“Ah, well, then I would know how this long veil of mine will look on me, by seeing how ’twill look on thy dear head. Now stoop--stoop--stoop--madame, as though I were a queen, and you were to be dubbed a knight.” “Nay,” said the young lord, as the lady was about to kneel. “But I say I will,” said the bride. “I would I could as easily assure thee lasting happiness, fair girl,” said the lady, gravely. And kneeling, her head was soon enveloped in the beautiful lace veil. The bridegroom looked on helplessly, and seemed troubled at this act. “Charming--charming,” cried the laughing Elvira. “Who can see your blushes now? You look like a bride yourself. Pray now, who could tell you from me?” The young lord suddenly started, and his grave face lighted up with hope. “Nay, wear it--wear it,” said Elvira. “I must leave you for a little, young bride and bridegroom; for I have yet to put on my diamonds. Stay here--stay here.” And she ran laughing from the room. “Thou art saved--thou art saved!” It was the young lord who spoke, and, as he did so, the imperilled queen for one moment hoped, but the next she was deep sunk in despair, and only breathed the air of liberty again when the colonel entered the room, and coming up to her, said: “The fairy Elvira should not hide her face beneath that envious mantle--let me raise it.” “Nay, nay,” said Arthur. “No? Surely! May Heaven bless thee, niece--daughter! May good Heaven bless thee, and keep thee as happy as thou art now I hope--thou dost not speak?” “She hath vowed neither to speak nor show her face till we are one.” “So--so: but ’tis time we had set out--so follow me--follow me!” And he left the room. The queen was about taking off the veil. “Stay--stay, your majesty;--’tis a miracle! Who shall know you? And have I not a pass from the castle?” “Nay--I fear for thy life, my lord.” “Nay, queen; to refuse would be to cast from thee Heaven’s gift. Come--come.” And he led her respectfully towards the door. But there stood a wild-looking puritan--Captain Richard Forth to wit--his sword drawn, and his eyes flashing. “Thou shalt draw steel for her,” and he stood immovable in the doorway. In a moment the lord’s sword was out of its sheath, but the queen ran between the thirsty weapons, and in so doing her veil was deranged, and her face seen. “I forbid thee, my lord, and thou--man of blood.” “‘Tis not she, ’tis Madame Henrietta,” murmured the puritan, and lowered his sword. The lord’s sword, however, was still raised. “Thou canst go, Arthur Talbot; thou mayest take her with thee. Go, both of ye, in peace. Go, and I prophecy that thou shalt weep bitter tears--that thou shalt sit apart and lonely, that thou shalt yearn for thy distant country, that thou shalt float in a sea of misfortunes. Begone! thou wanderer.”