"Then I would die first," cried the girl; and Arabella, opening the note, read a few hasty lines from William Seymour, beseeching her to walk early in the park on the following morning, before the rest of the Court was stirring. "I have a thousand things to say," continued Seymour, "a thousand things to tell, a thousand things to ask forgiveness for." Arabella's heart fluttered; for, although she had no hesitation,--though she looked upon herself as bound to him by every tie, and believed that she had no right to refuse any reasonable request, yet there was something in the idea of purposely going out to meet him, which agitated, if it did not alarm her. Telling Ida Mara to wake her early, she retired to rest; but little sleep did poor Arabella gain that night, and by daybreak on the following morning she was up and at her toilet. Scarcely had she commenced, however, when Ida Mara entered, informing her that the whole Court was on foot, the King having been ill in the night, and about to set out immediately for London. The lady finished dressing herself in haste, and, descending the stairs, went out by the small postern door opening upon the terrace. Leaving that exposed spot as soon as she could, she proceeded by a flight of steps into the gardens below, and thence, by a long straight walk, towards a long avenue, which, though now long cut down, was in those days one of the greatest ornaments of the place. A step behind her soon caught her ear; and the next instant Seymour was by her side. But she had only time to learn that, there being no room in the house, he was lodged in one of the villages near, and to tell him that all were in the hurry of departure at the Court, when two Scotch gentlemen, named Ramsay and Morton, appeared in the avenue, and Arabella exclaimed eagerly, "We must part, Seymour, for the present. Call often at Shrewsbury House; for if I have anything to tell, I will leave a letter there for you. My aunt is all kindness, and in part knows what is between us." "Then I can communicate with you, there," cried Seymour. "Yes, yes," replied Arabella. "Farewell, farewell," and she left him. Had they been wise and practised in such meetings, instead of parting and each turning back by a separate path--a proceeding which might plainly indicate to any who watched them, that they had come thither by agreement, and returned as soon as they had said what they wished to communicate--William Seymour would have walked on towards the house, and Arabella would have pursued her ramble, leaving those who saw them to suppose that they had met accidentally.