"It would have surprised more than offended," replied his fair companion, with a smile; "but Charles will, I trust, soon make us better acquainted. Have you seen him lately?"
"Not for five years," answered Sir Francis Clare; "and yet, sweet lady, know more of his proceedings than you do who parted with him but a week ago; not that he is deep-dyed in plots and conspiracies kept from his sister's ear; but simply, because he wrote to me yesterday one of his brief but comprehensive notes, telling me what he purposed, and giving me a rendezvous here today, which I, with my usual impatience, have run before by near an hour. I heard of him too, as I came along, and though I found that I should be before him, yet I hurried on--not to surprise his sister all alone, and make her wonder what strange rash man had come to visit her, believe me."
"Such an object were little worth the spur, Sir," replied the lady, laughing: "but if I understand you right, your friendship with my brother must have begun when he was in France."
"Long before that," replied the cavalier; "but when last I parted with him he was in Italy, where he left me to return to his own house. We bade each other farewell under the Logga de Lanzi, in the fair town of Florence."
"Oh! how I long to see that place," cried Annie Walton--"it is one of the dreams of my imagination which, perhaps, may never be realized."
"Few dreams of the imagination ever are," answered her companion. "He who gives himself up to fancy is like a man led by a child, who tells him of all the wonderful things that he will show him in the garden of the world, and when he comes to see the marvels, finds them but May blossoms and brier roses, that fade as soon as gathered, and leave a bunch of thorns in his hand."
Annie Walton raised her eyes to the stranger's brow, and gazed at the rich floating hair that covered it, to see if she could trace any of the marks of that age which has proved the world and discovered its delusions. But all was youthful and open; there was nothing grey or grave, and she replied--
"You speak sadly of this earth and its enjoyments, sir; and yet I would not part with Fancy and all her pleasant deceits if I could."
"Never! Never!" cried Sir Francis Clare, eagerly. "If I may use a paradox, sweet lady, the deceits of reality are ten times more dangerous than those of imagination. If all things are delusions except the hopes of a higher and a holier world, let us keep the pleasant delusions at least, and they are those of fancy--but what have we here?--The last news from London?"
"The reply of the parliament to the king's message," answered the lady; "and thirty-one good reasons for rejecting his majesty's offers, with the godly and soul-saving declaration of several pious men concerning Popery and Prelacy."
The stranger laughed.
"How easy is it," he cried, "to cover gross treason, not only to king, but to country, with fair pretexts of freedom, or to hide what they themselves call the most carnal self-seeking with a garb of religious zeal, and to give the fairest names to the blackest passions of our nature! 'Tis a trite remark, but one that forces itself upon us every day; and yet this is the trade that succeeds in the world, so that gross deceit raises itself to high places, and sits in purple and fine linen, while Honesty is left to beg her bread, and plain Truth stands shivering in a ragged blanket."
"But I should think such barefaced hypocrisy as this," answered the lady, "would deceive no one. People may pretend to believe it, but it must be mere affectation, as bad as the hypocrisy itself."
"Your pardon, madam," replied the cavalier: "there never yet was falsehood, however impudent, which, often repeated and told with a smooth face, would not find many to give it ready credence. Not a day passes but we see some monstrous lie, decked out with strong assurances of sincerity and zeal, pass current with the multitude. Oh, lady! there is an appetite for falsehood in the world that makes the many-headed monster gorge the food, however dirty, and, like a hungry dog, pluck morsels from the very kennel. Yet there is some truth, too, in what these people say. I am not one to cover them with bad names; for, alas! however wrong they may be now, the king put himself in fault at first. The man who suffers himself to be compelled to do justice to others, will, some time or another, have to compel others to do justice to him; and he who has abandoned his friends in time of need, will surely have to lament their loss when he has to struggle with enemies."
"And has the king done this?" asked Annie Walton.
"Strafford, Strafford," said the cavalier, with a melancholy shake of the head; "bold, firm-hearted, gallant Strafford. That fatal error was the downfall of King Charles. Where is the hand that now shall raise him up? Lady, when a general finds himself in a town about to be besieged by the enemy, he strengthens his fortifications, and throws down all the scattered houses and indefensible suburbs that might give the foes advantage in their approach; but the king pursued a different course: he threw down his defences, and maintained all the suburbs and weak points. But this is sorry conversation for a lady's ears," he continued. "What a fair scene does this window show! In riding through the low ground I did not mark all the beauty around me."
"It is indeed as fine a view as any in the country round," replied Annie Walton; "and often, when I feel sad at heart, I come and gaze out here, and seem to find comfort and confidence from the sight."
"And are you ever sad at heart?" asked Sir Francis Clare, with a smile.
"Not very often, it is true," she answered; "but still, in the present disturbed state of the country, which is like one of those dark storms through which one can see no glimpse of coming sunshine, I cannot but sometimes feel fears and apprehensions--not for myself, indeed, for no one would hurt a woman, I suppose, but for my brother; and when I am thus depressed I need the sight of things which speak, with a voice not to be misunderstood, of God's power, and his goodness too, to show me that though the tempest may rage for a time, it will give place to brighter hours at last, and perhaps in itself work benefit even while it seems destined to destroy."
"Oh, may you ever feel thus!" cried the cavalier, eagerly; "for it was such faith brought back the dove to the ark at length. Yet often, when we see a world of roaring waters around us, and destruction on every side, the heart will sink, and trust and confidence give way for a time. But still," he added, laughing, "I am not one to entertain many sombre thoughts; and if the gay companions of thoughtless hours could know with what sad ideas I have entertained a fair lady, they would recommend me a Geneva skull-cap and a straight black cloak. I can assure you, our talk in the court is much less solemn. Except for an hour in the morning, when we speak soberly of war and policy, as men take a walk after breakfast for a good digestion, our days pass much in the consideration of lace collars, the fashion of sword-knots, and of how to get them. The world, I believe, and most of the things in it, are not worth the waste of five minutes' heavy thought; and, weighed in a just balance, perhaps, a madrigal and a charge of horse, a sonnet of tiffany poetry, and the plan of a campaign, are matters much more nearly of the same importance than we think.--But there comes your brother, or I am mistaken."
"Yes, yes!" cried the lady, gladly, gazing out of the open window into the valley, along which a small party of horsemen were riding: "he will be here directly." And she and her companion, whose conversation had greatly won upon her, continued watching the progress of the young Lord Walton, as he rode rapidly along the valley, till he was hid behind the high-wooded banks, near which, as we have already related, he paused to hold a short conversation with poor Arrah Neil. They wondered what detained him so long under the trees; but after a brief pause he appeared again, and in a few minutes he sprang from his horse at the hall-door.