To this speech no answer was made, and a long pause ensued.
“Hildegarde, are you angry?” asked Crescenz, timidly.
“No; I am only tired of always hearing the same thing.”
“Forgive me, dearest, and I promise you have heard it for the last time; but now I expect that you will give me an answer to a plain question. You cannot pretend any longer to be blind to Count Zedwitz’s attentions—what answer do you intend to——”
The whisperers had hitherto spoken inaudibly, but this question, from a change of position in the speaker, distinctly reached Hamilton’s ears. Great was his curiosity to know the answer, but without a moment’s delay he moved and coughed. Not a sound more was heard, not a whisper even attempted, during the whole two long hours that he still lay awake and motionless, waiting for morning.
And when the morning came, Hamilton slept soundly; he saw not the sisters as they passed his couch on tiptoe; he heard not the proposal of Fritz to cover him with hay, or of Gustle to tickle him, or the admonitions of Madame Rosenberg, and her threats of leaving them always at home in future, should they dare now to make a noise. When he awoke he found himself the sole occupant of the loft, and had at first some difficulty in recollecting how he had got there. It was still very early, and in the hope of seeing the sun rise from the top of the alp, he hurried out into the fresh morning air. The sun was, however, beyond the horizon, and bright day-beams already tinted the mountain-tops. A few minutes brought him to the spot where they had all sat round the fire the preceding evening; the charred wood marked the spot, and had Hamilton found there the society he expected, he would probably have taken time to have once more admired the prospect which had so delighted him a few hours before, and which was now even more beautiful in the distinctness of early morning; but he was a gregarious animal, and finding himself unexpectedly alone, a hasty glance of admiration was all he now bestowed on the diversified plain which lay beneath him, and then, with hasty steps, he retraced his way to the châlet. One of the guides met him at the door, and informed him that Madame Rosenberg and the others had been gone some time, and were to dress and breakfast at the farm-house where they had left the carriage. A short time sufficed to enable him to overtake the last detachment, consisting of Madame Rosenberg, Crescenz, and Major Stultz, and they pursued their way leisurely together. Hildegarde had been sent on before to order breakfast, and on finding that Zedwitz intended to accompany her, had taken her two brothers. On reaching the farm-house, they found her busily occupied at a table placed under the trees, preparing bread and milk for the children—Zedwitz officiously assisting her.
“What! are you already dressed for Salzburg, Hildegarde?” cried Madame Rosenberg. “You must have walked very quickly; I hope the boys are not overheated!” and she carefully placed her hand on their foreheads to ascertain the fact.
“Oh, mamma,” cried Fritz, boastingly, “we could have walked much faster! We could have been down the mountain in half the time! It was Zedwitz who was tired; he wanted us twice to rest on the way.”
“It would have been better than running the risk of giving the children colds,” observed Madame Rosenberg, glancing towards Hildegarde.
“Oh, we did not wish to rest, or Hildegarde, either, though Zedwitz said he had ever so much to say to her.”