall hear from me,” cried Zedwitz, seizing his hand and holding it firmly. “One word more—promise me to act honourably by Hildegarde, and not to take advantage of her isolated situation when her sister has left the house.” “I have never thought of acting otherwise,” replied Hamilton, calmly. “I suppose I must be satisfied with this answer,” said Zedwitz, wringing his friend’s hand as he hurried away. It was too late to overtake the Rosenbergs, nevertheless Hamilton walked quickly home. He was surprised to find the house-door open, the staircase perfectly dark, and several persons speaking at different distances upon it. On the third story Walburg, who was endeavouring to open the door of the Rosenbergs’ apartment, was loudly assuring her mistress that when she left the house with the umbrellas the lamp had been burning—she had trimmed it on her way downstairs. Major Stultz and Crescenz were not far distant, for they occasionally laughed, and joined in the conversation. Hamilton began to grope his way along the passage; as he gained the foot of the stairs, Hildegarde, who had probably only reached the first landing-place, exclaimed: “Is that you, Mr. Hamilton? You had better wait until we have a light.” Before he had time to speak, a voice quite close to her answered for him. “You have startled me,” cried Hildegarde, “I thought you were at the foot of the stairs.” Not a little surprised to find himself in the presence of a second self, he stood still to hear what would follow. “How did you happen to be separated from us?” asked Hildegarde. “Met some friends at the church door, and stopped to speak to them,” replied the voice in French. “You must be completely wet!” “Not at all.” Hildegarde laughed. “You do not believe me! Feel my arm—not even damp!”