Not two hours after that conversation, Lord Arthur Talbot came rapidly towards the house which the general, now encamped at some distance from his fortress, occupied. It was a large house near the camp. Surrounded by an enclosure of tall trees, and high walls, this house stood, and in its old weed-filled garden, the witless lady sometimes wandered. Some of the windows of the house opened down to the grounds, and to a wide terrace. Arthur reached the wall, soon clambered to the top, and was just dropping to the ground when a sentinel espied him and fired. But he missed his aim, and the next moment the lord was on the grounds of the house. “Safe,” he muttered thankfully, and looking about him he thought how sweet it was to see the house and garden once again, to see his dear native land, which he quitted three months before to save a queen, who was now in safety and comparatively happy. What joy he thought it would be to tell his Elvira the glorious truth--that he had saved a queen from death--and had restored a mother to her children. His heart beat as he thought of her joy when he had told his tale, and proved his honor and his love for her. He was loyal too, even though a royalist, and had never thought of bearing arms against his country. As he moved hesitatingly towards the house, the lost lady passed the open windows, singing a ballad her lover had taught her. He started, and turned towards the spot whence came the welcome sound. So gently he began singing the ballad. Nay--he sang it quite through, and yet no answer was made. As he concluded, there were heard the sounds of steps near him. He fled into the shadow of some friendly trees, as his beating heart told him of the coming of the puritans. Nearer and nearer came the sound. Surely, ’twas a picket of soldiers. They passed on, and their steps were lost in the distance. He stood again beneath the windows, and once more chanted the ballad she so loved. She came to one of the casements--slowly--slowly--dreamily. “It has ceased--the loved wind, which sings his song.” She stepped through the open window on to the terrace. “Ah, my Arthur, where art thou?” “Here, dearest, by thy side--at thy feet.” “Thou! is’t thou?” And she put her arms about him. “Thou dost not deceive me?” “I deceive thee! never, Elvira.” “I tremble; why? Is misfortune near?” “No--no; be joyful. Love smiles beneficently upon us.” “How--how long is it since I saw thee?” “Three weary months.” “No, no; three centuries of sighs and agony. And have I not called to thee--Arthur--Arthur--return!” “But she was in danger, and I saved her.” “And--and thou lovdst her?” “I?--her?” “Is she not thy wife?” “Nay--” “Nay, but _is_ she?” “I love her whom I have ever loved--whom I shall love till death is with me--and ’tis _thee_.” “Ah! then he did _not_ love her. Then I will love him better than ever--better than ever. Yet tell me, if thou didst not love her, why didst thou follow her?” “Her life was in danger.”