Crescenz looked at him for a moment reproachfully, and then, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears.
Hamilton had never been so angry with himself as at that moment; his fault was, indeed, unpardonable, and he felt that Crescenz was right when she pushed him from her, and refused to listen to his excuses. The fact was, he had never thought she cared more for him than for any other person willing to pay her attention; and she had appeared so perfectly happy the day before—nay, that very day—that he had naturally imagined her now quite satisfied with her future prospects, and had expected her to understand what he had said more as a tribute to her youth and beauty than as a serious proposal, the more so, as he had not made the most distant allusion to marriage in all that he had said. He now walked sorrowfully after the weeping girl, whose secret he had learned by such unwarrantable thoughtlessness. It was in vain that he tried to exculpate himself, by thinking she was an arrant flirt, and would soon forget him; he began seriously to doubt her being one; everything in her manner that had led to that conclusion could now be interpreted otherwise; her receiving Major Stultz’s presents, and her apparent contentment, might have been affected to provoke his jealousy; her sister’s words in the cloisters confirmed this idea. He did not give her credit for sufficient intellect to feel annoyed at having “told her love,” but even that consolation was denied him; for on distantly hinting that it was unnecessary any person should ever be made acquainted with their late conversation, she wrung her hands, and exclaimed bitterly:
“Oh, how could I be such a fool as to betray myself so?”
They walked on long in silence; but Crescenz was too good and gentle to be inexorable, and before the end of their walk he had obtained pardon and a promise of secrecy—the latter without difficulty, as she innocently confessed she was equally afraid of her mother’s anger and her sister’s contempt.
They reached the alp, both totally out of spirits. Crescenz’s melancholy face was a sort of reproach from which Hamilton would gladly have escaped; and he now heartily repented his having made an engagement with Madame Rosenberg. Until Crescenz’s marriage had taken place he saw no chance of peace of mind or enjoyment of any kind, and many were the vows he internally made to be more circumspect in future.
“Come, Hamilton, you must look at the sunset,” cried Zedwitz, seizing his arm and leading him away. He was in oppressively high spirits, and talked on without waiting for an answer, or even perceiving that his companion paid no sort of attention to what he said. They stood on the top of the alp; behind, and on each side of them, forming a sort of crescent, were mountains of every possible form, from the gigantic rocky peaks on which the snow lay, to the richly wooded mountain and green alp; with mountains, valleys, forests, rivers, lakes, towns, villages, in view; more than it was possible for the eye at once to enclose or the mind to comprehend.
Hildegarde and Crescenz joined them as the evening-prayer bell tolled. At Seon this bell had generally been tolled while they had been at supper. The clatter of knives and forks and tongues had instantly ceased, and an awful stillness had taken place, which had not been broken by word or movement until the last sound of the bell had died away; when, as if a spell had been broken, each person had wished his neighbour a good evening, and renewed, with increased vigour, the interrupted occupation. It had always struck Hamilton as something very Mohammedan-like, this praying to the sound of a bell, especially when it occurred in the midst of conversation, where the difficulty of commanding the thoughts must be tenfold increased. Not so did it appear to him this evening; as village after village and every church-spire far and near sent their tranquil chimes over the plain, a feeling of enthusiastic devotion was irrepressible; it seemed as if the solemn tones, on reaching the mountains, paused to vibrate in the air while they collected the prayers which they were about to bear to heaven on a thousand echoes. Zedwitz stood with his head uncovered and arms folded; Crescenz clasped her hands and moved her lips in prayer. Hildegarde’s eyes were fixed so steadfastly on the golden clouds above her, that it was impossible not to think that at the moment she wished for the “wings of a dove to flee away and be at rest.” A messenger from the châlet waited respectfully for the last sound to die away in the distance before he summoned them to supper. The interruption was unwelcome to them all; but before they descended it was agreed that they should return again with the guides and make a bonfire. They found Madame Rosenberg, as usual, bustling about, ordering and directing everybody and everything; Fritz and Gustle stealing cake and sugar; and Major Stultz, who seemed to have but lately arrived, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, wistfully eyeing a glass of beer which he was afraid to drink in his state of heat, while to hurry the operation of cooling, he was fanning himself with a red and yellow pocket-handkerchief. Hamilton glanced towards Crescenz, but as their eyes met he regretted that he had done so, and determined that nothing should induce him to look either at her or Major Stultz for a long time again. Something, however, he must seek to interest him, and he turned towards Hildegarde. A more dangerous study he could scarcely have found. She was seated on the grass, outside the door of the wooden pavilion, beside her brothers, and, for the first time since he had known her, seemed occupied with them. There was a quiet avoidance of Zedwitz on her part, which, in contrast to the coquetry of her sister, particularly interested Hamilton. This scarcely perceptible avoidance was, however, unnoticed. Zedwitz was too completely wrapt up in admiration, and had eyes and ears for her alone. Weariness prolonged the meal, and twilight was deepening into night before they thought of moving. Madame Rosenberg and Major Stultz said at length that it was time to retire to rest; the others remembered that they intended to make a fire on the top of the hill, and insisted on putting their plan into execution. Major Stultz, afraid to oppose, followed Crescenz; the guides were put in requisition, and in a short time everyone was collecting wood and piling it in a heap.
The fire burned brightly, and coloured picturesquely the different members of the party, as they lay dispersed around, some seated on the stumps of trees, others extended on the grass; all weary, yet all interested in their novel situation. Hamilton, apart from the others, looked on without mixing in the careless conversation which was kept up. It was to him like a scene in a play; he understood the double plot, and had decided on making Hildegarde the heroine; but was Zedwitz the hero who, at the end, was to obtain her fair hand? No—unaccountably enough, he found that to suit his plan the old count must be perfectly obdurate. Zedwitz was to give up the affair as hopeless; and Hildegarde! Hildegarde was to—to—remain at home; yes, that would do—an inmate still of her father’s house; and now, unconsciously, Hamilton, from supposing himself a spectator, became, in thought, an actor. He was also in that house. Hildegarde was to become insensibly aware of his good qualities and good looks—was, in fact, to become desperately in love with him! he, all the while, stoically indifferent. A feeling of honour was to make him explain to her, in a most interesting scene, the impossibility of a—she—Crescenz—Zedwitz. Here the party round the fire broke up. The boys had fallen asleep, and were now being carried by the guides to the châlet. Madame Rosenberg, Hildegarde, and Crescenz followed; Major Stultz remained to finish his pipe, and the two young men commenced fresh cigars. They did not exchange a word until their companion had left them, when Zedwitz, pitching his cigar into the still glowing embers, asked abruptly,—
“Do you know where you are to sleep to-night?”
“Not I,” answered Hamilton. “But I do not expect the accommodation to be even tolerable.”