The cool
breeze came like a healing balm upon his spirit, the soft dew fell upon
his cheek,--but the fire in his veins burnt fiercely. His mistress's
form, her face, the sweet influence of her smile, were fixed indelibly
on his heart. Away from the bustle and cares of office,--which, like
waves on the surface, for a while effaced their image,--the whole
beauteous impression was revealed before him in all its loveliness and
truth. His heart bounded at the thought:--it was but for a moment. Again
he stood, hopeless and desolate, gazing upon the soft mist-wreath in the
valley, as though expecting it would render up the form of his beloved.
Suddenly the short swift steps of a steed were heard hurrying up the
avenue. A horseman approached the gateway: it was his friend, the
_soi-disant_ knight of the silver mantle!
"How now, Weldon![36]--whither have thy unlucky familiars carried thee?
Hast thou bestridden the enchanted horse, or wert thou bidden to a
witch-feast?"
"I have been to Myerscough with your message,--and the pains I have had
for my labour."
"My message!" said Sir John, with amazement: "I sent thee on no other
errand than to guard the lady, whom thou hast either made away with or
she hath slipped from thine hold.
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