“Do you really wish me to go?” he asked, hesitatingly. “Do you remain willingly with your cousin? Remember,” he added indignantly, “the nearest relationship cannot authorise such——” Count Raimund made a violent gesture—Hildegarde placed herself between them, and said hurriedly, “I—I do wish to speak to Oscar,” and Hamilton instantly left them. Directly he was gone her manner totally changed. “Your question, Oscar, and quickly,” she said, haughtily, “I have no intention of remaining on the cold staircase more than a few minutes.” “Gently, gently, Hildegarde—you think the danger is over now your treasure is out of sight—but you see how ready he is to quarrel, with all his coolness—be careful, for——” “Your question,” said Hildegarde, leaning against the wall, with a sigh of resignation. “Did this a—this Englishman condescend to claim his sledging right from you?” “No.” “Did he not think it worth while?” said Raimund, sneeringly. “Very probably. Have you anything else to observe?” “Yes, false girl!” cried Raimund, vehemently, “you know this is not the case—you know this is not the case—you know he loves you—his every look betrays him; but, by heaven, if you grant him what I, your nearest relative, have so long implored in vain—his life shall be the forfeit——” “Always threatening!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly. “It is my only means to obtain a moment’s attention from you. He little knows that to his influence alone I am indebted for every favour—for every common civility I receive from you!” “He little knows that, indeed!” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “were he aware of it, he would soon release me from my thraldom.” “Tell him—tell him. I desire nothing more than that matters should come to extremities. Your look incredulous, Hildegarde. Hear me, and judge for yourself. Pecuniary difficulties have often made men put an end to their existence—and you know what mine are! Add to this a violent and hopeless love, and the certainty of being obliged, in a week or ten days, to marry a person for whom I never can feel a particle of either affection or admiration!” “But who is worthy of both!” cried Hildegarde. “Perhaps so—I wish Marie every happiness with another—for myself,” he added, folding his arms and looking musingly down the stairs; “I wish to die, to die soon—and quickly—but not by my own hand. They say it is a fearful crime to commit suicide. Were I certain of being shot by Hamilton, I should not hesitate—he must then leave Bavaria and you for ever—but the chances are I should shoot him—I hate him so intensely that the temptation would be more than I could resist.” “Horrible!” cried Hildegarde, covering her face with her hands. “How can you deliberately think of committing murder?” “That’s it—that’s what I mean; you see, Hildegarde, death is my only resource; but I shudder at the thought of staining my hands with other blood than my own. The double crime is more than I can resolve upon.”