“Your question,” said Hildegarde, leaning against the wall, with a sigh of resignation.
“Did this a—this Englishman condescend to claim his sledging right from you?”
“No.”
“Did he not think it worth while?” said Raimund, sneeringly.
“Very probably. Have you anything else to observe?”
“Yes, false girl!” cried Raimund, vehemently, “you know this is not the case—you know this is not the case—you know he loves you—his every look betrays him; but, by heaven, if you grant him what I, your nearest relative, have so long implored in vain—his life shall be the forfeit——”
“Always threatening!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.
“It is my only means to obtain a moment’s attention from you. He little knows that to his influence alone I am indebted for every favour—for every common civility I receive from you!”
“He little knows that, indeed!” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “were he aware of it, he would soon release me from my thraldom.”
“Tell him—tell him. I desire nothing more than that matters should come to extremities. Your look incredulous, Hildegarde. Hear me, and judge for yourself. Pecuniary difficulties have often made men put an end to their existence—and you know what mine are! Add to this a violent and hopeless love, and the certainty of being obliged, in a week or ten days, to marry a person for whom I never can feel a particle of either affection or admiration!”