"He had need, my pretty maid," replied the stranger, "for never man wanted a blessing more than I do, or has been longer without one." And thus speaking, he sprang upon his horse's back again, and rode up towards the house.
When he was gone, she to whom he had spoken continued standing where he had left her, meditating sadly, as it seemed, for several minutes; and at length she said in a low tone, "Alas! he does not come--he does not come. Perhaps he will never come again--oh, how I wish he would stay away!"
The whole speech was as contradictory as a speech could be, especially when the look and manner were taken as part and parcel thereof. But there was nothing extraordinary in the fact; for man is a mass of contradictions, and there is scarce one enjoyment that does not partake of pain, one apprehension that is not mingled with a hope, one hope that is not chequered by a fear. Antagonistic principles are ever warring within us, and many of the greatest contests result in a drawn battle. If, however, the girl's first words and the last had been evidently in opposition to each other, the wish with which she concluded was instantly belied by the glow upon her cheek, and the light in her eye, when she once more heard the sound of a horse's feet coming from the direction of the little town of Bishop's Merton.
"It is he!" she cried, with a smile, "it is he! I know the pace, I know the pace!" and running into the middle of the road, she gazed down it, while a horseman, followed by three servants, came on at a rapid rate, with a loose rein and an easy seat. He was a young man of seven or eight-and-twenty, with long fair hair, and pointed beard, tall and well made, though somewhat slight in form, with a grave and even stern cast of features, but a broad high forehead, clear but well-marked brows, and lips full but not large. His face, as I have said, was grave, and seemed as he rode forward, unsusceptible of any but a cold thoughtful expression, till suddenly his eyes lighted on the poor girl who was watching him, when a bright and beaming smile broke over his whole countenance, and a complete change took place, like that which spreads over a fine country when the storm gives place to sunshine.
"Ah, Arrah Neil!" he cried, "my poor Arrah Neil, is that you come back? Where is your grandfather, poor child? have they set him free?" And he, too sprang from his horse, taking the girl's hand with a look of tender compassion.
"No, he is not free," replied Arrah Neil; "he never will be free."
"Oh, yes," answered the gentleman; "these things cannot last for ever, Arrah. Time will bring about changes, I doubt not, which will deliver him from whatever prison they have taken him to."
"Not from that prison," answered the girl, with tears rising in her eyes; "it is a low and narrow prison, Lord Walton. I told them he would die when they took him, and he only reached Devizes. But they are happy who sleep--they are happy who sleep;" and sitting down by the side of the well, she fell into thought again.
The stranger stood and gazed at her for a moment without uttering a word. There are times when silence is more eloquent of sympathy than the choicest words of condolence. One of the servants, however, who had ridden up, and was holding his lord's horse, burst forth with an oath, "The Roundhead rascals! I wish I had my sword in their stomachs! The good old man was worth a score of them."
"Hush!" said his master, sternly; "hush! no such words in my hearing, Langan!"