The girl laid her hand in his; it was so cold and clammy it chilled him; and Carmen, as she leaned her head back against the stone wall, had such a tired, weary, wretched look that he could not refrain from asking with an anxious air:  “For Heaven’s sake!  Surely some misfortune has happened to you!  Carmen, dear Fraulein Carmen, I implore you, tell me just one word, that I may know what is the matter, and help you if I can.”

She had risen slowly and with difficulty, for her knees trembled, and she could scarcely stand.  He kept her hand in his as if to assist her, and pressed it with gentle warmth.  At the sound of his sympathizing voice, the heavy pressure on her tortured heart suddenly gave way, and agonized sobs burst from her lips, while a flood of scalding tears flowed from her eyes.  Her slender frame shook with the violence of her emotion; and as he sought to support her with his arm, her head sank on his shoulder.

“Dear Carmen,” he pleaded, “do not keep back from me the cause of this distress!  You cannot know how I am racked with grief for you.  What shall I say to convince you of my feelings?  It troubles me sorely, oh, believe me, to find you in such sorrow.”

His words seemed to increase the intensity of her grief; and yet how those blinding tears relieved her!  What an angel of light he seemed—­he, of whom she had once thought so differently!  She did not repulse him now when his arm encircled her; but leaning on him confidingly, she somehow felt that he who held her was a true man; that he alone was able to help and comfort her, and that it was a precious privilege to have him near in this hour of need.  She could not turn to her father for succor; that one great hope had melted away; but in this man she knew there was courage, as well as will and the power to assist her in her woe.  As he poured question after question upon her, she attempted at last to speak.

“They have cast lots for me to-day,” she stammered.  “I am forced to be the wife of a man I despise—­by lot, Herr Trautenau!”

“By lot?” he asked, flushing angrily.  “You, our beautiful, proud Carmen, given away by lot?  That is incredible!  Your father will surely not permit it!”

“My poor father!” she cried.  “He can take no step to prevent it; he cannot save me.”

“But!—­by heavens, I will not allow such a horrible thing!” he cried passionately, and drew her closer to him.  “Carmen, I conjure you, I beseech you, not to submit to this shameful custom of your people!”

“No; I would rather die than do it!” she replied, as something of her old courage returned to her.  Now that he stood by her, she felt that some escape might be possible.  She dried her tears, and raised her pretty head, which had rested so wearily on his shoulder, endeavoring to free herself from a position which, now that she was calm enough to think, had become embarrassing to her.  As she did so, she gave a terrified start, for, unheard by either of them, Brother Jonathan with his cat-like step had drawn near, and she now caught a glimpse of his hated countenance, distorted with scorn and anger.