Movement and exertion are the life-blood of youth; and as he rode on, the spirits of Richard of Woodville rose higher and higher; expectation expanded; the regrets were left behind; and "Onward, onward!" was the cry of his heart, as the grey cloud broke into mottled flakes upon the sky, and gradually disappeared, as if absorbed by the blue heaven which it had previously covered. Through the rich wooded land of England he took his way for four days, contriving generally to make his resting-place for the night at some town which possessed the advantage of an inn, or at the house of some old friend of his family, where he was sure of kind reception. In the daytime, however, many of his meals were eaten in the open field, or under the broad shade of the trees; and, as he sat, after partaking lightly of the food which had been brought with him, while the horses were finishing their provender, the birds singing in the trees above often brought back to his mind the words of the minstrel's girl's lay:-- "The lark shall sing on high, Whatever shore thou rovest; The nightingale shall try To call up her thou lovest. For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find; Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale." It seemed like the song of hope, and rang in his ear, mingling with the notes of the blackbird, the thrush, and the wood-lark, and promising success and happiness. The words, too, called up the image of Mary Markham, as she herself would have wished, the end and object of all his hopes and wishes, the crowning reward of every deed he thought to do. It is true that, with her, still appeared to the eye of memory the form of poor Ella Brune; but it was with very different sensations. He felt grateful to her for that cheering song; and, indeed, how often is it in life, that a few words of hope and encouragement are more valuable to us, are of more real and solid benefit, than a gift of gold and gems! for moral support to the heart of man, in the hour of difficulty, is worth all that the careless hand of wealth and power can bestow. But he felt no love--he might admire her, he might think her beautiful; but it was with the cold admiration of taste, not with passion. Her loveliness to him was as that of a picture or statue, and the only warmer sensations that he felt when he thought of her, were pity for her misfortunes, and interest in her fate. Nor did this arise either in coldness of nature, or the haughty pride of noble birth; but love was with him, as it was with many in days somewhat previous to his own, very different from the transitory and mutable passion which so generally bears that name. It was the absorbing principle of his whole nature, the ruling power of his heart, concentrated all in one--indivisible--unchangeable--a spirit in his spirit, a devotion, almost a worship.