Thou’lt meet, unwept, an early end.
Lady Avondale coloured; and the young man who had accused her of caprice, watching her countenance, and seeing the pain these acrimonious lines had given her, reproved the friar “No, no,” he cried “if she must hear her destiny, let me reveal it.”
The task to tell thy fate, be mine,
And every bliss I wish thee, thine.
So heavenly fair, so pure, so blest,
Admired by all, by all carest.
The ills of life thou ne’er shalt know,
Or weep alone for others woe.
“For the honour of our tribe, cease Aaron” said a female gipsey advancing: “positively I will not hear any more of this flat parody. The friar’s malice I could endure; but this will mar all.”—Whatever the female gipsey might say, Aaron had a certain figure, and countenance which were sufficiently commanding and attractive. He had disengaged himself from his companions; and now approached Calantha, and asked her to allow him to take care of her through the crowd. “This is abominable treachery,” said the female gipsey:—“this conduct is unpardonable: good faith and good fellowship were ever our characteristics.” “You should not exert your power” answered the young man, “against those who seem so little willing to use the same weapons in return. I will answer for it that, though under a thousand masks, the lady you have attacked, would never say an ill natured thing” “Take care of her goodnature then,” said the gipsey archly:—“it may be more fatal.”
The gipsey then went off, with the rest of her party; but Aaron remained, and, as if much pleased with the gentleness of Lady Avondale’s behaviour, followed her. “Who are you?” said she. “I will not take the arm of one who is ashamed of his name”—“And yet it is only thus unknown, I can hope to find favour.” “Did I ever see you before?” “I have often had the happiness of seeing you:—but am I then really so altered?” said he turning to her, and looking full in her face, “that you cannot even guess my name?” “Had I ever beheld you before,” answered Lady Avondale, “I could not have forgotten it.” He bowed with a look of conceit, and Lady Avondale coloured at his comprehending the compliment, she had sufficiently intended to make. Smiling at her confusion, he assured her he had a right to her attention—“Stesso sangue, Stessa sorte”—said he in a low voice.