"Oh no," replied Arabella, "she had on a robe of amber and silver--that is dark blue or green, I think."
"She has had time to change it," said the knight, "and she it certainly is. That queenly, yet impetuous step is not to be mistaken, nor that glorious form, harbouring--what?"
"I know not," replied Arabella; "we are but little acquainted."
"Ay, who shall say?" rejoined Sir Harry West, "at eighteen, who shall say, whether it be angel or devil? for the fallen Morning Star shone once as bright as the best in heaven."
"Fie, fie, Sir Harry!" cried Arabella. "I thought that beauty now-a-days was the great good, the pledge and warrant of celestial excellence--who ever speaks of aught but beauty? If a lover would please me, he fixes on my fine points, as a jockey describing his horse. My eyes are certain to put out the stars. It is my lip that makes the roses blush with envy. Pearls have quite lost their price, since my teeth came to court; and sculptors are quite ruined in alabaster, trying to imitate my skin. Fie, fie, Sir Harry! If she be beautiful, she must be an angel."
"She has not made her husband think so," replied Sir Harry West. "But here comes another to join us--my young friend, William Seymour. Will you fly from him, too, lady? or shall I leave you to his care?"
"Nay, stay," cried Arabella, eagerly--too eagerly; "stay, I beseech you."
Was it her heart spoke? Yes, reader; or rather the agitation that was in it. She feared herself at that moment--she feared to be left alone with him she loved the best, at a time when her thoughts were all in confusion--when her bosom was full of emotion, lest she should say or do something rashly that could never be recalled. In another instant, however, Seymour was by her side; but he, too, was agitated; and though she had hidden, under her gay speeches to Sir Harry West, the struggling sensation within her, she could do so no longer, with her lover by her side. Thus, the few sentences first spoken on both parts were incoherent--almost unintelligible.
The old knight came to their aid, however, asking his young friend, in a quiet, conversational tone, when he had returned.
"But yesterday," replied William Seymour. "One fortnight ago, I received the King's permission to come back; and, setting off next morning, I have since ridden post through France and part of Italy, taking not much time, as you may suppose, to admire the beauties of the road."