"And yet I cannot think it," said Chartley, pursuing his own course of thought. "No, no, God forbid! This paleness, this sadness, may have a thousand other causes."
"But how now? What's the matter?" asked Arden, again. "Why should you wish yourself unloved? Remember, young man, when once put on, you cannot strip off love like a soiled jerkin. The honest man and true seeks no love that he cannot wear for ever--at least, till the garment drops off of itself."
"You do not know. You do not understand," said Chartley, impatiently. "The lady is contracted, I tell you, to this Lord Fulmer--ay, contracted in infancy, by every tie but the mere last ceremony of the church."
"And did she not tell you?" demanded Arden. "That was wrong, very wrong."
"'Tis you who are wrong," replied Chartley. "Why should she tell me? How should she tell me, when I never spoke to her of love? What my manner said, I know not; but there was not one word uttered by me which could give her a plea for relating to me all her private history. I thought I should have plenty of opportunity of speaking boldly, at an after time; and, alarmed and agitated as she was, I would not for the world have said or done aught that could add to what she felt. Since then, I have learned that she was contracted, when a child, to this Lord Fulmer; but that, educated as he has been at the court of Burgundy, they have never met from infancy till now."
"Damnation!" cried Sir William Arden, striding up and down the room. "This is the most unpleasant thing I ever had to deal with! And you forced to live in the same house with him too. In fortune's name, what will you do, my dear boy?"
"As best I may," answered Chartley. "Perhaps 'twere as well, Arden, to resume the appearance, at least, of all my old light spirits. At the worst, she will then but tax me with levity; and, if the feelings she has taught me have been at all learned by herself, she will soon be brought to believe that I am unworthy, because careless, of her affections, and feel the less regret at the sacrifice she must make."
"Don't resume, or assume anything, my dear lord," answered Sir William Arden. "Be what you are, seem what you are at all times. Confound me all men that walk in vizards! The best result always comes of the most straightforward course. But I will go and change these travel-soiled garments, and think of it all while I am getting the dust out of my eyes.--By the Lord that lives," he continued, looking out at the window, "there comes the abbess of St. Clare into the court, with Heaven knows how many more people. The castle will be too full, and I shall have to share my room with her. Well, thank Heaven for all things. She is a merry little fat soul, and will help us to laugh care away."
Thus saying, he turned and left his friend, who was not ill-satisfied, on the whole, at having been forced into making a confidant of one, on whose honour, integrity, and good sense he could firmly rely.