The Initials. Baroness Jemima Montgomery Tautphoeus
himself unpardonably at the poor girl’s expense, teasing her beyond what she could bear, and was preparing to set all to rights again by playing a little sentiment, when she arose precipitately, and with such ill-concealed annoyance, to walk towards Major Stultz, that instead of picking up her large ball of thread, she drew it rashly after her, jerking it over the flower-beds, and entangling it so effectually in a rose-bush as she moved quickly on, that Hamilton ran to her assistance, and, as he restored it to her, said, in a low voice, in French—
“This evening I shall be in the cloisters before sunset. Meet me there, I entreat you. I wish to ask your pardon, if I have offended you.”
The shadows of evening had no sooner begun perceptibly to lengthen, than Hamilton repaired to the cloisters, and amused himself endeavouring to decipher the epitaphs on the various tombstones, until a light step close beside him made him look up, and he beheld, not Crescenz, but Hildegarde, standing before him. He was about to pass her with a slight inclination, when she stopped suddenly, and, while she slightly blushed, said firmly—
“I am the bearer of a message from my sister.”
“The willing bearer of her excuses, no doubt.”
“I understood it was you who were to have made excuses,” she answered, coldly.
“Very true. I had to ask forgiveness for having offended her in the garden to-day; as, however, the excuses are only intended for her ear, let us consider them made, and talk of something else.”
“I have neither time nor inclination to speak on any subject but the one which brought me here.”
“The communication must be important, if I may judge by the solemnity of your manner,” said Hamilton, looking calmly into the quadrangle.
“My sister desires me to say that she feels the impropriety of her former interview with you here most deeply, and that nothing will induce her to consent to another. She has told you of her intended marriage; it is almost unnecessary to say that, under such circumstances, a continuation of your present attentions will only serve to embarrass and annoy her.”
“Your sister never desired you to say that,” cried Hamilton, fixing his eyes steadily on her face.
“Of this you may be assured,” she continued, colouring deeply, “that my sister will not again meet you alone, unless—unless——”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you are more explicit, and give her the power of choosing between you and Major Stultz. It is not yet too late.”
This was what may be called coming to the point at once, and Hamilton was so taken by surprise that he could only stammer something about the shortness of his acquaintance, and believing that he did not quite understand what she meant.
“I believe Crescenz does not quite understand what you mean,” cried Hildegarde, indignantly. “How I wish she could see with my eyes, and learn to despise you as you deserve!”
“You are really too flattering,” observed Hamilton, laughing, “much too flattering; but may I not be allowed to wish that you would see me with your sister’s eyes, and value me as I deserve? However,” he continued, glad of an opportunity to change the subject, “although you have just deprived me of a meeting with your sister, I shall not interfere with your intended tête-à-tête with Count Zedwitz.”
The Count advanced towards them as he spoke.
“Your good opinion is of too little importance to induce me to disclaim or enter into any explanation,” she replied, turning quickly from him; and bowing slightly to Zedwitz, she disappeared through one of the entrances to the cloisters.
“Hameeltone, that is not fair play,” cried the latter, laughing; “your presence here was not expected.”
“You do not mean to say you came here to meet Mademoiselle Rosenberg?”
“And why not? You have met her sister here. Why may not I hope to be equally fortunate?”
“Because—because——”
“Because you’re handsome, and I’m ugly; you think I have no chance?”
“That was not what I meant. The difference between the sisters would rather form the obstacle——”
“Difference, indeed!” exclaimed Zedwitz.
“The difference is in intellect,” observed Hamilton; “in person they are extremely alike.”
“You mean, perhaps, in figure?” asked Zedwitz.
“In feature, too,” persisted Hamilton.
“Why, they have both brown hair, blue eyes, and red lips, if that constitutes likeness; but while one has the mere beauty of extreme youth, the other is the most perfect model of female loveliness I ever beheld.”
“You are very far gone,” observed Hamilton, gravely.
“I am giving my opinion as an artist,” he replied, smiling. “You will understand my enthusiasm when I tell you that I spend all my leisure hours studying portrait-painting.”
“You came here just now, probably, to take a sketch of this most perfect model! But tell me, honestly, did she promise to meet you here?”
“How can you ask such downright questions? There are different kinds of beauty, and different kinds of dispositions. I did not exactly judge it expedient to say, ‘Meet me this evening in the cloisters’; but I talked of the beauty of the shadows here about sunset, and of my intention to finish a little aquarelle drawing of the said cloisters, with a Benedictine monk issuing from one of the adjoining passages—something just adapted for a lady’s album. I came. Had you not been here, I have no doubt I should have obtained a few minutes’ attention in spite of my ugliness.”
“She came here, however, expressly to meet me,” observed Hamilton, maliciously.
The Count stopped suddenly, and looked inquiringly in his companion’s face.
“She came with a message from her sister,” added Hamilton, quietly, and they again walked on together. “In fact,” he continued, “when you joined us, we were in the midst of a kind of altercation, which made your presence, to me at least, a great relief.”
“An altercation! About what, may I ask?”
“About her sister. She asked me in pretty plain terms what my intentions were, proposed my entering the lists fairly and honourably with Major Stultz; and, when I demurred, she talked angrily of despising me, and so forth. Depend on it, she will call you to account before long.”
“I am quite ready to be called to account.”
“You do not mean to say you think seriously of marrying!”
“I should be but too happy! There is no such luck in store for me!”
“You think she would refuse you?”
“I don’t know; but I know my father would refuse his consent.”
“Run off with her, and ask his consent afterwards.”
“I wish I could, but that is impossible here. Marriage is with us a civil as well as a religious act. You have no idea of the formalities attending it, or the certificates necessary to make it valid; besides which, my being in the army increases the difficulty. That cursed caution-money!”
“Caution-money? What is that?”
“About nine hundred pounds of your money without which no officer can obtain leave to marry. It is considered a sort of provision for his wife and children in case of his death, and is, probably, a very wise regulation, but is also sometimes a source of great vexation. I am by it completely placed in my father’s power, for although I receive from him at present, in addition to my pay, ten times as much as the interest of the necessary sum, and though I know at his death I shall have more than a comfortable maintenance,