The minstrel girl coloured, but answered nothing; and Mary went on, saying, "But you must tell me his name, Ella; I would fain know who is this noble gentleman."
Thus plainly asked, Ella Brune could not refuse to answer; and, bending down her bright eyes upon the ground, she said, "His name is Richard of Woodville, lady."
She spoke in a tone so low, that the words might have been inaudible to any other ear than that of Mary Markham. The well-known sound, however, was instantly caught by her, producing emotions in her heart such as she had never felt before. Her very breath seemed stopped; her bosom fluttered, as if there had been a caged bird within; her cheek turned very pale, and then flushed warm again with the blood spreading in a brighter glow over her fair forehead and her blue-veined temples. Hers was not indeed a jealous disposition; her nature was too generous and frank to be suspicious or distrustful; but it is difficult for any woman's ear to hear that he to whom her whole affections are given is loved by another, and her heart not beat with emotions far from pleasurable.
Yet Mary schooled herself for what she felt--for the slight touch of doubt towards Woodville, and of anger towards Ella, which crossed her bosom for a moment. "It is not his fault," she thought, "if the girl loves him; nor hers either to love him for acts of generous kindness. She is no more to blame for such feelings than myself; the same high qualities that won my regard might well gain hers. He is too noble, too--too true and faithful to trifle with her, or to forget me. Yet, would this had not happened! It is strange, too, that he did not mention all this to me!"
But then she remembered how every hour he had spent with her had passed, how little time they had found to say all that two warm and tender hearts could prompt; how often they had been interrupted in the half-finished tale of love; how constantly it had been renewed whenever they were alone; and then she thought it not extraordinary at all that he had spoken of nothing else.
Such thoughts, however, kept her mute, with her eyes gazing on the tapestry at the other side of the room; and she saw not that Ella, surprised at her silence, had now raised her look, and was reading in the countenance--with the skill which peril and misfortune soon acquire in this hard world--all that was passing in the heart beneath. The poor girl's face was very pale, for she had her emotions too; but yet she was calmer than Mary Markham, for one of the chief sources of agitation was wanting in her bosom. She was without hope. She might love, but it was love with no expectation. The future, which to Mary's eyes was like the garden of the Hesperides, all hanging with golden fruit, was a desert to poor Ella Brune. She had no fear, because she had no hope. She had no doubts, because she had no trust. She was externally calm, for though there were painful sensations, there was no internal contention. She, therefore, it was who spoke first.
"You know him, lady," she said, in a sweet, gentle, humble tone; "and if you know him, you love him."
"I do know him," answered Mary Markham, with a trembling voice and glowing cheek--"I have known him well for years."
She paused there; but the moment after, she thought, with that generous confidence so often misplaced, but which was not so in this instance, "It were better to tell her all, for her sake and for mine. If she be good and virtuous, as I think, it cannot but lead to good to let her know the whole truth."
"Ay, Ella," she continued aloud, "and you are right. I do love him, and he loves me. We have plighted our faith to each other, and wait but the consent of others to be more happy than we are."