‘I am come from Flanders,’ he began again; but he did not speak like one intent on his business: his bright eyes were fixed on Anne; he seemed to be speaking of one thing and thinking of another. His words, however, had a quick effect on Anne—her look of perplexed shyness had vanished. ‘From Flanders? Ah, sir, ’tis welcome thrice over you are!’ she cried; ‘an’ are you bringing me news of my dear man?’ Her face was radiant; she smiled, and the beautiful dimples in her cheek were revealed, and her white even teeth. Her very eyes seemed to smile. The young man began to speak again—with unaccountable stumblings and hesitations, still reading Anne’s face with his quick bright eyes as he spoke. ‘I am come—Sebastian Shepley,’ he said, and paused. At the sight of his perturbation Anne came quickly towards him and laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Sir, sir,’ she cried. ‘Don’t tell me as there is aught amiss with my Sebastian.’ ‘Anne, I am come from your old lover Shepley, as you surmise,’ began the young man again; ‘he—he is well in health.’ The colour which had left Anne’s face rushed back to it in a beautiful scarlet tide. ‘Lord! sir, Sebastian’s not old, begging your pardon, sir,’ she said, letting her hand fall from his shoulder, rather ashamed of her sudden familiarity. ‘I—’twas not that way I meant it, Anne; I scarce know,’ stammered the young man. ‘Come, sit down by me and I shall tell you all.’ Anne, however, would not have felt easy sitting down in the presence of this fine stranger in lace ruffles. She stood opposite him and still looked anxious in spite of his assurances. ‘There hath ill come to him, sir; he’s wounded; or—or—’ she said. The young man seemed suddenly to have collected himself; his embarrassment, if embarrassment it had been, vanished as suddenly as it had come. He rose and came over to where Anne stood. ‘He hath no wound nor hurt of any sort, Anne, but he hath sent me with a message to you, and this is it:—The war is like to keep him so long in the Low Country he dare not ask you to wait.’ ‘I’d wait a lifetime for him,’ laughed Anne. ‘If that be all his message he hath troubled you for naught, sir.’ ‘’Tis not all. The fact is Sebastian has married—married a pretty Dutch wife. He feared to exhaust your patience. He asked me to tell you. “For,” said he, “Anne hath so many lovers ’twill be neither here nor there to her.” As like as not he may be years abroad still.’ There was a moment’s silence. Anne looked her visitor straight in the eyes; she had whitened down to her very lips. ‘You are but fooling with me, sir,’ she said, half whispering the words. ‘I am in sober earnest; ’tis no matter for jest this,’ said the young man, looking at Anne’s blanching cheeks.