"Can I speak for a few moments with the Lady Arabella?" said the knight.
"This is her bedchamber, sir," answered the pretty Italian, standing in the deep doorway, and only partially opening the door. "No one comes in by this door. You must go round by the passage to Lady Shrewsbury's. The Lady Arabella is with the Countess.--That way, sir;" and she pointed with her hand along a passage before him.
Without a moment's delay, Sir Thomas sped onward, and knocked at Lady Shrewsbury's door, making the same inquiry. He was instantly admitted, and somewhat to his surprise,--for a strong suspicion had taken possession of his mind,--he found Arabella calmly seated by the Countess, at an embroidery frame. Lady Shrewsbury rose with a cold and haughty air, saying, "Sir Thomas, after several things that have passed, I can suffer no such conversation as that which has lately taken place between you and me to be held in my niece's presence. Arabella, my love, you had better retire to your own apartments."
The lady rose, and bowing slightly to the Knight, without speaking, quitted the room.
We must now return, however, to the door of her chamber, at the top of the staircase. Scarcely had Sir Thomas Overbury been admitted to Lady Shrewsbury, when down the dark and winding steps leading to the chambers above, came the person whom the Knight had pursued from the bank of the river. He knocked thrice, separately and distinctly, at the door, which was instantly opened, and without a word he went in. In another moment, Arabella was in the arms of her husband. She held up her finger to him, however, saying, "Hush, love, hush! Speak low, Sir Thomas Overbury is with my aunt."
"Oh! he cannot hear, my beloved," replied William Seymour; "there is the ante-room between us and him. Did he come in this moment? for some one seemed to chase me from the water side, so that I concealed myself upon the stairs above. He knocked at the door too,--did he not, Ida?"
The Italian answered in the affirmative, and then withdrew to another room; and, after a few of the tender words of love, Seymour went on to speak of their future prospects.
"I fear, dear one," he said; "that we must delay our projected flight. A proclamation was issued this morning, ordering strict search at all ports, for some less happy fugitives than ourselves; and, I understand, it is already rigorously in force. But turn not pale, my Arabella, there is no danger. Our marriage can be concealed easily for some weeks, till these impediments have been removed."
"I shall never feel at ease," replied Arabella, "in these stolen interviews. Every time you are with me, Seymour, I shall expect to see you seized and dragged away--perhaps to a prison. At the first moment that it is possible, let us go. I would rather do anything, bear anything, than live in constant apprehension."
"And I would bear much," answered Seymour, "to call my Arabella mine in open day, to be with her every hour, to be never separated from her. But still, my beloved, it is very, very seldom that fate allows man to know moments of unmixed happiness. Let us take that which fortune gives us, without clouding our little hour of sunshine with needless fears. If there be not one care, there is always another; and surely the sweet moments that I can pass with you are enough, for me at least, to compensate for all the rest of the dull day. The stars look the brightest, dear one, when the sky is darkest round them; and so may our nights of happiness be all the more delightful for the heaviness of the time while we are parted."