He opened the window and leaned out to watch the gay scene which was passing below him. The garden was crowded with guests, and well lit with candles, protected from the wind by glass globes; the murmuring of voices, and gay laughter reached him, and had he not still entertained a faint hope of seeing Hildegarde again, he would have joined the revellers, not in the hope of actual enjoyment, but to banish thoughts which were crowding thick upon him, and producing a state of nervous irritation most unusual to him. He felt so provoked at Hildegarde’s tranquil, friendly manner; it contrasted so painfully with his own state of feverish uncertainty, that the jealous vision of Zedwitz unrepulsed, rose, more and more distinctly before him. Would not the situation of governess be intolerable to one of her proud nature?—and after having tried it, would she not joyfully accept the hand of Zedwitz, who, she said, “loved her better than anyone ever did—better than she deserved?” These thoughts at length became intolerable, and with one bound he was again at her door.
“Hildegarde, the band is beginning to play in the garden; will you not come to listen to it?”
“No, thank you.”
“But you have not yet gone to bed, I hope?”
There was no answer audible.
“You have not yet gone to bed? I want to speak to you—open the door, I beg—I entreat.”
“Whatever you have to say can be said to-morrow just as well as now.”
“I should rather say it now.”
“And I should rather hear it to-morrow.”
Hamilton knew her too well to persevere, and returned again to his window, where he remained for more than an hour, unconscious of everything passing beneath him, and merely hearing a confused sound of instruments, which had the effect of producing an almost painful feeling of fatigue. He closed the window, and looked rather despondingly round the room, which, as a dormitory, promised but few comforts, he extinguished the candles, and then threw himself at full length upon the sofa: he had been thinking intensely, and as he lay there in the darkened chamber, he resolved that another night should not find him in his present state of uncertainty; and why should he endure it now? Why not know his fate at once? He would insist on Hildegarde’s listening to him, and answering him too! Starting up, his eyes were instantly rivetted on a line of bright light visible under her door; she was still awake; up perhaps. He knocked, and observed in a low voice, as he leaned against the door, “Hildegarde, I cannot sleep!”