“Oh, stay! stay, I entreat of you!” she cried, anxiously. “Do you not wish to be alone with your cousin?” “No, no, no—that is,” she added, hurriedly, “yes—perhaps it is better——” “As you please,” said Hamilton, moving again towards the door. Hildegarde seemed greatly embarrassed. “If you would only promise not to say anything to make——” “I really do not understand you,” cried Hamilton, impatiently. “When he has been here for a minute or two,” she said, quickly, “go for Crescenz and Madame Lustig, say they must come here—must remain——” Her cousin entered the room while she was speaking. “I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear Hildegarde,” he said, with a stiff and evidently forced smile, “but I come to take leave——” “Take leave! what do you mean?” “I am to be executed to-morrow, you know.” “Ah!—so——” “It is particularly kind of you and Crescenz to put on mourning for me beforehand,” he continued, glancing gravely at her black dress. “Oscar, how can you talk so?” said Hildegarde, reproachfully; “such jesting is, to-day, particularly ill-timed.” “By heaven, I am not jesting. I never was less disposed to mirth than at this moment,” he answered, falling heavily into a chair, and drawing his handkerchief across his forehead. “Have you been with Marie?” “Yes.” “And you will return to her?” “I suppose I must.” Here Hamilton precipitately left the room to summon Madame Lustig and Crescenz, but they were much too busily engaged in the manufacture of a complicated cake to follow him, so he hurried back alone to the drawing-room, and found Hildegarde——in her cousin’s arms. She was not struggling, she did not even move as he entered, while Raimund, not in the least disconcerted by his presence, passionately kissed her two or three times. At length she suddenly and vehemently pushed him from her, exclaiming, “Go, I hate you!” “You hate me! hate me, did you say? Let me hear that once more, Hildegarde,” he said, losing every trace of colour as he spoke. “No, no—I don’t hate you—but you have acted very—very ungenerously,” said Hildegarde, with ill-suppressed emotion. “I understand you; but you will forgive me this last offence, I hope?” “Yes, I forgive you, and will try to forgive you all you have done to worry and alarm me since our acquaintance began,” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “but this must indeed be the last offence.” “It will be, most certainly,” said Raimund; and, taking both her hands, he looked at her long and earnestly, and then left the room without in any manner noticing Hamilton. A long pause ensued. Hamilton’s eyes were riveted on his book, which he had again taken up; but he never turned over the leaf, nor did he move when he became conscious that Hildegarde was standing beside him.