"And she,"--replied Arabella, looking up, with the colour mounting in her cheek,--"and she grieved for him, not for herself. The Greys were an unfortunate race, however. How strange is the will of God, that of two so beautiful and excellent, Jane should perish on the scaffold, and Catherine waste her best days in prison! Yet methinks they must have been both happy even in their misfortunes, both suffering for those they loved." "'Twas a sad trial and test of affection," said William Seymour. "Yet one that any woman would take who truly loves," replied Arabella. "Ay, that is the point," he answered, looking down. "Such love may, to her who feels it, compensate for all suffering, and, to him who possesses it, repay the sacrifice of all, even of life itself. But, what must be the fate, lady, of one who loves as deeply as man can love, yet sees the object far above his reach, without one cheering hope to lead him on, one cause to think the passion in his own heart has awakened any return in the being, for whom he could cast away his life, as a gambler does his coin?" "It must be sad, indeed," said Arabella, in a low and hesitating tone,--"sad, indeed," she repeated. "But yet, perhaps--" and there she paused, leaving the sentence incomplete, while her colour varied like the morning sky as the sun rises in the east. "Yet such is my fate," rejoined her companion; "such has been the weight upon my heart, which has crushed its energies, quelled its hopes, made the gay scenes of other lands all dull and empty, and even in the field deprived my arm of one-half its vigour. Oh! had the light of happy love been but before me, what deeds would I have done, what things accomplished--Arabella," he continued, taking her hand, and gazing in her face--"Arabella?" She did not withdraw it; but she turned away her head, and with the fair fingers of the other hand chased away a bright drop from her dark eyelashes. It was enough; his arm stole round her slight waist. She did not move. His lips pressed her soft cheek. A gasping sob was her only reply. "Arabella, Arabella! speak to me!" he said; "leave me not in doubt and misery!" One moment more she remained still and silent; then, starting from his arms, she brushed her hair back from her forehead, with a sad and bewildered look, exclaiming, "Oh, Seymour, spare me!--This takes me by surprise--this is unkind;--think--think of all the risk, the danger, the sorrow----"