Just at that moment the hotel-keeper entered the room and approached the window where they were standing. Zedwitz turned round, and Hildegarde in her anxiety to undeceive him, and fearing he was leaving her under a false impression, stretched out her hand to detain him; the action was misunderstood, he caught it between both his, and while she endeavoured in vain to stammer a few words of explanation, he whispered, “Thank you a thousand times, you do not know how even this faint ray of hope will lighten the gloominess of my present journey!”
He then took the innkeeper aside, and spoke long and earnestly to him about her, said he knew her family—requested him to let her know every opportunity that might offer for a return to Munich in respectable society—gave him his address, the name of his banker, and unlimited credit on her account; and just as the innkeeper, with an only half suppressed smile of amusement, was about to explain to him that he need not be so uneasy about the lady, as she was already under the protection of a young Englishman, Zedwitz, reproaching himself for the delay which had occurred, sprang into the carriage, and a moment after it rolled from under the archway past the window where Hildegarde still stood, a prey to the most distressing and contending emotions.
After waiting more than half an hour longer, and Hamilton not appearing, she retired to her room, supposing some unexpected business had detained him; but when several hours elapsed, and he was still absent, she became uneasy. A feeling of delicacy prevented her from making any inquiries, and she sat at her window, long after dusk, trying to discover him in every tall dark figure she saw moving near the entrance or in the court below. A sensation of utter loneliness came over her, thoughts of the most melancholy description chased each other through her mind; when, from a reverie of this kind, she recognised the well-known quick step, and a low knock at the door made her conscious that Hamilton was near; all the painful reminiscences—uncertainties—Zedwitz—everything, was in a moment forgotten; and she rose quickly and joyously from her chair to meet him. It was too dark for Hamilton to see the tears which still lingered in her long eyelashes, and too dark for her to observe the flushed and irritated expression of his whole countenance.
“Shall I light the candles?” she asked cheerfully.
“If you wish it, but I prefer the room as it is.”
She sat down near him, and after a pause observed, “You were long absent; was there any difficulty at the banker’s?”
“None whatever.” Another pause—then suddenly turning towards her, he said quickly, “I have been thinking that as the Baroness Waldorf has a house at Mayence, she may be longer absent than her servants supposed. A few hours would take you to Mayence.”
“Do you think it necessary to follow her there?”
“Not exactly necessary, but why not? You have often wished to see the Rhine.”
“Oh, it would be too delightful!” exclaimed Hildegarde.