He soothed and sustained her agitated frame, and sealed with an embrace her speechless form. Then, with soft thoughts and softer words, clinging to him, he induced her to resume their stroll, which both of them now wished might assuredly be undisturbed. They had arrived at the limit of the pleasure-grounds, and they wandered into the park and its most sequestered parts. All this time Lothair spoke much, and gave her the history of his life since he first visited her home. Lady Corisande said little, but, when she was more composed, she told him that from the first her heart had been his, but every thing seemed to go against her hopes. Perhaps at last, to please her parents, she would have married the Duke of Brecon, had not Lothair returned; and what he had said to her that morning at Crecy House had decided her resolution, whatever might be her lot; to unite it to no one else but him. But then came the adventure of the crucifix, and she thought all was over for her, and she quitted town in despair. “Let us rest here for a while;” said Lothair, “under the shade of this oak;” and Lady Corisande reclined against its mighty trunk, and Lothair threw himself at her feet. He had a great deal still to tell her, and, among other things, the story of the pearls, which he had wished to give to Theodora. “She was, after all, your good genius,” said Lady Corisande. “I always liked her.” “Well, now,” said Lothair, “that case has never been opened. The year has elapsed, but I would not open it, for I had always a wild wish that the person who opened it should be yourself. See, here it is.” And he gave her the case. “We will not break the seal,” said Corisande. “Let us respect it for her sake—ROMA!” she said, examining it; and then they opened the case. There was the slip of paper which Theodora, at the time, had placed upon the pearls, and on which she had written some unseen words. They were read now, and ran thus: “THE OFFERING OF THEODORA TO LOTHAIR’S BRIDE.” “Let me place them on you now,” said Lothair. “I will wear them as your chains,” said Corisande. The sun began to tell them that some hours had elapsed since they quitted Brentham House. At last a soft hand, which Lothair retained, gave him a slight pressure, and a sweet voice whispered: “Dearest, I think we ought to return.” And they returned almost in silence. They rather calculated that, taking advantage of the luncheon-hour, Corisande might escape to her room, but they were a little too late. Luncheon was over, and they met the duchess and a large party on the terrace. “What has become of you, my good people?” said her grace; “bells have been ringing for you in every direction. Where can you have been?” “I have been in Corisande’s garden,” said Lothair, “and she has given me a rose.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lothair, by Benjamin Disraeli