“I know—I know,” said her father, in an agitated voice, yet smiling, “thou wouldst give thy life first.”
Evaline could not speak, but she raised herself up in his arms, and kissed him.
“Bless thee, my sweet!” said Sir Edgar, in a tremulous tone: “all the saints bless thee!”
“And thee! and thee!” faltered Evaline, in broken, but earnest accents.
Sir Edgar was silent for a moment; but, meantime, his eyes, though dimmed with tears, ran proudly over his daughter’s face. As he marked its exceeding loveliness, his discontent and apathy vanished, and he resolved, if only to assure her, he would bear up still, and assume the fortitude that he did not feel.
“And thou hast come at last!” he said. “Well, now I have thee again, I care not what befalls.”
“Be of good heart!” answered Evaline, with more composure. “We have a friend now, who will carry us through.”
“Sir Walter hath not failed thee, then,” returned Sir Edgar. “I thought him noble; and right glad I am, in this eleventh hour, to be assured on’t.”
“Alas, he is undone!” replied Evaline. “He hath lost the Queen’s favour, and been banished the court.”