“Why should my smile mean mockery?”

“Adelheid!—­nay—­this never can be.  One of my birth—­my ignoble, nameless origin, cannot even intimate his wishes, with honor, to a lady of thy name and expectations!”

“Sigismund, it can be.  Thou hast not well calculated either the heart of Adelheid de Willading, or the gratitude of her father.”

The young man gazed earnestly at the face of the maiden, which, now that she had disburdened her soul of its most secret thought, reddened to the temples, more however with excitement than with shame, for she met his ardent look with the mild confidence of innocence and affection.  She believed, and she had every reason so to believe, that her words would give pleasure, and, with the jealous watchfulness of true love, she would not willingly let a single expression of happiness escape her.  But, instead of the brightening eye, and the sudden expression of joy that she expected, the young man appeared overwhelmed with feelings of a very opposite, and indeed of the most painful, character.  His breathing was difficult, his look wandered, and his lips were convulsed.  He passed his hand across his brow, like a man in intense agony, and a cold perspiration broke out, as by a dreadful inward working of the spirit, upon his forehead and temples, in large visible drops.

“Adelheid—­dearest Adelheid—­thou knowest not what thou sayest!—­One like me can never become thy husband.”

“Sigismund!—­why this distress?  Speak to me—­ease thy mind by words.  I swear to thee that the consent of my father is accompanied on my part by a willing heart.  I love thee, Sigismund—­wouldst thou have me—­can I say more?”

The young man gazed at her incredulously, and then, as thought became more clear, as one regards a much-prized object that is hopelessly lost.  He shook his head mournfully, and buried his face in his hands.

“Say no more, Adelheid—­for my sake—­for thine own sake, say no more—­in mercy, be silent!  Thou never canst be mine—­No, no—­honor forbids it; in thee it would be madness, in me dishonor—­we can never be united.  What fatal weakness has kept me near thee—­I have long dreaded this—­”

“Dreaded!”

“Nay, do not repeat my words,—­for I scarce know what I say.  Thou and thy father have yielded, in a moment of vivid gratitude, to a generous, a noble impulse—­but it is not for me to profit by the accident that has enabled me to gain this advantage.  What would all of thy blood, all of the republic say, Adelheid, were the noblest born, the best endowed, the fairest, gentlest, best maiden of the canton, to wed a nameless, houseless, soldier of fortune, who has but his sword and some gifts of nature to recommend him?  Thy excellent father will surely think better of this, and we will speak of it no more!”