"Fie, fie, Sir Harry!" cried Arabella. "I thought that beauty now-a-days was the great good, the pledge and warrant of celestial excellence--who ever speaks of aught but beauty? If a lover would please me, he fixes on my fine points, as a jockey describing his horse. My eyes are certain to put out the stars. It is my lip that makes the roses blush with envy. Pearls have quite lost their price, since my teeth came to court; and sculptors are quite ruined in alabaster, trying to imitate my skin. Fie, fie, Sir Harry! If she be beautiful, she must be an angel." "She has not made her husband think so," replied Sir Harry West. "But here comes another to join us--my young friend, William Seymour. Will you fly from him, too, lady? or shall I leave you to his care?" "Nay, stay," cried Arabella, eagerly--too eagerly; "stay, I beseech you." Was it her heart spoke? Yes, reader; or rather the agitation that was in it. She feared herself at that moment--she feared to be left alone with him she loved the best, at a time when her thoughts were all in confusion--when her bosom was full of emotion, lest she should say or do something rashly that could never be recalled. In another instant, however, Seymour was by her side; but he, too, was agitated; and though she had hidden, under her gay speeches to Sir Harry West, the struggling sensation within her, she could do so no longer, with her lover by her side. Thus, the few sentences first spoken on both parts were incoherent--almost unintelligible. The old knight came to their aid, however, asking his young friend, in a quiet, conversational tone, when he had returned. "But yesterday," replied William Seymour. "One fortnight ago, I received the King's permission to come back; and, setting off next morning, I have since ridden post through France and part of Italy, taking not much time, as you may suppose, to admire the beauties of the road." "No, good faith, my young friend," replied Sir Harry West, "nor to give yourself much repose either." "True," answered Seymour, with a sigh; "I sought no repose. I was winged with hope and expectation--going back to my native land, to all I loved the best, in the full confidence of finding hearts unchanged, and affections the same. But it was a boy-like error, Sir Harry. The first rumour that met me showed that time, as well as fortune, changes favour; and all that I have seen this night, makes me think that everything on earth is, as the Jewish King has said, lighter than vanity." "Something like your own complaint, sweet lady," said Sir Harry West; "a moment ago you were painting the world in the same gloomy colours." "I said," replied Arabella, "that there is nothing on earth worth sighing for--and, in truth, I think so still; for the events we long for most eagerly, generally end in disappointment or anguish." "Well, then, you are both agreed, it seems," said Sir Harry West. "'Tis strange that you should come to the same conclusion on the same night."