"This is cruel, indeed!" cried Arabella; and the tears ran rapidly from her eyes, while William Seymour held both her hands in his, and gazed upon that fair but sorrowful face with looks of love and deep emotion.
"It is, indeed, cruel," he said, "and no less cruel than unjust. But what can I do, Arabella?--I have no power to resist. If I refuse to go, a thousand to one, I find my way into the Tower. Pretences are never wanting in these days, and the liberty of Englishmen seems but to have become an idle name. I care not, indeed, for quitting England. Although it be the country of my birth, and of my love, it loses all its charms for me, when I see security and right trampled under foot, and the vain name of prerogative raised above law and justice. I care not for quitting England; but to quit Arabella is anguish indeed. My enemies do not know all that they inflict upon me, or they would rejoice, even more than they do."
"Is there no way to prevent it?" exclaimed Arabella. "Will not your grandfather interfere?"
"The King has not yet received him at the court," replied Seymour; "and it was thought a great mark of grace that I was permitted to attend upon him here at Wilton.--No, no, Arabella; there is but one way of preventing our separation."
"Is there one?" cried Arabella, eagerly. "Oh! take it then, Seymour, take it."
"Nay, it is you must take it, sweetest," he replied. "'Tis that Arabella goes with me--that she flies with him she loves, from this hated court. Nay, turn not pale, beloved, or I shall fear to urge all the arguments which love has ready to persuade you. Here, seat you here, dear Arabella, and listen. I know all that it is I ask of you. I know the sacrifice, the great sacrifice that is required."
"It is not that, Seymour," she said, earnestly; "what sacrifice should I think too great to make you happy, and to free myself from the state of bondage in which I live?--But how, Seymour, how can we fly?" continued Arabella, "the moment the Queen returns, most likely she will send for me. Nothing is prepared. We should be caught, and brought back again with shame."
"Oh! not to-night, dear one," replied William Seymour, "but if you consent, the matter is quite easy. You will, you will, Arabella! The joy of that hope nearly turns my brain. Say, say you will!"
Arabella bent down her glowing face upon his shoulder, but gave no reply except by silence; and Seymour, drawing her closer to him, strove to banish the doubts and fears which he knew would arise before her imagination, at the thought of the rash enterprise he proposed.
"Listen, dearest, listen," he said, "and you will see it is all fair and feasible. The Court goes to London in three days for the ceremony of the coronation. As many persons will be left out of the procession, on account of the plague, you must feign great apprehensions. They will easily let you go back into Cambridgeshire to your aunt Emily's. I, in the meantime, must hasten to London, where I will make preparations; for I cannot go upon an embassy without some sort of splendour. When all is ready, I will let you know; and sailing away from London, will anchor my ship in the Thames' mouth, opposite the small town of Leigh. An easy journey by Chelmsford will bring you near the shore, where a boat shall be waiting for you night and day. Then sailing away together, long ere any one knows that you have departed, we shall be safe, beyond pursuit, and linked together for life by that sweet and blessed bond which confirms and sanctifies the contract of two hearts that love. Is not this easy, Arabella? Where is the difficulty? Long ere the news can reach the capital, we shall be across the sea; and my going from London alone will render it weeks, perhaps months, a matter of doubt what has become of you. See you any obstacle, dearest? Is there any danger?"