"_Thou_," he replied, impressively, fixing upon her his piercing eyes with an expression which fascinated her. "It was in the garden of my lord the abbot of Holyrood, at his mansion near yonder craigs, some nine or ten months ago, about the vesper time; it was a glorious evening, and a broad yellow harvest-moon was shining in the blue heavens, among golden-coloured clouds; the air was pure, and laden with perfume and with the fragrance of yonder orchards, and these fields covered with the grain of a ripe harvest. Abbot Robert had given a supper to Henrico Godscallo, the ambassador who came to offer as a bride Mary of Austria or Mary of Portugal to King James. Oh! thou canst not have forgotten it. We walked together in the garden, and you did me the honour to lean upon my arm. I bent my head towards you, and your beautiful hair touched my forehead. My heart beat like lightning--every vein trembled! Oh! I have never forgotten that night--that hour--the place--the time! You seemed good and kind, merry and gentle with me. I was on the point of declaring myself then--of saying how I loved you--how I worshipped you; and your charming embarrassment seemed to expect the avowal; when the countess's page--yonder black devil with the rings in his ears--approached, and the spell was broken. My God! the same moment, the same soft influences and adorable opportunity have never come again!" "My lord advocate, you can plead ably for yourself," replied Jane, coldly. "My soul is in the cause at issue," said he, looking at her anxiously; "'tis very true, I am very miserable. I am as one in a dream. I love the air she breathes--the ground she treads on." He was speaking to himself. In the very depth of his thoughts he forgot that she was beside him. "My lord, my lord, 'tis the rhapsody, this, of Sir David Lindesay, or some such balladier." "Nay, nay; oh! do not mock me. It seemeth as if my love for you is not the common love of this cold and utilitarian world; for if ten ages rolled over our heads, I feel sure that my love would be the same; nor time, nor circumstance, not even despair, can overcome it. Oh! lady, believe me, there is no other man loves thee as I do." Jane thought of Roland, but either the fury or the profundity of the speaker's passion awed her into silence, for she made no reply; and thereby encouraged, he continued-- "Pride and ambition are strong within me; but, believe me, my breast never had a passion so deep, so pure, as my love for thee. There is a silent strength in it that grows out of its very hopelessness. Canst thou conceive this? Every glance, and smile, and word of thine I have treasured up for years, and in solitude I gloat over them, even as a miser would over his gold and silver." Covered with confusion, and trembling excessively, Jane made an effort to withdraw.