“Agreed.”
“My chances are but small,” observed Hamilton; “with me both the young ladies are shy, and I myself am still more so.”
“You shy!” exclaimed Zedwitz, laughing.
“What! You don’t believe me! You must have observed how I blush for the merest trifle.”
“Oh, yes—you blush, but it seems to be constitutional, however, for I never saw anyone of your age so self-possessed.”
“My dear Count, you quite mistake my character, I assure you—it is a sort of—anomaly; a mixture of modesty and assurance——”
“Assurance, perhaps—sometimes—the modesty I have never observed.” He stopped and pointed to the two sisters, who were sitting on the trunk of a prostrate tree in a neighbouring field, their hands clasped firmly together, and each separately exhibiting a picture of grief which, independent of the youth and beauty of the mourners, was interesting from the difference of its expression. Crescenz seemed quite subdued from excessive sorrow, her whole form drooped, and she wept in silence, the tears coursing each other over her youthful cheeks unrestrainedly. Hildegarde held a letter tightly pressed in her hand, and looked upwards. She might have been praying; but it seemed to Hamilton as if the eyes remained upturned to prevent the falling of the tears which had gathered in the underlids—an occasional almost imperceptible movement of the corners of the mouth, and an evident difficulty of swallowing, confirmed this idea.
“Beautiful creature!” exclaimed Zedwitz, enthusiastically.
Hildegarde stooped towards her sister, and, it seemed, whispered some words of comfort, for the other looked up and attempted to smile.
“Hamilton, let us return towards the lake; it would be cruel to take them by surprise. We must talk loud, or in some way give them notice of our approach.” He turned away as he spoke, and so effectually did he put his intentions in practice, that when they again approached the sisters, they were walking apparently unconcernedly towards the church, and on hearing that they were expected to supper, quietly led the way to the wooden-bridge. Zedwitz and Hamilton now commenced maneuvring; but as their intentions were similar, and the object not to engage the same person, they were almost immediately successful. Zedwitz seemed, indeed, at first determined that Hamilton should lead the way with Crescenz; but the latter soon gave him to understand that that would never answer, and after a few frowns, and shrugs, and shoves, he followed Hildegarde, who was already on the bridge.