"Good faith, not I," answered Constance; "but he is not quite a negro, I suppose. I have heard people say he was a pretty boy."
"A pretty boy!" cried Iola, raising her eyebrows. "Heaven defend me! What will become of me if I am married to a pretty boy? Somewhat like Sir Edward Hungerford, I suppose, lisping lamentable nonsense about essences, and bestowing his best thoughts upon his tailor."
"Nay, nay! Why should you conjure up such fancies?" said Constance. "You seem resolved to dislike him without cause."
"Nature, dear cousin," said Iola. "Nature and the pig's prerogative, to dislike any road we are forced to travel. Yet, it is bad policy, I will admit; and I will try to shake it off, and to like him to the best of my ability. The time is coming fast when I must, whether I will or not; for I think the oath I am about to take is to love him. I do think it is very hard that women should not be allowed to choose for themselves, and yet be forced to take an oath which they do not know whether they can keep or not. Well, the worst of all the seven sacraments is matrimony, to my mind. Extreme unction is a joke to it--how can I tell that I shall love him? I don't think I can; and yet I must swear I will."
"You are making a rack of your own fancy," said Constance. "Wait till you have seen him at least, Iola; for, after all, you may find him the very man of your own heart."
Iola started, and then shook her head mournfully, saying, "of my own heart? Oh, no!"
Constance gazed at her in surprise; and for the first time a suspicion of the truth crossed her mind. She said not a word, however, of her doubts, but resolved to watch narrowly, with that kind and eager affection which two girls brought up from youth together often feel for each other, where no rivalry has ever mingled its bitter drop with the sweet current of kindred love. She changed the subject of conversation too, pointing to some towers in the distance, and saying, "I wonder whose castle that is."
"Middleham, I dare say," answered Iola, in an absent tone. "It is somewhere out there--but yet it cannot be Middleham either. Middleham is too far."
"There is something moving upon that road which we see going along the side of the hill," said Constance. "I dare say it is my uncle and his train."
"No, no, Leicester lies out there," answered Iola; "you never can find out the country, dear cousin; and I learn it all in a minute, like the leaf of a book. I dare say it is some wild lord, riding to hawk or to hunt. Heaven send it be not my falcon, just towering to strike me before my uncle comes. I'll not look at them. They seem coming this way;" and she turned from the window and went down the steps, seating herself upon the lower one, and resting her cheek upon her hand.