“I have not yet been able to decide,” replied Clarence, “for it rests with the ministers, not me. Directly Lord Aspeden obtains another appointment, I am promised the office of Secretary of Legation; but till then, I am—
“‘A captive in Augusta’s towers
To beauty and her train.’”
“Oh!” cried Lady Flora, laughing, “you mean Mrs. Desborough and her train: see where they sweep! Pray go and render her homage.”
“It is rendered,” said Linden, in a low voice, “without so long a pilgrimage, but perhaps despised.”
Lady Flora’s laugh was hushed; the deepest blushes suffused her cheeks, and the whole character of that face, before so playful and joyous, seemed changed, as by a spell, into a grave, subdued, and even timid look.
Linden resumed, and his voice scarcely rose above a whisper. A whisper! O delicate and fairy sound! music that speaketh to the heart, as if loth to break the spell that binds it while it listens! Sigh breathed into words, and freighting love in tones languid, like homeward bees, by the very sweets with which they are charged! “Do you remember,” said he, “that evening at —— when we last parted? and the boldness which at that time you were gentle enough to forgive?”
Lady Flora replied not.
“And do you remember,” continued Clarence, “that I told you that it was not as an unknown and obscure adventurer that I would claim the hand of her whose heart as an adventurer I had won?”
Lady Flora raised her eyes for one moment, and encountering the ardent gaze of Clarence, as instantly dropped them.
“The time is not yet come,” said Linden, “for the fulfilment of this promise; but may I—dare I hope, that when it does, I shall not be—”