"I will love you to my last hour," replied Ida Mara, kissing her hand, "and that good old knight too. He is the first man who ever showed me kindness in the world,--real kindness, I mean,--kindness without guile; and I would give my life to prove to him how grateful the poor Italian girl can be."
"I am sure you would," replied Arabella; "but now leave me, Ida Mara; and if you wish to behold the splendour of a Court, go down and stand in the vestibule. You see, the King and Queen are going forth. There stand the King's horses and her Majesty's coach, for their evening airing. I am calmer now, Ida Mara; and I would fain have time to think."
The girl accordingly left her; and Arabella continued leaning her head upon her hand and gazing out of the window, without giving much note to the objects which were passing before her eyes. The expression of her countenance was sad, and yet it varied continually, without, however, becoming, even for a moment, cheerful. A smile indeed crossed it more than once; but that smile was so tinged with melancholy, that it afforded no indication of the rise of one hope, of the existence of one joy. The changes that passed over her beautiful face were merely signs of the rapid movement of thought and fancy; but all her ideas were gloomy, all her imaginations sad.
In the meanwhile, the Queen entered her carriage and drove away, the King mounted his horse, and rode out, with almost all the gentlemen of the Court. Arabella gazed upon the train as it departed, and murmured to herself what she would not, knowingly, have spoken to the ears of any one, "What a sad thing it is to be a tyrant! And yet it is less dangerous to oneself, to one's realm, and to one's children, to be a fierce tyrant like Harry the Eighth, than a weak and vain one like this man.--They are very late this evening. It will be dark in an hour;" and again she fell into thought.
The course of her meditations seemed now more sad than before, for the tears rose in her bright eyes, and trembled amidst the dark lashes as if they would run over. But just as she was wiping them away, there was a slight noise at her chamber door; and, thinking it was one of her maids, she said, "Come in," without turning her head.
The next instant she started up and looked round; for she knew the step, and it was not that which she expected. She could not restrain her feelings, however, in that hour of bitter sorrow; and in another moment she was in Seymour's arms.
"Oh, William!" she cried, "how could you think of coming here?--Suppose you were discovered, what would they think? what would they say?"
"Nothing, nothing, my beloved," he replied; "you do not yet know all the changes that our good Queen has brought into the court. She has banished all those idle ceremonies and vain restraints with which every movement was formerly shackled, and declares that she will have all Italians sent out of England, lest they should introduce those fanciful doubts and jealousies of the ladies of the land, which they entertain towards their own women.[[2]] However, sweet Arabel, if there had been lions and dragons at the door, I must have come. Do you think that I could quit my native country, and leave you for months--perhaps for years, without the sad solace of a farewell."
"Oh! but we shall have time," cried Arabella; "surely it will not be so soon."
William Seymour shook his head. "Cecil is against me," he said, "though I know not what offence I have given; and before he rode out with the King, he came to me with a smooth face, telling me, that to mitigate the expression of his Majesty's anger, and not to let it seem that I was sent from my own country in disgrace, he had obtained the King's consent to my being appointed to the nominal embassy at one of the small Italian Courts, that of Parma, but only on condition that I set out immediately. I am to leave Wilton this very night."