"Not so, upon my life," answered Algernon; "although I deeply love my country, yet there are matters therein sooner or later to be brought to issue, which make me long to go on wandering thus, till life and the journey find their close together, and never more to set my foot on British shores. But here come sad thoughts again, and I will not indulge them. You hinted that there was more to be told me. I hope the rest of the tidings is less bitter; for it is painful for me that your great kindness, Agnes, should have brought discomfort upon you or your uncle."
"Oh, to me it is none, and with him it is past; but the rest of my news will, I am sure, be pleasant to you. You have heard of an unfortunate duel that was fought," she said, looking up in his face with a smile which the twilight did not conceal, "between an English gentleman and the Baron of Oberntraut. You have been sorry for the young baron, I am sure, and will be glad to hear that to-day he is much better. His wounds, indeed, seem not to be mortal, as was at first thought; and these terrible faintings, from several of which they fancied he would never revive, proceeded solely from great loss of blood. I hear he was up this afternoon and seated in a chair."
"This is good news, indeed," answered Algernon Grey. "Believe me I did not seek to wound him, and perilled my own safety to avoid it; till, at length, in the half-light--for it was then growing dark--I was obliged to return his attack, seeking to touch him but slightly. He slipped, however, and was thus more sharply hurt. You too are pleased, if I judge rightly," he added, gazing down upon her with an inquiring look; "for methinks that a part of the young baron's wrath against myself is a sort of retribution for one pleasant evening that I enjoyed too much with you in these same gardens."
"I trust not," said Agnes, eagerly; "I trust not. He should have known better. He is a noble, brave, and upright man, generous, and kind in many things; but still--" and there she paused, as if unwilling to speak farther.
Two or three minutes of silence had passed, and the hearts of Algernon Grey and Agnes Herbert were perhaps both busy with feelings somewhat similar. At length a wild strain of music rose up from the town below, and they paused on the edge of the great terrace to listen to it.
"A party of young students singing," said the lady. "Do you love music?"
"I must not say better than aught on earth," replied Algernon Grey; "but yet if I were to ask for any sort of consolation in hours of grief and heaviness, I would choose some sweet voice to sing my cares away. I made my cousin send me up an instrument; but I know not how it is I have not had the heart to use it."
"Oh, I will sing for you some time or another," answered Agnes; "I learned from a famous Italian musician who was here, and who said I was no bad scholar."
"It would be, indeed, a great delight," said Algernon; "but I fear I must not hope for it as a solace of my imprisonment, if your uncle is so busily occupied."
Agnes looked down thoughtfully for a moment and then laughed: "I do not know," she replied; "I do not know; we shall see. I trust your imprisonment will not be long; and you told me once you were going away very soon. I must lose no opportunity of showing my deep thankfulness for what you have done for me. It is little, indeed, that I can offer. Some men have mines of gold and precious stones, and some but a garden of poor flowers; but were I a prince, I would not value less the tribute of the poor man's blossoms, if given with a willing heart, than that of the great vassal's ore. I do hope that you will feel the same, and accept all I can do, though it be but small, as a testimony of what I would do had I greater means."