And he did tell her all about that, and so many other things too, that the night wore away—the candles burnt down, and as at length the flame extinguished itself in the melted wax, they looked at each other in the grey, cold light of breaking day!
The two days which Hamilton and Hildegarde passed in the Rhine steamboat, on their return to Mayence, were the happiest of their still so youthful lives. As they sat together, watching the beautiful windings of the river, or glancing up the sides of the wooded mountains, the most perfect confidence was established between them. The events of the last year were discussed with a minuteness which proved either that their memories were exceedingly retentive, or that the most trifling circumstances of that period had been full of unusual interest to both. Their confessions and explanations were not ended even when they reached Mayence, where Hildegarde found a letter from the Baroness Waldorf. As she gave it to Hamilton, she observed: “After what you told me this morning, I can pardon, though I cannot approve of her conduct—she says, however, that she wrote to Hortense to prevent my leaving Munich, and I am glad of it, as it will save me from all explanations, and I can show both my mother and Hortense this letter too; so everything has ended just as we could have wished.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “and we will endeavour to believe all the Baroness’s excuses—I dare say she has changed all her plans—and perhaps, she may not engage a governess for her daughter for a year or two; we will also consent to her marriage with Zedwitz—to whom she is as attached as such a person can be—though she is not likely to rise in his estimation by the proof which she has given of her jealousy—but what do you mean to do with this order on her banker at Frankfort—this peace-offering which she so diffidently calls her debt?”
“I—should like very much—to return it,” said Hildegarde, hesitatingly.
“I thought so,” said Hamilton, “and in the meanwhile I can write to A. Z., to let her know that if we are all alive in two years we shall be together, and to request Baron Z— to enter into negotiations with that Felsenbauer, the peasant on the rocks, as he is called. I shall tell A. Z. to send you my journal: it may amuse you to read it, and in the margin you must write whatever is necessary in explanation, or, in short, whatever you think likely to interest us when we look it over at the end of ten or twelve years. A journal, you know, like mine, is marvellously improved by age!”
Hamilton accompanied Hildegarde on her way home as far as she would allow him—the last day’s journey she chose to be alone, and at Ingolstadt they parted. For two years? Or for ever?
CHAPTER XLVII.
CONCLUSION.
There may be some, there may be many of my readers who would think that Hamilton had been a “confounded fool,” were they to hear that, at the appointed time, he braved the threats, resisted all the bribes of his uncle, remitted his five thousand pounds to Munich, and returned to Bavaria, with the intention there to live and die, “the world (viz., London) forgetting, by the world forgot.” We do not wish him to fall in the opinion of anyone, and therefore request all persons disposed to entertain such an opinion of him, under such circumstances, to close this book, and imagine he acted as they would have done in his place. Often have vows as solemn as his been broken, and for the same mercenary motives which might have tempted him; and if the world have not applauded, it has at least not censured such derelictions in a manner to deter others from practising them.