"I was unfortunate enough to be so," answered Roydon, perceiving her gesture, and thinking it as well to put some little restraint upon himself, though he never dreamed that a poor minstrel's girl could seriously resist the solicitation of a man of wealth and station. "I regret it deeply," he continued, "but the brute overpowered me. By the King's commands, I bear you fifty half-nobles; here they are. And, for my own satisfaction, I will give you the same." As he spoke, he held out a purse to her, but Ella Brune drew back. "The King's bounty," she said, "I will receive with gratitude; but, from you, I will take nothing." "And, pray, why not, sweet girl?" asked Simeon of Roydon; "the King cannot grieve for what has happened half as much as I do, or be half as eager to comfort and console you. Nay, sit down, and speak to me;" and, taking her hand, he led her back to the stool much against her will. "I would fain hear what can be done for you," he added; "I fear you may be friendless and unprotected; and I long to make up to you, as far as possible, for the loss you have sustained." "I am, indeed, alone in the world," replied the fair girl; "but not friendless, and unprotected, while I trust in God." "Yes, but God uses human means," answered Roydon, who was every moment growing more eager in the pursuit, which at first had been but as the chase of a butterfly; "and you must let me be his instrument, as I have caused, unwillingly, this evil to befal you. I have a beautiful small cottage on my lands, where the trees fall round and shade it in the winter from the wind--in the summer from the sun. The woodbine and rose gather round the door, and a sparkling stream dances within sight. There, if you will accept such a refuge, you can live in peace and tranquillity, protected from all the harm and wrong that might happen to you in great cities; for you are too young and too lovely to escape wiles, and perhaps violence, if you are left without good ward, in such resorts of men as these." A smile came upon the lip of Ella Brune, but it was of a very mingled and changeful expression. Perhaps the wakening of some old remembered dream of happy days might render it at first soft and gentle; and, the next instant, the recollection of how that dream had faded might sadden; and then again, the transparency of his baseness mixed a touch of scorn with it, and she answered, "That can never be, sir. I seek no protection but that I have, and cannot accept of yours. I am able, as I am accustomed, to guard myself, and will do so still. I think you have mistaken me--but it matters not. I seek neither gold nor favour from you; and, if you would make atonement for bad deeds, it must be to God, not me."