They now began to cross the shallow part of Seon Lake, on a narrow, wooden bridge, so narrow that it was inconvenient for more than two persons to walk abreast. When they had reached the slope leading up to the church on the other side, Hamilton suddenly stopped and asked Count Zedwitz what “Hildegarde had said to him at dinner which had so effectually silenced him?” “She told me not to speak to her, as she could not answer me.” “Was that all?” “But she gave me some hope that she would tell me why on some future occasion, and I was satisfied.” “There is some mystery in the family! Don’t you think so?” asked Hamilton. “I am quite convinced of it. Those poor girls seem very unhappily situated. I really pity them.” “I both pity and admire them,” cried Hamilton; “and moreover, I am exceedingly anxious to find out this same mystery. Let us start fair and see who will first obtain information.” “Agreed.” “My chances are but small,” observed Hamilton; “with me both the young ladies are shy, and I myself am still more so.” “You shy!” exclaimed Zedwitz, laughing. “What! You don’t believe me! You must have observed how I blush for the merest trifle.” “Oh, yes—you blush, but it seems to be constitutional, however, for I never saw anyone of your age so self-possessed.” “My dear Count, you quite mistake my character, I assure you—it is a sort of—anomaly; a mixture of modesty and assurance——” “Assurance, perhaps—sometimes—the modesty I have never observed.” He stopped and pointed to the two sisters, who were sitting on the trunk of a prostrate tree in a neighbouring field, their hands clasped firmly together, and each separately exhibiting a picture of grief which, independent of the youth and beauty of the mourners, was interesting from the difference of its expression. Crescenz seemed quite subdued from excessive sorrow, her whole form drooped, and she wept in silence, the tears coursing each other over her youthful cheeks unrestrainedly. Hildegarde held a letter tightly pressed in her hand, and looked upwards. She might have been praying; but it seemed to Hamilton as if the eyes remained upturned to prevent the falling of the tears which had gathered in the underlids—an occasional almost imperceptible movement of the corners of the mouth, and an evident difficulty of swallowing, confirmed this idea. “Beautiful creature!” exclaimed Zedwitz, enthusiastically. Hildegarde stooped towards her sister, and, it seemed, whispered some words of comfort, for the other looked up and attempted to smile.