ect. There was in her, besides her suffering, an air of reckless
self-sacrifice, which made it seem as if no threats of his could
again affect her.

"You hear?" said she, with feverish impatience. "Have you nothing
more to say?"

"No, nothing. It is for you to speak," said Gualtier, gruffly. "You
began."

"He must be saved," said Hilda; "and I must save him; and you must
help me."

Gualtier turned away his head, while a dark frown came over his face.
The gesture excited Hilda still more.

"What!" she hissed, springing to her feet, and grasping his arm, "do
you hesitate? Do you refuse to assist me?"

"Our relations are changed," said Gualtier, slowly, turning round as
he spoke. "This thing I will not do. I have begun my work."

As he turned he encountered the eyes of Hilda, which were fixed on
him--stern, wrathful, menacing.

"You have begun it!" she repeated. "It was my work--not yours. I
order you to desist, and you must obey. You can not do any thing
else. To go on is impossible, if I stand between you and him. Only
one thing is left for you, and that is to obey me, and assist me as
before."

"Obey you!" said Gualtier, with a cold and almost ferocious glance.
"The time for obedience I think is past. That much you ought to know.
And what is it that you ask? What? To thrust from me the dearest hope
of my life, and just as it was reaching fruition."

Hilda's eyes were fastened on Gualtier as he said these words. The
scorn with which he disowned any obedience, the confidence with which
he spoke of that renunciation of his former subordination, were but
ill in accordance with those words with which he expressed his
"dearest hope."

"Dearest hope!" said Hilda--"fruition! If you knew any thing, you
would know that the time for that is rapidly passing, and only your
prompt obedience and assistance will benefit you now."

"Pardon me," said Gualtier, hastily; "I forgot myself in my
excitement. But you ask impossible things. I can not help you here.
The obstacle between you and me was nearly removed--and you ask me to
replace it."

"Obstacle!" said Hilda, in scorn. "Is it thus that you mention
_him_?" In her weakness her wrath and indignation burst forth. "That
man whom you call an obstacle is one for whose sake I have dragged
myself over hundreds of miles; for whom I am now ready to lay down my
life. Do not wonder. Do not question me. Call it
passion--madness--any thing--but do not attempt to thwart me. Speak