Hamilton heard the sleepy voice change into a tone of alarm, the anxious questions, and finally a request that he would leave the room. He did so, and in less than a minute Hildegarde opened the door in a state of great agitation. While Hamilton laid Crescenz on the bed, Zedwitz struck a light, and Hildegarde then asked him earnestly to tell her what had happened.
“My odious cloak has been the cause of all,” he answered, evasively; “she saw me standing in the moonlight, and thought I was a ghost.”
“Saw you standing in the moonlight?—when?—where? Oh, go away, both of you,” she cried, vehemently, as the candle lighted her sister’s pale features; “go away, and leave me alone with Crescenz.”
They left the room, and walked towards one of the windows looking into the quadrangle. After some delay, Hildegarde appeared, and a dialogue ensued which Hamilton thought unnecessarily long, as he was not able to hear what was said. The moment, however, that he approached the speakers, the door was closed, and he was left to make his inquiries of Zedwitz.
“How is she?”
“Better, or quite well, I forget which; she fancied at first that she had been dreaming, but now she knows the contrary.”
“Hum! No doubt you exaggerated splendidly when explaining to Hildegarde just now!”
“Not I! I was thinking the whole time of that bewitching little nightcap, and how lovely she looked in it.”
“Pshaw! if you have any fancy for such caps, I recommend you to go to London. In any street you please, and at any hour, you can see half a dozen such caps on as many Bavarian girls, whose employment is to scream ‘buy a broom,’ and who are just the most good-for-nothing creatures in the world.”
“And how do you know they are Bavarians? I think it much more probable that they are Dutch girls.”