"But those tales still ended in a marriage, Francis," said Lord Walton.
"Well there let it!" cried the cavalier, gaily. "Here I dedicate my heart and sword to her. Those bright eyes shall be my loadstars on the road to glory, her smile give double vigour to my arm, and fresh sharpness to my lance. There, Walton, is not that the true Orlando? But seriously, what meant your somewhat rueful smile just now? Was it that you thought the gay youth of former days but little fit to supply a brother's place in time of need; or, perhaps, still less, to take a husband's duties on him, if fate and circumstances should draw your sister's heart towards him? But let me tell you, Charles, these are times that make even the thoughtless think; and when I buckled me to the cause I serve, I cast away and left in foreign lands all but the higher purposes of the heart."
"No, no, Francis," replied Lord Walton, interrupting him; "it was neither doubt, nor fear, nor mockery, that made me smile. You do not suppose that, did I not know and see all that is noble and generous in your nature, and bright and keen in your mind, I would have taken you to my heart as I have done. That there might be some weeds in the garden I will not deny; but they were only such as an hour's labour would pluck out with ease, or such as would wither away under the first hot sun, and leave the flowers and fruit behind uninjured. I smiled but to think that some five years ago, when we were both in happier days than these, I often thought that I would gladly give my Annie to my early friend, but little dreamed that times might come when he himself would offer, ere he had seen her twice, to be her defender and protector in case of her brother's death: and who shall say, Francis, how soon such loss may call for such support. But here she comes again; let us say no more of this; but, thank you, thank you from my heart for all you promise. I know right well that promise will be kept, if it cost your last drop of blood."
The faces of both gentlemen were grave when Annie Walton joined them, and on hers too there were traces of some tears. "Poor Arrah Neil!" she said; "hers indeed has been a hard fate. She has made me weep with the tale of the old man's sufferings, so mildly and so sweetly did she tell it. But I could obtain no further information in regard to the danger she apprehended might befall you, Charles; and I cannot but think that her words were spoken in one of those strange dreamy moods that sometimes fall upon her."
"I think so too," answered Lord Walton; "at least it may be so. Where have you lodged her, Annie?"
"She is with good dame Rachel now," answered his sister; "but to-night she is to have the little room near the west tower, and to-morrow you must tell me more of your plans for her, Charles."
"I will, I will," replied Lord Walton, "to-morrow; ay, to-morrow," and he fell into thought, without concluding the sentence.
The evening passed more cheerfully than the conversation which has been detailed seemed to promise. All were anxious to snatch a few hours from the gloomy thoughts that hung over the times, and few allusions were made to the circumstances of the day; but any other subject which minds full of rich stores could produce was chosen, as if to exclude more sombre topics. From time to time, indeed, both Annie Walton and their new companion would for a moment or two look grave and sad, as some passing cloud of thought swept over them; but the young lord, whose power over himself was great, kept the same even tenor, not gay, for such was not his disposition; not gloomy or meditative, for he did not choose to be so, but calm and easy, conversing without apparent effort on a thousand varied things, and never for an instant showing the least absence or forgetfulness. Yet, perhaps, all felt that there were dangers and disasters abroad on every side, though they sat there as a cheerful party, with the windows of the heart closed against the storm that raged without.
There was but one moment when a shadow seemed to fall upon all, and that too was produced by a song. Charles Walton had asked his sister to sing before they parted for the night; and after some thought, seeking in vain for a livelier strain, she chose--perhaps from the irrepressible anxieties of her own heart--a little ballad, which had been a favourite of her mother's, to the following effect:--