"I asked myself if liberty was all that I wanted," continued Arabella; "that bright spectre, the reality of which man can never know on earth; for, if we be not slaves to others, we are still slaves to our own infirmities; and this flesh is the true prison after all. But I have never sought much liberty. I have been right willing to bow my designs to those of others, to yield ready obedience where, perhaps, I had a right to resist, striving to make my own heart my world, where no one can forbid the spirit from wandering in the garden which itself has planted. I have sought little else but that. I will tell you what it is that makes even this sweet spot a prison. It is not that I cannot pass those gates; for, were I happier, I should never wish to pass them. I have no desire for the wide world. But it is, that those I love can never enter them,--that the friends who are dearest, the hearts that cherish me, the souls with which mine is linked, have no admission here. I will go weep," she cried, suddenly dashing a tear from her dark eye-lashes--"I will go weep, and I shall be better then." Thus saying, she quitted the room, while Mr. Conyers stood in the window with a sad and thoughtful brow. "I will be gaoler no longer," he said, after a long pause; "this sweet girl is shamefully ill-treated; and if an Englishman's rights and liberties be really valuable, they should be as dear to me in the person of another as of myself. I have served this King well enough, without having this task thrust upon me. I will be a gaoler no longer, and so I'll tell the King to-morrow when I see him." "What are you muttering there, Conyers?" asked his wife, who was still sitting at the table. "I was saying, Joan," replied Mr. Conyers, "that I have had enough of a bad and disgraceful task, which no one had a right to force upon me, without even asking my consent. Let the servants know, that the strict watch which I have seen kept up, without my orders, displeases me." "But it was by the King's orders," replied the lady, "and you forget that you lose all chance of promotion, if you disobey." "Out upon promotion at such a price!" replied her husband. "I have yielded to this too long. I am not a turnkey; my servants are not spies, or, if they are, they shall stay no longer here. If the King must have such vermin, let him keep them himself, I will not. What right had he to impose such a trade upon me? and as I have never promised to obey, I will do so no more. I even reproach myself that I have done it so long already. The grief of the sweet lady touches me. Were she harsh and vehement, proud and indignant under injustice, I might feel it less; but she bears her wrongs with such gentle meekness, even when she feels them most poignantly, that it were a base heart indeed which did not share her sorrow and take its part with her."