"Of what?"
"The young Lord of Lester."
"What of him? Thy looks—thy language—that fearful smile!"
"Dost love him?"
"It matters not to thee. Speak what thou hast to say, and quickly," she cried, with an indefinable foreboding of evil.
"Thou dost, maiden. It is written in every lineament; speaks in every action—yea, Robert of Lester is thy second self. Ha, ha, ha! Did I not say I held the key to thy soul—ay, and I can unlock it, too!"
Having, in the first heat of her vengeance at finding herself defeated by the course taken by Lester, resolved to divulge to Kate Bellamont the secret of his birth that she might triumph in her humility and wretchedness, Elpsy's fertile mind soon taught her how best to effect her malicious, and, save its wickedness, aimless purpose. She now, therefore, in a tone of assumed carelessness, added,
"But thou lovest him because he is noble like thyself! Were he lowly in name and humble in birth, thou wouldst scorn him," she added, with the manner of one who is trying the moral pulse of her victim: "this is ever the way with the highborn."
"Were he lower born than the hind who herds my father's kine, he would still be Lester, and noble to me!" she said, with a spirit that became her lofty beauty and devoted love.
"This will never do," muttered Elpsy, thoughtfully, intent on her cruel design, and forgetful of, and insensible to, the gratitude due to the maiden for the kindly interest she had so recently expressed in her welfare; in repayment of which, with all the maliciousness of a demon, she was now taxing her ingenuity to dash from her lips the cup of happiness which young love had offered to them.