In the garden there was a pond or large basin, built of stone, and sunk in a thick carpet of rich moss and grass, surrounded by Gueldre rose-bushes; water filled it to the brim, and therein a few gold fish shot to and fro, and now and then a stray frog croaked or swam among the leaves that floated on its surface.
In this garden the great beeches and tall solemn poplars stood in rows, with black branches old and gnarled. Like the castle itself, the aspect of the garden was dreary and antique, for the hand of Time had passed over every thing; but when I sat beside Ernestine, all seemed to grow beautiful and bright; the scentless roses gave forth perfume; leaves covered the trees; the still stagnant bosom of the pond became limpid and sparkling, while the old castle walls shone redly and joyously, though the last flush of the west was dying upon their broad fagacle.
As Ian and Gabrielle retired, I drew nearer Ernestine, and for a moment saw the blood suffuse her face and white neck as she stooped over her needle, and my thoughts were beginning to be very much perplexed, when a fortunate incident gave a sudden—I may say glorious—turn to the conversation.
"What a very remarkable coat of arms!" said I.
"They are my arms of expectation," said she, looking up with a waggish smile.
"Your arms of—pardon me—but I do not understand."
"You know that I am half a Spaniard."
"And half a Scot," I added, placing a hand timidly upon her left shoulder.
"Well—it is the fashion in my mother's country to divide their shield per pale, thus—placing their paternal arms on the sinister side."
"On my honour, Ernestine, you are quite a little herald!"