overpowered by the conviction of his enthralment in an united web of love and magic. him no time to recover his presence Elinor gave of mind; nor did the first impulse of her feelings allow her to act on her own. Forgetting totally the part she had to play, impelled only by her delight at seeing the object of her varied anxieties, both for herself and him, she sprang forward, with a throb of united affection, security, and triumph; and in the wildness of sentiment—not uninfluenced by the draught so artfully prepared to aid its excitement-she flung herself with hysteric rapture into the arms of her royal paramour. At the same instant Bolingbroke slowly stole from the hall into an adjoining closet, while his beldame associate at his beckon hobbled out, with a grin of mingled malice, envy, and other as odious combinations-leaving the impassioned pair totally lost to a sense of all but their criminal joy. And never did guilty love enjoy a moment of more redeeming sincerity. The reciprocity of deep delight shrouded for an instant a long course of mutual guile. Deception was dead, except in its action on the heart of each self-deluded lover; and they stood for awhile locked in an embrace, which they might be at once pitied and pardoned for believing to be as pure as it was in reality profane. Nor must the erring son of frail humanity shudder with pious horror at this picture of his fellow-sinner's abandonment to the exquisite delusion. Let him rather hope it was a merciful respite granted by offended Heaven, to soothe the fever of unholy passion. And, at any rate, the most obdurate moralist may be satisfied on referring to the page of history, that Glocester and Elinor paid in after days of suffering an ample penalty for this and similar moments of self-forgetfulness. "Nell! my precious Nell!" murmured Glocester after awhile, drawing back as if to gaze more intently on his mistress's flushed and animated features. "What would my gracious lord?" replied Elinor in a subdued and softened tone. "What would I? Nought, by Heaven! but to be for ever thus happy in thy arms." "For ever, my good lord? Beware the sin of exaggeration. Ever is a long word!” 66 No, Nell, time is but a span. Eternity itself were brief as the lightning's flash, could love and beauty fill man's grasp for ever." "Ah, flattering prince! how many hours have flown by since you proffered these same. horrid words to-Jacqueline ?" "Nell, sweet Nell! do, precious wench, but let me be happy awhile.-Dash not this sweet draught of bliss with gall-i'faith, I love thee -thee only!" "Ah, my lord, forgive me! but your truant flight-this hurried voyage- which I, it may be, have too rashly dared to follow and pry into-" "No, no, my bellibone, thou hast done well -very well. I ask not why or wherefore thou hast come-I wish to believe it, as all things of thy doing, an act of pure affection-doubt not me then, more than I do thee." "How could your highness doubt a poor and owly creature, who has done all that woman may do to prove her heart's fealty? But you, my lord-" 66 Why how's this, Nell? Let me look on thee awhile! Thou art neither red-haired nor black-eyed; the sure signs of jealousy in woman. These smooth brown tresses and these full grey orbs, speak loving tenderness and confiding faith. Nor art thou clad in weeds of doubtingness. This mantle of rose-coloured, inwoven silk, should not cover mistrust. Fitter would be a robe of disbelieving yellow or for saken green-or a watchet velvet gown, pierced with oylet holes and stuck with needles, the true types of jealousy, such as my late brother King Henry, when madcap Prince of Wales, wore on a visit of reproach to our royal father for his suspicious temper. And wouldest thou, my own Nell, in this bright hour of joyance, poison my bliss, and crucify thy soul with like heartburnings?" "Ah, good my lord, this mingled tone of seriousness and banter, leaves me more in doubt than before." "Mark ye, my precious one, the words of the old adage: From heresie, frenzie and jealousie, good Lord save us?' or know ye the good old rhymes 'Windes, weapons, flames, make not such hurle-burlie, As jealous women turn all topsie-turvie?' Why did you ever love me, Nell, if love was but to breed suspicion ?" "In good sooth, my lord, I can but answer with Geoffrey Chaucer's Wife of Bath 'I followed aye my inclination By virtue of my constellation;' And again I may say with the rhymester, that she who loves like as I do 'May no while in confidence abide Who is assaid on every side;' |