“I ought not to have allowed you to return,” she said, clasping her hands convulsively round his arm, “it was thoughtless—selfish of me. Had you been seen!”
“I have been seen, but not recognised,” said Hamilton; “I put on your mask, and some servants mistook me for Count Raimund.”
“Can that lead to a discovery?” asked Hildegarde, stopping in the middle of the cold, cheerless street.
“On the contrary, I rather think it will prevent any discovery being made until to-morrow morning.”
“His wedding-day!” said Hildegarde, with a stifled groan. “Oh, what will Marie de Hoffmann think of him?”
“She will perhaps guess the truth,” said Hamilton. “I believe this marriage was the immediate cause of the rash act.”
“Perhaps I am also to blame,” said Hildegarde, in a scarcely audible voice.
“It may be; but most innocently, I am sure. It was not your fault that your cousin loved you so madly.”
“I—I—did not exactly mean that,” said Hildegarde, with a shudder.
“Then, what did you mean? Tell me all that occurred. That is,” added Hamilton, for the first time since he had joined her recurring to his former fears, “that is, if you can.”