Dame Joan Tempest now came forth, bending thrice in a deep and formal
acknowledgment. The stranger stayed her speech with a look of great
benignity.
"I know thy words are what our kindness would interpret, and I thank
thee. Your hospitality shall not lose its savour in my remembrance, when
England hath grown weary of her guilt,--when the cry of the widow and
the fatherless shall have prevailed. I am hunted like a partridge on the
mountains; but, by the help of my God, I shall yet escape from the
noisome pit, and from the snares of the fowler."
Yet the look which accompanied this prediction seemed incredulous of its
purport. He heaved a deep sigh, and his eyes were suddenly bent on the
ground. Being introduced into the hall, the seat of honour was assigned
him at the table.
Elizabeth, when she saw him, uttered an ill-suppressed exclamation of
surprise, and her pale countenance grew almost ghastly. Her lips were
bloodless, quivering with terror and dismay. Agony was depicted on her
brow--that agony which leaves the spirit without support to struggle
with unknown, undefined, uncomprehended evil. Not a word escaped her;
she hurried out of the hall, as she thought, without observation; but
this sudden movement did not escape the eye of her father.
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