There might be seen, the instant that he turned, a sudden change in the lady's look. She stopped, gazed at him with a look of astonishment, and then, uttering a cry of surprise and joy, sprang forward to his arms. In her eagerness, the hood and mantle fell off, disclosing the graceful person, the lovely face, and the rich apparel below; and it was a strange sight, certainly, to see so fair and delicate a creature, habited as might become the daughter of a prince, clasped in the arms of one clothed in such rude attire. It wanted, however, but one glance at his countenance to show that he upon whose bosom the lady hung so fondly was not what he seemed; and every moment spoke of long training to graceful exercises and to courtly demeanour, though each limb was well fitted to wield the heavy sword or couch the tough ash spear. He was tall and powerfully made, but his countenance was mild and kind, and his eye, as it rested upon the fair girl whom he now held to his heart, was full of tenderness and affection as well as joy--joy rising out of grief, and not entirely freed from some portion thereof, like a flower opening out after a shower, but with its head still bent down, and its leaves encumbered with the drops that had fallen heavily upon it. All that the young gentleman said for some time was, "Eva, my beloved Eva;" and all that the lady replied was, "Oh, Richard, how long it is since we have met!" Then succeeded words of joy, and tenderness, and love; but upon these we will not dwell, for to pause and fix our eyes upon moments of such bright happiness is like gazing upon the sun, which, for long after, prevents us from seeing all other things less bright. They had much to say, however, that was not joyful; they had much to tell that was painful to hear; for, though Eva St. Clair assured him again and again that she would never love any one but him; that, sooner than wed any other, she would take that fatal vow by which many a young, a kind, and affectionate heart bound itself, in those days, to cold solitude for ever, she had yet to tell him that she saw no prospect of her father, the well-known Hubert of St. Clair, changing in any degree his determination of refusing her hand to him whom he had once permitted to expect it as a certain treasure; with whom all her years had been passed, and to whom her young affection had been given. The dissension between their fathers, which, as was so often the case in those days, had been permitted to break through the happiness of their children, seemed, she said, of a character rather to be aggravated than diminished by time, at least in the mind of her father, who, though generous to all, and especially kind to her, would not yield on a point where he conceived his honour was concerned. He, too, had to tell much that was painful. He had to inform her that his father was more than ever attached to the cause of the usurper Stephen, and that