Oh, Love!—of man thou second soul,
What but a clod of earth is he
Who never yet thy flame did thole,
Who never felt thy witchery!
Assueton’s applauses were more energetic, and his approbation more eloquently expressed at the conclusion of this song, than Hepborne had ever heard them on any former occasion. Though the theme was wont to be so very unpalatable to him, yet he besought the Lady Isabelle again and again to repeat it, and it seemed to give him new and increased pleasure every time he heard it. At last the hour for retiring came, and Hepborne inwardly rejoiced to observe a certain trembling in the voices of both Assueton and his sister, as they touched each other’s hands to say good night.
Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger had no sooner accompanied his friend to his apartment than Assueton seated himself near the hearth, and put up his feet against the wall, where he fell into a kind of listless dream. Hepborne took a seat on the opposite side of the fire-place, and, after he had sat silently watching him for some time, in secret enjoyment of the state [[101]]he beheld him reduced to, the following conversation took place between them:—
“Well, Assueton,” said Hepborne, first breaking silence, and assuming as melancholy a tone as the humour he was in would permit him to use, “Well, mon bel ami, so we must part to-morrow? The thought is most distressing. My heart would have urged me to press thee to a farther sojourn with us at Hailes; but thou wert too determined, and urged too many and too strong reasons for thy return home, when we last talked of the matter, to leave room for hope that I might succeed in shaking thy purpose. I see that of very needscost thou must go; nay, in good sooth, thy motives for departure are of a nature that, feeling as I have myself felt, I should inwardly blame thee were thy good nature to lead thee to yield to my importunate entreaty. Yea, albeit thou shouldst consent to stay with me, I should verily tine half the jovisaunce that mought otherwise spring from thy good company; since, from the all-perfect being I now hold thee to be, thou wouldst dwindle in my esteem, and be agrutched of half the attraction thou dost possess in mine eyes, by appearing to lose some deal of those strong feelings of attachment for thy home, and for the scenes and friends of thy boyhood, which thou hast hitherto so eminently displayed, and in which, I am led to think, we do so much resemble each other. Having now had mine somewhat satisfied, perdie, I could almost wish to boune me with thee, were it only to participate in thine—were it only to see thee approach the wide domains and the ancient castle of thine ancestors—to see thee meet thy beloved mother, now so long widowed, and panting to press her only child, her long absent son, to her bosom—to watch how thou mayst encounter with old friends—to behold the hearty shakes of loving souvenaunce, given by thy hand to those with whom thou hast wrestled, or held mimic tourney when thou wert yet but a stripling. Oh, ’twould be as a prolonging of mine own feelings of like sort to witness those that might arise to thee. But the journey is too long for me to take as yet; and besides, I cannot yet so soon leave my father and Isabelle. Moreover, thou knowest that my heart yet acheth severely from the wounds which it took at Norham. Heigh ho! But, gramercy, forgive me, I entreat thee, for touching unwittingly on the (by thee) hated subject of love, the which, I well know, is ever wont to erke thee.”
During this long address, Assueton remained with his heels up against the wall, his toes all the time beating that species of march that in more modern times has been called the devil’s [[102]]tattoo, and with his eyes firmly fixed on the embers consuming on the hearth.
“I hope, however, my dearest friend,” continued Hepborne, “that thou mayest yet be able to return to me at Hailes. Thine affairs (though, perdie, thou must have much to settle after such a succession, and so long an absence), thine affairs, I say, cannot at the worst detain thee at home longer than a matter of twelve months or so; after which (that is, when thou shalt have visited thy friends in divers other parts) I may hope perchance to see thee again return hither.”
Assueton shifted his position two or three times during this second speech of Hepborne’s, always again commencing his devil’s tattoo on the wall; but when his friend ceased, he made no other reply than—