Arabella Stuart. G. P. R. James

cried William Seymour, "surely you do not call love a disease."

      "Just as much the disease of youth," answered Sir Harry, with that slight touch of sarcasm in his look which we have already noticed--"just as much a disease of youth as measles, or chin-cough, or mumps amongst children, or the distemper amongst dogs. True, it sometimes attacks us in mature age, and even in later life; but the cases are rare, and then it goes hard with the patient. Take care of thyself, my dear boy. Thou art just about the age to catch it; but if ever you do, come to me, and I will be your physician. Ha! Lakyn. Bring them in, bring them in! Show that pretty maiden to her mistress's chamber. Is the horse much hurt?"

      "Both his knees as full of holes as a beggar's coat, Sir Harry," replied the old man.

      "That is bad, that is bad," said Sir Harry West. "Have them well bathed with hot water, Lakyn; then take a gill of Bordeaux wine, an ounce of salt, and a little sweet oil to anoint them with."

      "I know, I know, Sir Harry," answered the man. "'Tis a marvellous receipt; but this horse is a mighty deal worse than the grey gelding."

      Thus saying he withdrew, taking with him to the buttery the two servants of the Lady Arabella, with the hospitable design of comforting each with a cup of humming ale; and the conversation was renewed between Sir Harry West and his young friend, much in the same strain as before, till the lady herself made her appearance in the old hall.

      She was somewhat paler than usual, and her step had less of its buoyant lightness, as she was led by her good host with ceremonious respect to a chair by the fire. She owned, too, that she felt somewhat bruised with her fall, and expressed her determination soon to retire to rest.

      "I am afraid, Sir Harry," she said, "that I cannot say my catechism to-night; but, to satisfy you on one head before I go, I will tell you the cause of my journey. The king, you know, is already on his way from Scotland, and has crossed the border, I understand, some days. 'Twas only yesterday, however, that my aunt of Shrewsbury gave me notice that such was the case, and urged me strongly, by her letters, to hasten to meet his majesty, my royal cousin, and offer him my loyal duty. As she knew I was but poorly attended, she told me that some ten of her own people should meet me at Stamford, if I would come thither with all speed. Thus, you see, I set out but with two men and my girl, Marian; and, as the day was fine, I hoped to have a moonlight ride for an hour or two during the night."

      "I fear, dear lady," answered the knight, "that the good Countess has led you to a needless, as well as unlucky, journey. She does not seem to know that the king has issued a proclamation, forbidding all persons resort to the court during its progress towards London. It were wise of you, ere you proceed, to send a messenger to his majesty, asking permission to wait upon him."

      "Nay," exclaimed the Lady Arabella, "surely he will not refuse to receive his poor kinswoman?"

      "Dear lady," replied her old counsellor, "you surely should know something of royal personages; and yet, methinks, you are ignorant of how small a thing with them may turn love into disliking. A light word spoken, an act of deference forgotten, the slightest disobedience, even when it springs from affection, may deprive one of favour, and never be forgiven. No after devotion, no penitence will wipe away the impression; and dark looks and a cloudy brow, whenever you appear, will be all that you can expect for life."

      "Oh!" cried Arabella, "how differently would I act if I were a queen! Love should to me stand in place of duty, truth should well supply respect, honour should be the courtesy that I would prize, and merit have its reward, not fawning. I would be bountiful,--not only in deeds, but in words and looks,--would break no promise that I made, and never inflict upon hope the agony of delay. When I refused, it should be with gentleness; when I gave, it should be at once. I should be loath to punish, punishing my own heart at the same time. I would be careful of my lightest word, knowing that no words are light upon a monarch's lips."

      "I am sure you would," exclaimed William Seymour, in a tone that made Arabella raise her eyes to his face, with a slight increase of colour in her cheek.

      But good Sir Harry West did not seem to enter into the enthusiasm of his young friend.

      "You would be a very sweet lady, then," he said; "but perhaps not a good queen. Royalty is a rough thing, lady; it has to deal with hard matters, and must be somewhat hard itself. True, sovereigns often think that they are exempt from the milder duties of mankind, and in that are wrong; for they require more qualities than other men, not less. They should want no kindly affections of the heart, but have the greater strength to rule them, from the greater need. The acts of ordinary men affect but a narrow circle; the acts of sovereigns spread round to every human being throughout their whole dominions. An individual may make any sacrifice he pleases of that which is his own property, without injuring any one; a monarch is the property of his people, and can make no sacrifice without affecting all. Stern facts, lady, stern facts; but no less true than stern."

      "Thank God I am not a queen!" said Arabella, after a moment's pause. "But, to return," she continued; "what would you have me do, Sir Harry, in this business with the king? He may take offence if I go not forward to meet him, and think me wanting in duty; and, as you say, if I do approach the court, after the proclamation, I may be held as disobedient. What shall I do? I will be guided by your advice."

      "Stay here, dear lady," replied Sir Harry West, "and send a messenger to ask permission of the king. You will thus show both obedience and duty. Here is our young friend, William Seymour, doubtless he will willingly perform your behest, and be back in a day or two."

      William Seymour, however, did not look so well satisfied as the old knight expected; and Arabella Stuart paused for a few moments without reply, as if not quite willing to take advantage at once of the proposal.

      "I could scarcely venture to ask Mr. Seymour," she said, at length, raising her soft eyes to his face; "and perhaps he may not be inclined to go."

      William Seymour could not find in his heart so far to belie his own feelings as to say he was willing, and yet he dared not explain what those feelings were. Perhaps Arabella was not willing to send him; but of that we know nothing, although, if she was very anxious that he should be her messenger, she did not quite display a woman's skill in carrying her point. On the contrary, indeed, she was the first to furnish him with a fair excuse for declining the commission.

      "On second thoughts," she continued, after the young gentleman had made a somewhat hesitating tender of his services,--"on second thoughts, I must not even ask Mr. Seymour; for, if disobedience to the proclamation might bring the king's anger upon me, the same act would, of course, affect him in the like manner. There is the royal blood," she added, with a smile, "flowing in his veins as well as mine; and, of course, our sovereign's indignation would fall more heavily upon a man than upon a poor girl like me."

      "True," said the old man, "true; I had forgotten that; you must send some inferior person, lady. If you will write a letter to his majesty to-night, I will despatch it by a messenger to-morrow, who shall put into the hands of Sir Robert Cecil, to be laid before the King."

      "I will do it at once," replied Arabella, "and then hie me to my bed; for, to speak truth, I am somewhat weary with my journey, with the rain, and with my fall."

      The letter was accordingly written in all due form, beseeching the king to suffer his poor cousin to pay her duty to him, by meeting him on the road to London; and on the following morning, before Arabella had left her bed, a trusty messenger was bearing it towards the north.

      Whether the fair writer slept well that night matters not to our history; William Seymour scarcely closed an eye, and for two long hours after he had sought his chamber, he sat almost in the same attitude, with his head resting on his hand, in deep thought. As his meditation ended, he murmured a few words to himself. "Now or never," he said. "Oh! golden opportunity! I will not suffer doubt or dismay to snatch thee from me."

CHAPTER IV.

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