"I have been waiting for you, Sir Max," she said. "You are late. I feared you would not come. I have waited surely an hour, though I am loath to confess it lest you think me a too willing maiden."
"It would be hard, Fräulein, for me to think you too willing--you are but gracious and kind, and I thank you," answered Max. "But you have not waited an hour. Darkness has fallen barely a quarter of that time."
"I was watching long before dark on the battlements, and--"
"On the battlements, Fräulein?" asked Max, in surprise.
"I mean from--from the window battlements in uncle's house. I've been out here under the trees since nightfall, and that seems to have been at least an hour ago. Don't you understand, Sir Max?" she continued, laughing softly and speaking as if in jest; "the longer I know you the more shamefully eager I become; but that is the way with a maid and a man. She grows more eager and he grows less ardent, and I doubt not the time will soon arrive, Sir Max, when you will not come at all, and I shall be left waiting under the trees to weep in loneliness."
Max longed to speak the words that were in his heart and near his lips, but he controlled himself under this dire temptation and remained silent. After a long pause she stepped close to him and asked:--
"Did you not want me to come?"
Max dared not tell her how much he had wanted her to come, so he went to the other extreme--he must say something--and, in an excess of caution, said:--
"I would not have asked you to come, Fräulein, though I much desired it; but sober judgment would prompt me to wish that--that is, I--ah, Fräulein, I did not want you to come to the bridge."
She laughed softly and said:--