Immediately after dinner, Hildegarde put on a black dress, and came to the drawing-room where Hamilton was sitting, or rather reclining, on the sofa, reading; she leaned slightly over him, and almost in a whisper asked if he were disposed to give her advice, should she request it. “I don’t know,” answered Hamilton, looking up with a smile; “I have been so long dismissed from the office of preceptor, that I have quite got out of the habit of giving advice.” “Forget that you have been preceptor, and take the name of friend,” said Hildegarde; “we shall get on better, I think.” “I like the proposition,” cried Hamilton, quickly rising from his recumbent position, “our ages are suitable. Let us,” he added, laughing, “let us now swear an eternal friendship.” “Agreed,” said Hildegarde, accepting his offered hand. “And now, tell me, shall I go to this masquerade or not?” “I thought you had already decided!” “Not quite. I wish very much to go, that is the simple truth; but I fear, that under the name of obedience to Madame Lustig I am trying to persuade myself, that I am following my mother’s injunctions; while, in fact, I am only seeking an excuse to do what I wish. Do you understand me?” “Perfectly.” “And you think, perhaps, I ought not to go?” “I think—indeed I am sure, that I can give you no advice on the subject. I am too much interested in your decision, to be a ‘righteous judge.’” “How are you interested?” “Simply thus; if you do not go, the whole party is spoiled for me.” Hildegarde was silent for more than a minute. She did not disclaim; she knew he had spoken his thoughts. “If,” she said at length, “if I had only known it in time to have asked my father’s leave, I really do think he would have had no objection.” “If you think that, you may decide on going with a clear conscience.” “Is this your opinion—advice?” “I give no advice,” said Hamilton, laughing, “I only wish you to go.” “Then—I—will go,” said Hildegarde, thoughtfully; “go—notwithstanding a kind of misgiving which I cannot overcome, a sort of a warning—a presentiment——” “I should rather have suspected your sister of having misgivings and warnings, than you,” said Hamilton; “yet she seems to have none.” “She is governed by her wishes, and Lina Berger; besides, it is not likely that anything unpleasant should occur to her!” “And to you?” asked Hamilton, surprised. “Not likely, either,” said Hildegarde, gayly; “for, thank goodness, Oscar must spend the evening with Marie, when they are to be married to-morrow.” Raimund had been but once at the Rosenbergs’ since the ball, and had played cards the whole evening. Hamilton knew that she had not since spoken to him. Yet, no sooner had she pronounced her cousin’s name, than all his feelings changed; he bit his lip, and walked to the window. “I wish——” began Hildegarde, but she suddenly stopped, for she recognised Raimund’s voice speaking to her sister in the passage. Hamilton strode across the room.