“If he do, I shall believe him.”
“And I also,” said Hildegarde, moving onwards.
“You think highly of Zedwitz?”
“Most highly. I have already told you so.”
“And of your cousin?”
Hildegarde was silent.
“And yet you continue intimate with him, and tolerate his rhapsodies!”
“He is my cousin—he loves me—and—if you must know all, I fear him now!”
“You! you fear him?”
“Yes; I fear his love and his jealousy—his frightful bursts of passion—his horrible threats. But, look, there is Walburg just now coming home; I must enter the house before her. Adieu.”