“Were I to listen to the common feelings of my sex, Sigismund, this reluctance to accept what both my father and myself offer might cause me to feign displeasure.  But, between thee and me, there shall be naught but holy truth.  My father has well weighed all these objections, and he has generously decided to forget them.  As for me, placed in the scale against thy merits, they have never weighed at all.  If thou canst not become noble in order that we may be equals, I shall find more happiness in descending to thy level, than by living in heartless misery at the vain height where I have been placed by accident.”

“Blessed, ingenuous girl!—­But what does it all avail?  Our marriage is impossible.”

“If thou knowest of any obstacle that would render it improper for a weak, but virtuous girl—­”

“Hold, Adelheid!—­do not finish the sentence.  I am sufficiently humbled—­sufficiently debased—­without this cruel suspicion.”

“Then why is our union impossible—­when my father not only consents, but wishes it may take place?”

“Give me time for thought—­thou shalt know all, Adelheid, sooner or later.  Yes, this is, at the least, due to thy noble frankness, Thou shouldst in justice have known it long before.”

Adelheid regarded him in speechless apprehension, for the evident and violent physical struggles of the young man too fearfully announced the mental agony he endured.  The color had fled from her own face, in which the beauty of expression now reigned undisputed distress; but it was the expression of the mingled sentiments of wonder, dread, tenderness, and alarm.  He saw that his own sufferings were fast communicating themselves to his companion, and, by a powerful effort, he so far mastered his emotions as to regain a portion of his self-command.

“This explanation has been too heedlessly delayed,” he continued:  “cost what it may, it shall be no longer postponed.  Thou wilt not accuse me of cruelty, or of dishonest silence, but remember the failing of human nature, and pity rather than blame a weakness which may be the cause of as much future sorrow to thyself, beloved Adelheid, as it is now of bitter regret to me.  I have never concealed from thee that my birth is derived from that class which throughout Europe, is believed to be of inferior rights to thine own; on this head, I am proud rather than humble, for the invidious distinctions of usage have too often provoked comparisons, and I have been in situations to know that the mere accidents of descent bestow neither personal excellence, superior courage, nor higher intellect.  Though human inventions may serve to depress the less fortunate, God has given fixed limits to the means of men.  He that would be greater than his kind, and illustrious by unnatural expedients, must debase others to attain his end.  By different means than these there is no nobility, and he who is unwilling to admit an inferiority which exists only in idea can never be humbled by an artifice so shallow.  On the subject of mere birth, as it is ordinarily estimated, whether it come from pride, or philosophy, or the habit of commanding as a soldier those who might be deemed my superiors as men, I have never been very sensitive.  Perhaps the heavier disgrace which crushes me may have caused this want to appear lighter than it otherwise might.”