"Well, then, in sober truth," replied Seymour, pointing to the country beyond the park, which was seen over a break in the trees--"Well, then, in sober truth, beloved, as I rode along yonder bridle-way which you perceive crossing the country beyond the fence, I turned my eyes hither. Now, love is an enchanter, whatever you may think, who strangely lengthens men's sight, ay, better than the best perspective glass; and by his aid, I saw something beautiful walk slowly through the park up to this spot, and knew it was Arabella. Then, riding on till I came near, I parted with my company, as I have told you, and, like a deer-stealer, leaped the paling; then, creeping quietly through the trees, I stood and watched you as you lay, wishing that I were a sculptor, and had power to carry away an image of that lovely form in all its thoughtful grace." "Hush, flatterer! hush!" cried Arabella; "I would only have my image in the heart of those who love me. But it was not fair." "Oh, yes," answered Seymour; "for whatever I saw or heard would be to me as sacred as my conscience." "Heard!" exclaimed Arabella. "What! did I speak?" "Yes, in truth," replied her lover; "first you sat musing; then took out a letter--this which you have dropped;" and, lifting it from the ground, he gave it to her, while she turned somewhat pale to see how nearly she had lost it. "Then you murmured something indistinctly, and then you cried, 'Oh, that I had some one to advise me!'--But you turn pale, Arabella!" "Not at what you think," she answered, with a smile. "Now would Seymour give a purse of gold to know what is in this epistle, and has jealous thoughts of rivals, and half doubts that Arabella plays him false. Is it not so?" "No, on my life," replied William Seymour; "I might as well be jealous of the sun for shining on other lands than mine. Why should Arabella give me one smile, but from her pure bounty? I have no claim, I have no right, and 'twere a needless policy to let me think you love me, if you did not. One frown, one word, one cold look, were enough to crush out all the hopes you have raised, and snatch the blessing from me. Why should you deceive me? Oh, no--I am as confident of you as Heaven, and nothing shall ever make me doubt." Arabella put her hand in his, and gazed upon him with a look of melancholy tenderness that, had there been a doubt, would have banished it for ever. "Oh, no!" she said; "though I may never be yours, I shall never love but you; and whom should I trust but him I love? Yet before I do trust you fully, Seymour, and ask for your advice, you must promise me--for you men are sad, headstrong creatures, and we must ever bind you with some chain--that you will never reveal what I have told, or shown, or asked you--nay, even if I follow not your counsel."