."

Indeed, to all her remonstrances Hilda was quite inaccessible, and it
remained for Zillah to see her friend spend most of her time in that
sick-room, the ruling spirit, while she was comparatively useless.
She could only feel gratitude for so much kindness, and express that
gratitude whenever any occasion arose. While Hilda was regardless of
Zillah's remonstrances, she was equally so of the doctor's warnings.
That functionary did not wish to see his best nurse wear herself out,
and warned her frequently, but with no effect whatever. Hilda's
self-sacrificing zeal was irrepressible and invincible.

While Hilda was thus devoting herself to the Earl with such tireless
patience, and exciting the wonder and gratitude of all in that little
household by her admirable self-devotion, there was another who
watched the progress of events with perfect calmness, yet with deep
anxiety. Gualtier was not able now to give his music lessons, yet,
although he no longer could gain admission to the inmates of Castle
Chetwynde, his anxiety about the Earl was a sufficient excuse for
calling every day to inquire about his health. On those inquiries he
not only heard about the Earl, but also about all the others, and
more particularly about Hilda. He cultivated an acquaintance with the
doctor, who, though generally disposed to stand on his dignity toward
musicians, seemed to think that Gualtier had gained from the Earl's
patronage a higher title to be noticed than any which his art could
give. Besides, the good doctor knew that Gualtier was constantly at
the Castle, and naturally wished to avail himself of so good an
opportunity of finding out all about the internal life of this noble
but secluded family. Gualtier humored him to the fullest extent, and
with a great appearance of frankness told him as much as he thought
proper, and no more; in return for which confidence he received the
fullest information as to the present condition of the household.
What surprised Gualtier most was Hilda's devotion. He had not
anticipated it. It was real, yet what could be her motive? In his own
language--What game was the little thing up to? This was the question
which he incessantly asked himself, without being able to answer it.
His respect for her genius was too great to allow him for one moment
to suppose that it was possible for her to act without some deep
motive. Her immolation of self, her assiduity, her tenderness, her
skill, all seemed to this