Arabella Stuart. G. P. R. James

will never be another's," replied Arabella. "Fear not that, Seymour. Happily, all the interests, and all the jealousies of whatever monarch may sit upon the throne of this realm, are certain to combine in withholding my hand from any one. I have no sufficient dower to make me worthy of the suit of princes; the only attraction in their eyes might be some very distant and unreasonable claim to a crown I covet not; and I shall find it no difficult task to persuade the King to refuse this poor person to any one to whom it might convey a dangerous, though merely contingent right. I will live on," she continued, resuming her lighter tone--though there was ever a certain degree of melancholy ran through her gayest moods,--"I will live on in single freedom, with a heart, perhaps, not unsusceptible of affection, had fate blessed me with a humble station, but one which will never load itself with the guilt of bringing sorrow and destruction upon the head of another.--Nay, Seymour, nay, say no more! I esteem you highly, regard you much--perhaps if out of all the world----But let that pass! Why should I make you share regrets I myself may feel? It is in vain, it is impossible; so you must utter no farther words upon this matter, if you would have my company, for I must hear no more.--Come, let us walk out and talk of other things. We will go watch the rivulet that dances along, like the course of a happy life, sparkling as it goes, to find repose, at length, in the bosom of that vast, immeasurable ocean, where all streams end.--Nay, not a word more, if you love me!"

      "I do! I do!" cried William Seymour, pressing his eager and burning lips upon her hand,--"I do! I do, Arabella! better than anything else on earth."

      "Well, then, peace!" she said, "peace! for your sake and for mine; for nothing is so hopeless on earth as the love we feel."

      We feel! The confession was made! the words were spoken; and, though Seymour feared to urge her farther then, they sunk into his heart, a sweet solace for the years to come.

      Poor Arabella Stuart! If she thought, by the walk along that gentle stream, through those soft fields, amidst the old trees waving over head, listening to the voices of the birds, feeling the tender air of spring, talking over a thousand subjects, in which the ever-present impression of their love was only repressed in words to find utterance in vague and fanciful allusions,--if she thought by such means to cure her lover or herself of the disastrous passion which he had so boldly, she so timidly, acknowledged, alas! she was very, very much mistaken. Like the spirit of the Universal Deity of the Pagans, their love was all around them in everything they saw, or heard, or felt, in every word they uttered, unseen, but powerful, throughout the whole creation.

      Yet she thought she was seeking safety; and her spirits rose in the unconsciousness of danger, and the certainty of present happiness. Thus, when, some time after, they were joined by the master of the mansion, there was nothing whatsoever in her manner to show that she had been agitated or alarmed; and when they returned to the early dinner of those days, her heart seemed so light, that one might have thought not a drop of royal blood was running in her veins.

      "You are very gay," said William Seymour, in a tone almost reproachful, as they entered the hall.

      "So gay," she answered, "that I could sit down and sing;--but I fancy cold Sir Harry West," she continued, turning playfully to the old knight, "whose heart no fair lady could ever bring into tune with her own, has not an instrument of music in all his house--no virginals, no lute?"

      "Nay," replied the old knight, "you do me great injustice, fairest lady. I have all my life been the devoted servant of bright eyes. 'Tis but that I have loved them all so well, I never could be such a niggard of my heart as to bind myself to one; and, as to instruments of music--that sweetest of all the many modes of poetry--though virginals, God bless the mark! with their dull tinkling, I have none, yet I possess a lute in my own chamber, such as all the rest of England cannot boast, framed with great skill in Venice, by the famous Mallesini, who taught me how to use it, too, when I was in the City of the Sea, and used to serenade all the Venetian dames."

      "All?" exclaimed Arabella, shaking her finger at him. "Fie upon such democracy in love! In that, at least, I would be a monarch, and reign alone, or not at all. But, pray send for this rare instrument, Sir Harry; I would fain try how it will sound under my weak fingers."

      "Add but your voice, and the music will be sweet enough," said William Seymour, while the old knight went himself to bring the lute. But Arabella replied not; and a shade of deep sadness passed across her fair face for a moment.

      "He is tuning it," she said, the instant after, bending her ear to listen to some sounds which came from a neighbouring chamber. "He is a kind and excellent man." When Sir Harry re-entered the room, she took the lute, and after running her hand for a moment over the strings, sang one of those little ballads which perhaps obtained for her a place in Evelyn's list of fair poets.

      SONG.

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      "Who is the boy comes stealing here,

      With looks demure and mild?

      Keep off! keep off! Let him not near!

      There's malice in that child.

      "Yet, see, he plays amidst the flowers,

      As innocent as they;

      His smile as bright as summer hours,

      His eyes as soft as May.

      "Beauty and Grace his vestments are;

      To sport seems all his joy.

      Gaze if thou wilt, but keep him far,

      There's danger in the boy.

      "How various are his gladsome smiles,

      His every look is bright;

      Sure there can be no wicked wiles

      Within that thing of light!

      "Lo, he holds out a flower to me,

      A rosebud like a gem!

      Keep him afar! Dost thou not see

      The thorns upon the stem?

      "Vain was the warning given; the maid

      Clasped to her heart the boy;

      But could not pluck him thence. He stayed,

      And stayed but to destroy.

      "Sweet Love, let others be beguiled,

      Thy treacherous arts I fear,

      Keep afar off, thou dangerous child!

      Thou shalt not come too near!"

      She ended, and turned a gay look upon Sir Harry West, saying, "That is your history, noble friend, is it not?" and then, ere he could answer, fell into a deep fit of thought, which gave to William Seymour the assurance, and it was a sweet one, that her heart was not so free as she would fain have made it appear. The rest of the day went by in varied and pleasant conversation, though over the mind of William Seymour and the Lady Arabella deep fits of thought, not unmingled with anxiety, came shadowy from time to time, like the clouds of an autumnal sky. Sir Harry West quitted them no more that day; and Seymour began to imagine that he had some suspicion of all that was passing in their hearts. But on the following day, again, they were once more left alone together for some hours; another and another day succeeded; and words were spoken that nothing could recal.

CHAPTER V.

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      Neither good soldier nor good man was ever without love for his horse, if he had one; and the reader may have already divined, from certain words let fall by good Sir Harry West, that he was peculiarly careful and attentive to the four-hoofed creatures under his care. Every man on earth, probably, has his particular