“Were your movements so uncertain? Do your parents leave you completely at liberty?” “Completely. I can spend the winter at Vienna, Berlin, Dresden, or Munich.” The conversation was changed, and Hamilton was so pleased with both his companions that he was actually sorry when they reached Seon, though the walk had been long, and it was so late that the guests were assembling for supper. “Where are my girls? Are they not yet returned?” asked Madame Rosenberg. No one had seen them. “They were with me the whole morning,” she continued, “and only went out half an hour ago to the church on the other side of the water. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton will be so kind as to call them to supper.” “Let me go with you,” cried young Zedwitz, starting from his chair. “Thank you—I can find them without your assistance,” he replied; and then added, maliciously laughing, “I know you have been lounging about this little lake all day, my good fellow, and must be as tired of it as a sentinel of his post.” Zedwitz laughed too, but he was not so easily put off—he took Hamilton’s arm, and they sallied forth together. “You were long on guard to-day, Zedwitz, from dinner-time until now!” “How did _you_ like being caught to drive away the cows? I saw you being led off.” “At first I did not like it at all—afterwards, very much. I have taken a great fancy to your mother—still more to your sister.” “My sister is the dearest little soul in the world. If you but knew her as well as I do! I am very sorry she is to be married so soon—her loss will to me be irreparable, and our house so intolerably dull without her, that I shall be under the necessity of choosing a wife with as little delay as possible.” “Your mother told me she expects you will make a most desirable marriage.” “With my ugly face?—that is not probable.” “I understand from the Countess, that you, as well as your sister, were already engaged.” “By no means—certainly not,” cried Zedwitz, with a vehemence incomprehensible to Hamilton; “joining hands for the purpose of joining estates is not at all to my taste.” “I should suppose not,” observed Hamilton, carelessly; and a long pause ensued. At length Zedwitz observed, abruptly: “My parents are anxious for me to quit the army, and marry; and, yet, I am convinced, that when I propose doing so they will object to the person I have chosen. In spite of my ugliness, or rather, perhaps, on account of it, personal beauty has a value in my eyes beyond what it deserves. I could not marry an ugly woman—could you?” “I have never thought much on the subject,” replied Hamilton, laughing. “My parents have strictly forbidden all such thoughts on my part for the next ten years at least.”