Lord Arondelle advanced to meet his bride.
"My love and queen! this meeting is a grace granted me indeed! How beautiful you are!" he exclaimed, taking both her hands and carrying them to his lips. "But you are shivering, sweet girl! You are cold!" he added anxiously, as he looked at her more attentively.
"I have been shivering all the morning. I sat at my open window late last night and got a little chilled; but it is nothing," she answered, smiling.
"You shall not do such suicidal things, when I have the charge of you, my little lady," he said, half jestingly, half seriously, as he led her to a sofa and seated her on it, taking his own seat by her side.
"Come, now," he gayly continued, "was that indiscreet star-gazing which has resulted in a cold the little sin for which you wish me to give you absolution?"
"No, my lord. My sin was an evil dream."
"A dream!"
"Ay, a dream."
"But a dream cannot be a sin!"
"Hear it, and then judge. But first—tell me—were you in the castle late last night?" she gravely inquired.