submitted more patiently and silently to his sufferings. But Hilda
grew, and the years sped on, and Greif would come in time.

Greif, upon whom such great hopes were centred, was a distant cousin as
well as a neighbour. The relationship was on the side of Hilda's
mother, whose grandfather had been a Greifenstein, and who might have
been expected to accept some assistance from her rich connexions,
especially as she was quite willing that her daughter should marry
their only son. But the baroness was a woman whose pride forbade her to
accept under the pressure of necessity what had not been offered freely
in other times. It must be admitted also that the Greifensteins, though
well aware that the Sigmundskrons were extremely poor, were far from
suspecting that they were in need of bread. They knew that the castle
was still the unhampered property of the two ladies, and they supposed
that if things were really in a bad state, the baroness would raise
money upon it. She never alluded to her affairs when she was with her
relations, and excused herself from asking them to stay with her, on
the ground of her poor health. On rare occasions Greifenstein and his
wife drove over to the castle, and were invariably admitted by the same
soberly-dressed, middle-aged woman, who showed them into the same old-
fashioned room, whence, having made their visit, they returned to the
outer gate by the way they had come. That is all they ever saw of
Sigmundskron. Twice in the year, also, Hilda and her mother were
invited to stay a fortnight at Greifenstein, but no one would have
supposed from their behaviour that the luxury of the latter place
surprised them, or seemed in any way preferable to what they enjoyed at
home. Hilda's education had not been neglected. Among her earliest
recollections was her mother's constant injunction never to make
remarks upon what she saw in other houses. The child was not long in
learning what the warning meant, and as she had inherited a plentiful