“I will go with you,” cried Madame Rosenberg, joining them, “Gustle must not lose his drive—Mr. Hamilton’s horses are much too wild for me!” “I thought as much,” said Major Stultz, with evident satisfaction. “Am I permitted to ask Mademoiselle Hildegarde to go with me?” asked Hamilton. “Yes, but you must tell her how your horses have frightened me, and you must promise to drive on the Nymphenburg road where we can see you, and you must not go farther than the palace, and back again.” “Agreed,” said Hamilton. “And you must on no account quit the sledge, or enter the inn.” “Of course not.” Hildegarde was surprised to see him so soon again. He explained, and asked her if she were afraid to trust herself to his care. “No, I believe you drive well.” “Rather—but I have never had a sledge until now—and they seem slippery concerns.” “I have heard that being thrown out of one is more uncomfortable than dangerous,” said Hildegarde, laughing as she entered her room to dress herself. The horses pawed the half-frozen snow, and were even more impatient than before—but this time no hand was laid on his arm, no stifled scream vexed his ear. Hildegarde admired the silver serpents which ornamented the front of the sledge—the silver bells which glittered on the harness, and the gay scarlet tassels which the horses flung in the air with every movement—the blue sky—the dazzling snow; and Hamilton, perfectly reassured, was soon able to prove to his horses that he no longer feared to correct them. In a few minutes they had overtaken and passed the hackney sledge, containing the rest of the party, nor was it long before they reached Nymphenburg. “What shall we do now?” said Hamilton. “I promised your mother not to go farther than the palace; I am sure the others are not yet half-way here; must we go home so soon?” “Drive round and round this enclosure until they come, it will amuse us and exercise the horses,” replied Hildegarde. They drove round several times, each time quicker than the preceding, while Hans, with extraordinary energy, cracked the pliant leather whip peculiar to sledges. Several people collected to look on, among others a carter, with an empty wagon. One of his horses was young and unbroken; as the sledge passed, it plunged, and rattled its heavy harness; Hamilton’s horses shied, dashed into the deep snow heaped up beside the road, upset the sledge, and then struggled violently to make themselves free. Hamilton still contrived to hold the reins until his servant came to his assistance, and then rushed to Hildegarde, who had been thrown to some distance. A crowd had soon gathered round her. “Hildegarde, dearest, are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.