It was a magnificent afternoon, and Hamilton was burning with curiosity which he had determined to satisfy by some desperate effort during the course of it; his dismay was, therefore, great, when he found himself seized upon by old Count Zedwitz and carried off to his room for a dissertation on the water-cure! As a reward, or rather punishment, for the exaggerated expressions of interest lavished upon cold water on a former occasion, a manuscript was confidentially produced, written by himself, intended for publication, and of which he proposed Hamilton’s making a translation for the benefit of his countrymen! He commenced slowly reading aloud, occasionally stopping to make alterations and corrections, while Hamilton gazed wistfully out of the open window at the sunny landscape, his thoughts wandering unrestrainedly to Crescenz and her sister. They would have gone out to walk, and he should probably not see them until supper-time. Zedwitz would, of course, contrive to join their party, as he was evidently getting up a serious flirtation with Hildegarde; he, for his part, rather preferred Crescenz, who he was sure he could persuade to give him a rendezvous—perhaps even in the cloisters! Five minutes—only five minutes without her sister—he composed the most appropriate speeches, and the running accompaniment to his thoughts, formed by Count Zedwitz’s manuscript, almost made him laugh in spite of himself and his annoyance. At length the sound of gay voices in the garden beneath brought his impatience to a crisis; he sprang from his chair, placed his head in his hands, and declared he had such a violent headache that he must beg to defer the conclusion of the manuscript until the next day. “Headache! My dear sir, if you would not think me unfeeling, I should say that I rejoice to hear it! I shall now be able to make a convert of you at once. Headache, be it nervous or rheumatic, can be cured by placing the feet in a tub of cold water, and rolling wet cloths round the head.” “I think a quick walk would set me to rights in a very short time; and as I hear your son singing in the garden, perhaps I shall be able to persuade him to join me.” “If you don’t like the foot-bath, try a little sweating in cloths—indeed, it will cure you—pray, try it.” “My dear Count—my headache is of a very peculiar kind; I am subject to it, and have given it the name of ‘bored headache.’ I know from experience that nothing but a walk can cure me.” “Bored headache! To bore—to penetrate—to pierce—to bore with a gimlet! You feel, perhaps, as if some one had been boring at your head,” and he suited the action to the words. “Precisely—exactly. In such cases I require violent exercise——” “But, I assure you,” he persisted, “the cold stupes would have the same effect; I should still, merely to convince you, recommend sweating in——”