It was too tempting a proposal to be refused; and while Sir Philip, with a page carrying his heavy sword, walked down to the Abbey, Dacre remained with Isabel alone in the hall. They watched her father from the door till he entered the wood, and then turning, walked up and down the rush-covered pavement for several minutes without speaking. Dacre's heart was full of anxious thoughts; and though he much wished to fathom the feelings of Isabel's heart, and discover some ground for future hope, yet he dreaded to find all his fears verified; and the words trembled at the gate of speech without obtaining utterance. Isabel, however, was more confident in herself, and less conscious of her own sensations; she saw and grieved at the state of Dacre's mind, and longed to give him comfort and consolation as in days of yore. Finding, then, that he did not begin upon the subject of his cares and sorrows, she resolved to do so herself; and after a pause, during which she felt agitated, and hesitated she knew not why, she said, "I am glad to speak with you alone, Harry; for I see you are very, very sad, and I would fain persuade you to take comfort." "Oh, many things make me thus sad, dear Isabel," replied the knight, with a faint smile; "but I will try to do better with time." "Nay, Harry," she answered; "you cannot conceal the cause of your sadness from me. I have known you from my childhood, too well not to understand it all. You were ever jealous too much of your fame; and now I know, because this false, bad man has insinuated things that never entered your thoughts, you fancy people will suspect you." "And will they not, Isabel?" asked Dacre. "I should not say, perhaps, _suspect_ me; for suspicion is a more fixed and tangible thing than that which I fear; but will there not be doubts, coming in men's mind against their will, and against their reason? Will they not, from time to time, when they think of Henry Dacre, and this sad history, and these dark scandals--will they not ask themselves, What, if it were really so?" "Oh! no, no! Harry," replied his fair companion, warmly; "none will think so who know you--none will think so at all, but the base and bad, who are capable of such acts themselves." "Indeed, Isabel!" said Dacre. "And is such really your belief? You know not how suspicion clings, dear lady. If you stain a silken garment, can you ever make it clear and glossy, as once it was? and the fame of man or woman is of a still finer and frailer texture. There, one spot, one touch, lasts for ever."