“Did he embrace thee, dear Charley?” demanded his mother, with great anxiety of expression.
“Um——Aye,” replied her son, with some degree of hesitation; “he did embrace me, though hardly indeed with the same fervour that thou art wont to do, dearest mother. But then thou knowest, mother, that Sir Walter is a courtly knight of high degree, and they tell me that the fashion of such folks allows them not to yield themselves altogether, as we humbler people are wont to do, to the feelings that are within us.”
“Alas! thou say’st that which is but too true!” replied Alice, in a desponding tone; “but go on, boy.”
“Sir Walter put his hand on my shoulder, and turned me round,” continued Charley. “Then he made me walk a step or two, and eyed me narrowly from top to toe, pretty much as if he had been scanning the points and paces of a new horse.—‘How camest thou so lame and so disfigured?’ demanded he.—‘By a fall I had in climbing to an eagle’s nest,’ replied I.—‘A silly cause,’ said Sir Walter; ‘and yet, perhaps, the bold blood that is in thee must bear the blame. But know, boy, that fate hath not given to all the power to climb into the eyry of the eagle.’ And having said this much he changed the subject of his talk.”
“Would that thou could’st but have gathered courage enow to have told him all the circumstances of that adventure!”
“Nay, mother, I had courage for any thing but to speak aught that might have sounded like mine own praise,” replied Charley.
“Would that he but knew thee as thou art!” said Alice, with a sigh. “Would that he but knew the soul that is within thee! With all his faults—and perhaps they are light, save that which concerns thee alone—he hath a generous spirit himself, and he could not but prize a generous spirit in one so kindred to him. But tell me all that passed. Did—did he—did he ask thee for tidings of me?”
“He did question me most particularly about thee,” replied Charley. “He questioned me as if he would have fain gathered from me the appearance and condition of every, the minutest feature of thy face, and of every line of thy form. He questioned as if with the intent of limning thy very portrait on the tablet of his mind; and, as if he would have traced it beside some picture, which he still wore in fresh and lively colours there, for the purpose, as it seemed to me, of making close and accurate comparison between them. Thus he would pause at times during his questioning of me; and, after a few moments of deep abstraction, he would say, as if forgetful of my presence, and in converse with himself alone, ‘Strange! aye, but she was then but fifteen, scarce ripened into woman—the change is nothing more than natural—the same loveliness, but more womanly;’ and so he went on, now to question, and now to talk of thee, for a good half hour or so.”
“And he!” cried Alice, with unwonted animation; “Say, boy, looked he well? I mean in health; for of his manly beauty, his tall and well knit form, his graceful air, his noble bearing, and his eagle eye! how could I have lived till now, without hearing from those who have seen and admired him? Alas!” added she, in a melancholy and subdued tone, “of such things I have perhaps inquired too much!”
“Sir Walter had all the ruddy hue, as well as the firmness of vigorous health, dear mother,” replied the youth.