"Well, boy," he exclaimed, "here you are a prisoner. Think yourself happy that you have not been gored by the boar's tusks. Good faith, he wounds deep where he strikes. That old fool, our host, has stopped me for five minutes in the court, with a panegyric on your merits, and looked much surprized when I told him the plain truth, to wit, that you are a foolish mad-headed boy, who will need fifty such hard lessons as you have received, before you get some grains of common sense beaten into you." Arden threw himself on a seat in the window, as he spoke, and gazed out, little attending to Chartley's answer, which consisted but of some words of course. He remained silent, even for a minute or two after; but then, turning sharply round, he said-- "Tell me, Chartley, what has happened to that sweet girl, Iola? She that was bright is dull; she, who was gay, is sad; she, whose cheek was like the rose, is now like a lily bending amongst its green leaves, bowed down with drops of dew." "Nay, I know not," answered Chartley, leaning his head upon his hand, and bending his eyes upon the table. "Then, what's the matter with you, my lord?" rejoined Sir William Arden; "for yours is the same case as hers. You are sad where you were gay; you are stupid where you were sharp; you look like a pipped hen instead of a rosy bumpkin." "Methinks my present situation were enough to account for all this," replied Chartley. "Come, come. That will not do, my lord," answered his friend. "I have seen you in much worse plight, when we were taken by the brown fellows at Tripoli, and you were then as gay as a lark. Better you should have some one to consult with. Tell me in a word, then. Were you making love to this dear little lady, when you were out with her the whole night in the forest? It was a great temptation, truly. I was half inclined at supper to make an old fool of myself, and say sweet things to pretty Constance, just to console her for the empty babbling of Ned Hungerford." Chartley still leaned his arm upon the table, and remained in thought. It was not a usual mood with him; for, generally, the first emotions of his heart soonest found utterance; but new passions will produce new conduct. For the first time in his life, he felt inclined to be angry at his acts being inquired into, even by a friend, for the purposes of friendship. But he felt that it was foolish and wrong; and, being a very imperfect creature, after a brief struggle, he went into quite the opposite extreme. "You are too sharp a questioner, Arden," he said, with a laugh, which had somewhat of his old gaiety in it; "but I'll answer your question manfully. I do not think the name of love ever passed my lips during that whole night." "Ay, ay," cried the bluff knight; "but talking of love is not making it."