“Just what I should have expected from him!” cried the other, angrily. “How presuming on so short an acquaintance?”
“He is an Englishman,” said Crescenz, apologetically; “and certainly did not mean anything wrong, for his manner did not change in the least when he saw mamma, while I was so dreadfully afraid that she might observe—Oh! Hildegarde! What is that? Did you not hear something moving?”
“I think I did; let us listen.” A pause ensued. “It’s only the thunder-storm, and”—taking a long breath—“the ticking of the great clock.”
“How like someone breathing heavily,” exclaimed Crescenz, anxiously.
“And how dark it is! We can hardly find our way out,” said Hildegarde.
Hamilton did not venture to move; they were so near him that he heard the hands feeling the way on the wall close to where he stood. One reached the narrow passage in safety, the other stumbled on the stairs; and, as Hamilton unconsciously made a movement to assist her, the lightning, which had once or twice enabled him to distinguish their figures, now rendered him for a moment visible. It was in vain he again drew back into his hiding-place. With a cry of terror, Crescenz raised herself from the ground, and rushed into her sister’s arms, exclaiming, “I have seen him! I have seen him! He is here!”
“What! Who is here?”
“The Englishman! the Englishman!”
“Impossible! How can you be so foolish? Come, come, let us leave this place.”
“I saw him, and the lightning played upon his face, and he looked as if he were dead. I saw him, indeed I saw him!” cried Crescenz, sobbing frantically.