He found her dressed in a sort of loose tea-gown, seated in the Professor’s arm-chair, and apparently engaged in reading one of her husband’s scientific works. “Isn’t it strange,” she said, as soon as the usual morning salutations had passed between them, “that I can’t make out half these words? I seem to have forgotten how to read!” “I don’t suppose that you ever knew!” returned Von Steinberg, who was disposed to be rather curt with her on the occasion. “Then you are mistaken,” she said, without offence, “for I could read very well--but English is so hard,” she added, pathetically. The Baron stared at her. Hannah was in one of those queer moods which were so unaccountable to him. “Never mind that now!” he said, “I want to talk to you upon another matter. I met your husband as I was coming up just now, and had some conversation with him. I think he is looking very ill, and he seems very unhappy! Why are you treating him so badly, Hannah? What has he done, that you should make his life a misery to him?” “Who says that I have?” she answered. “He did! He told me that you have refused to sit any more with him. Is that true?” “Yes! He is wearing me and himself into the grave! He is never contented, but must sit every night. I shall be ill, if it goes on. _You_ must prevent it, Karl!” It was the first time she had ever presumed to call him by his Christian name and it pleased, whilst it startled him. He drew his chair nearer to hers. “I will if I can! I have just been telling Ricardo how bad it is for you both! But you are not kind to him, Hannah! He says you insult him, how is that?” “Bah!” said the girl; “I am sick of his reproaches! They are all on account of Leonora! If I tell him what is the truth, that Leonora is a very violent spirit, and that I am more tired after one of her visits than after twenty others, I have insulted him! “He is angry now, because you asked me to your house last night, and I was happy to go. He wants to keep me shut up here all day, whilst he gives his lessons. It is intolerable! Does he think I am not made of flesh and blood? But what I told you once before, is true--he married me, not to get a wife, but a medium! Well! he has got a medium, and perhaps he will find after all, that a wife might have been a better thing!” “Hannah! I am so sorry for all this,” said Von Steinberg, thoughtfully, “Ricardo is a dear, good fellow in reality, but his nature has been soured by adversity. He has lost everything,--wife, fortune, and title--and it has weighed upon his mind. You must bear with him--he is an old man now----” “I hate old men!” interposed Hannah.