"I remember him not," said Clara.
"'Twas at Clopton you met with him," said Anne. "William hath told me he met you on the night of that unhappy ball, and that Master Walter Arderne shewed you to him in the room."
Clara started. She then said, in some surprise, "Did your lover know Walter, then?"
"They were sworn friends, lady," said Anne.
"Shakespeare!" said Clara. "'Tis a name I remember. Was not the youth who saved Charlotte Clopton from death in the park called Shakespeare? If so, him indeed have I met at Clopton, and have heard both Charlotte and Walter Arderne speak of."
"'Tis the same youth, lady," said Anne.
"Indeed," said Clara; "that doth indeed surprise me;" and Clara remained for some time lost in deep thought. "I have a relic," she said, "of Charlotte's given me by Martin, and which was much treasured by poor Charlotte. 'Tis a small piece of verse of exquisite beauty. If I recollect rightly, Martin told me it was written by this lad—this lover of yours. Stay, I will shew it you;" and Clara, after searching in a small casket, brought forth a scrap of paper with some verses written on it, which she read aloud, and then handed to Anne.
"I am not much given to poetry," said Anne, smiling; "but I see by the character they are written by William; but methinks I should have known them for his by other tokens. He often repeats such verse in our walks. He hath written scores of such pieces as the one I now hold in my hand."
"Nay, then, I cannot wondor at what I have heard," said the lady; "neither am I surprised at such a man being the friend of Walter Arderne. There is one thing more I would ask," said Clara, blushing. "You know my secret, Anne, and can perhaps give me some news of him you wot of, through means of your lover. Where now is Walter Arderne?"
"I shall grieve you, lady, if I say that for some time no accounts have been received of him, and it is greatly feared he hath perished amongst the adventurers with whom he left England."