"His whole conduct," answered Hume. "He kept me below nearly half an hour talking the merest nonsense in the world--a heap of learned trash about Padua and Livy, just like the daudling nonsense of old Rollock of the High School, when he fell into his dotage. And yet he fidgeted about the whole time, pulling the points of his hose in a way that showed me he was uneasy. Then he called a page, and whispered to him some message; and then he began again upon Livy, and roared out a whole page of crabbed Latin, and asked me if I could translate it. Just at that minute the boy came back again, and said aloud he could not find her Majesty, upon which up started James, saying, 'We'll find some one, I'll warrant. Come along, Cowdenknows. Come along, Herries. You must come and see the work;' and then he said, as if he had forgotten to say it before, 'I'll take you to Alex Ruthven, John Hume.' All this time he was rolling away towards the door, like an empty barrel trundled through the streets by a cooper's man. I never saw him go so fast before in my life--muttering all the way, too, till he came to this door; and he seemed in such a fury when he found it locked, that I did not know what was to happen next; and a bright sight for me was the face of this dear lady when I came in. Bright as it always is," he added, taking Beatrice's hand and kissing it, "it never looked so bright as then."
"Nay, nay, Hume," said Beatrice, "let us talk of more serious matter, and seriously. What you say makes me very uneasy. I saw the king was angry about something, and your account proves that his anger was not light. Give us your counsel. What is best to be done?"
Alexander Ruthven had cast himself down again, and seemed buried in bitter thought; but his sister's words roused him, and he started up, exclaiming, "What I will do is decided. I will away to the king, and ask leave of absence--absence!" he murmured to himself--"a bitter boon! He well may grant that;" and without waiting for reply or comment, he hurried from the room.
"And now, dear girl," said Hume, as soon as he was gone, "let us speak of happier themes. Is my Beatrice changed, or does the heart of the woman still confirm the promise of the girl?"
"Don't you see I am changed?" answered Beatrice, gaily. "I am half an inch taller, and a great deal thinner. My mother was quite right to say that she had no notion of a girl marrying till she had done growing."
"Ay, but is the mind changed?" said Hume: "you have changed, my Beatrice--from lovely to lovelier."
"Fie!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You might have made it a superlative, and said loveliest, at once; but if you think I have become more beautiful in person, why should you think I am uglier in mind? And would it not be so, John Hume, to cast old love lightly away like a crumpled farthingale? No, no; you know right well that Beatrice does not change; and, therefore, all the time that you are asking such silly questions, you call her your Beatrice, to show that you are quite sure."
"And you are my own dear Beatrice, ever," said the young knight, throwing his arm round her, with a smile; "and if there was the least little bit of doubt engendered by two long years of absence, it was the least little bit in the world."
"There, that will do," said Beatrice, turning away her head, but not very resolutely. "But now, tell me about my dear brother Gowrie. Where is he? What is he doing? When is he coming back?"
"When last I left him, he was at Voghera," replied her lover. "What he was doing, was making love; and when he will be back depends upon the state of the roads, the courage of Mr. Rhind, and the strength of the fair lady who bears him company."