"Yes, in truth," replied her lover; "first you sat musing; then took out a letter--this which you have dropped;" and, lifting it from the ground, he gave it to her, while she turned somewhat pale to see how nearly she had lost it. "Then you murmured something indistinctly, and then you cried, 'Oh, that I had some one to advise me!'--But you turn pale, Arabella!"
"Not at what you think," she answered, with a smile. "Now would Seymour give a purse of gold to know what is in this epistle, and has jealous thoughts of rivals, and half doubts that Arabella plays him false. Is it not so?"
"No, on my life," replied William Seymour; "I might as well be jealous of the sun for shining on other lands than mine. Why should Arabella give me one smile, but from her pure bounty? I have no claim, I have no right, and 'twere a needless policy to let me think you love me, if you did not. One frown, one word, one cold look, were enough to crush out all the hopes you have raised, and snatch the blessing from me. Why should you deceive me? Oh, no--I am as confident of you as Heaven, and nothing shall ever make me doubt."
Arabella put her hand in his, and gazed upon him with a look of melancholy tenderness that, had there been a doubt, would have banished it for ever.
"Oh, no!" she said; "though I may never be yours, I shall never love but you; and whom should I trust but him I love? Yet before I do trust you fully, Seymour, and ask for your advice, you must promise me--for you men are sad, headstrong creatures, and we must ever bind you with some chain--that you will never reveal what I have told, or shown, or asked you--nay, even if I follow not your counsel."
"That promise is soon made, Arabella," he replied; "indeed, I should feel the engagement binding on me were no promise given; and, as to advice, you shall have the best my mind will afford, though in times so difficult as these, it is sometimes hard to say what is the wisest course."
"Well, then, read that," said the lady, "and tell me how I should act."
Seymour took the letter which she placed in his hand, opened it, and read. The effect upon him was scarcely less strong than it had been upon Arabella. His brow contracted, his lip quivered, his eye took an eager and anxious expression; and, at the end, he turned back again and read it through once more. Then gazing in the lady's face, he exclaimed, "Oh, Arabella! Have you ever given encouragement to such designs as these?"
"Never, never!" cried Arabella, "not even in my most secret thoughts."
"There may be men," continued Seymour, in a musing tone, "who think that in offering you a crown they would increase your happiness; and had I one to bestow, out of all the world I would choose you to wear it. But far, far rather, did I possess one myself, would I lay it down to share with you a humbler and a happier lot than raise you to the golden misery which ever rests upon a throne. Your virtues may deserve the highest station, Arabella; but believe me, dearest, power is not happiness."