“It would be vain to endeavor to conceal from thee, Sigismund,” she said, “that I could wish this were not so.  I will confess even more—­that when the truth first broke upon me, thy repeated services, and, what is even less pardonable, thy tried worth, were for an instant forgotten in the reluctance I felt to admit that my fate could ever be united with one so unhappily situated.  There are moments when prejudices and habits are stronger than reason; but their triumph is short in well-intentioned minds.  The terrible injustice of our laws have never struck me with such force before, though last night, while those wretched travellers were so eager for the blood of—­of—?”

“My father, Adelheid.”

“Of the author of thy being, Sigismund,” she continued, with a solemnity that proved to the young man how deeply she reverenced the tie, “I was compelled to see that society might be cruelly unjust; but now I find its laws and prohibitions visiting one like thee, so far from joining in its oppression, my soul revolts against the wrong.”

“Thanks—­thanks—­a thousand thanks!” returned the young man, fervently.  “I did not expect less than this from thee, Mademoiselle de Willading.”

“If thou didst not expect more—­far more, Sigismund,” resumed the maiden, her ashen hue brightened to crimson, “thou hast scarcely been less unjust than the world; and I will add, thou hast never understood that Adelheid de Willading, whose name is uttered with so cold a form.  We all have moments of weakness; moments when the seductions of life, the worthless ties which bind together the thoughtless and selfish in what are called the interests of the world, appear of more value than aught else.  I am no visionary, to fancy imaginary and factitious obligations superior to those which nature and wisdom have created—­for if there be much unjustifiable cruelty in the practices, there is also much that is wise in the ordinances, of society—­or to think that a wayward fairy is to be indulged at any and every expense to the feelings and opinions of others.  On the contrary; I well know that so long as men exist in the condition in which they are, it is little more than common prudence to respect their habits; and that ill-assorted unions, in general, contain in themselves a dangerous enemy to happiness.  Had I always known thy history, dread of the consequences, or those cold forms which protect the fortunate would probably have interposed to prevent either from learning much of the other’s character.—­I say not this, Sigismund, as by thy eye I see thou wouldst think, in reproach for any deception, for I well know the accidental nature of our acquaintance, and that the intimacy was forced upon thee by our own importunate gratitude, but simply, and in explanation of my own feelings.  As it is, we are not to judge of our situation by ordinary rules, and I am not now to decide on your pretensions to my hand merely as the daughter of the Baron de Willading receiving a proposal from one whose birth is not noble, but as Adelheid should weigh the claims of Sigismund, subject to some diminution of advantages, if thou wilt, that is perhaps greater than she had at first anticipated.”