Somewhat to the cavalier’s surprise, his liberal largess was rejected—not with scorn, but rather with an air of sadness—sufficiently marked to have been noticed by him, had he not been altogether unsuspicious of the cause.
“Well—well,” said he, putting back the coin into his purse, “I am sorry you will not permit me to make some amends for your kindness. Perhaps I may find an opportunity on some future occasion? Meanwhile I must be gone. The letter you have delivered summons me hence,—without delay. Many thanks, Mistress Betsey, and a fair good morning to you!”
A touch of the spur caused his chafing steed to spring out into the middle of the road; and the rider, heading him for the highway that conducted towards Uxbridge, soon swept round the corner—at the same instant, becoming lost to the sight of the dark-eyed damsel—whose glance, full of passion and disappointment, had followed him to the point of his disappearance.
Volume One—Chapter Three.
The girl listened awhile to the departing hoof-strokes, as they came back with clear resonance from the hard causeway. Then, dropping her eyes to the ground, she stood silent under the tree—her swarth complexion still further darkened by sombre shadows, now overspreading every feature of her face.
Not long did she continue in this silent attitude.
“I would have taken the ribbon,” muttered she, “as a gift—if he had meant it that way. But it wasn’t so. No. It was only as wages he offered it to me; and his money—that was worse. Had it been a lock of his hair. Ah! I would rather he gave me that than all the gold coins in his purse, or all the silk in the shops of Uxbridge.”
“He called my hair beautiful: twice he said so!”