"The King's commands," replied William Seymour. "The King's commands, to bid you to Wilton on Wednesday next."
"Oh, then, the King's commands shall be obeyed," said Arabella, "and his messenger is right welcome. But how got you in? You could not come hither from the house without my seeing you."
"I sent on horses and servants," answered William Seymour, "letter and all--for there is an epistle, brightest Arabella, writ by the King's own hand, in very choice Latin, as I understand, judging you a learned lady."
"Heaven help the mark!" interrupted Arabella. "But still, how got you in, William Seymour? 'Tis very rude of you to take me so by surprise." But her smiles, as the reader has already supposed, contradicted her words.
"Nay," said Seymour, "'tis worse than that, for I did so on purpose. Dismounting on the road, I sent my men and horses on, and leaped the paling, telling them that I would fain take a walk through the park; but, in truth, having an intimation from a good enchanter that I should find Arabella beneath these trees."
"Fie, fie!" cried Arabella, "you are an impostor, Seymour, and would have me think that love can work miracles, in order to cheat me into the belief that ours can be happy. How was it, in sober truth, you knew that I was here?"
"Well, then, in sober truth," replied Seymour, pointing to the country beyond the park, which was seen over a break in the trees--"Well, then, in sober truth, beloved, as I rode along yonder bridle-way which you perceive crossing the country beyond the fence, I turned my eyes hither. Now, love is an enchanter, whatever you may think, who strangely lengthens men's sight, ay, better than the best perspective glass; and by his aid, I saw something beautiful walk slowly through the park up to this spot, and knew it was Arabella. Then, riding on till I came near, I parted with my company, as I have told you, and, like a deer-stealer, leaped the paling; then, creeping quietly through the trees, I stood and watched you as you lay, wishing that I were a sculptor, and had power to carry away an image of that lovely form in all its thoughtful grace."
"Hush, flatterer! hush!" cried Arabella; "I would only have my image in the heart of those who love me. But it was not fair."
"Oh, yes," answered Seymour; "for whatever I saw or heard would be to me as sacred as my conscience."
"Heard!" exclaimed Arabella. "What! did I speak?"