"Nay, first let me try my fortunes on the footing of our former love."

"If she will not listen to thee?"

"She will."

"Wilt thou resign her if she will not?"

He was silent for a moment, and then said,

"What would you have me do?"

"Take her with thee to thy vessel--once there, thy will must be her will. I shall give thee neither rest nor peace, on sea or land, till thou art the acknowledged Earl of Lester, and, by marriage, Lord of Bellamont. Go. Where you see the light burning in yonder window is her chamber. I saw her there as the sun went down. Go, and when thou hast spoken with her, come to my hut and tell me how thou art received. See thou lag not, for I have prepared the rites thou hast sought of me--and if thou wouldst have thy buried treasures hid from mortal eyes, and prosper in what thou undertakest, see thou art with me before the midnight hour."

"Stay, Elpsy; should she discover that Kyd and Lester are the same?"

"Then," said the woman, in a sneering and malicious tone of voice, "thou wilt have to woo the rougher, and 'twill be more to thy credit if thou carry her off. Would it humble thy pride to have her know it?"

"By Heaven, did I believe she did, I would not go near her."

The witch laughed in such a way that he half suspected her of betraying him. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and said quickly,

"Woman, thou hast told her, to gratify thy malicious soul."

"Think you I would crush the seed, when, by a little patience, I can pluck the fruit of the full-grown tree? Go, boy!"

As she spoke she pointed towards the White Hall. He left her without replying, and walked in the direction of the mansion, which stood silent and majestic amid its n.o.ble grove of oaks.

As the night advanced, lights were brought into the boudoir of Kate Bellamont. Turning away from the window with a sigh of disappointment, she struck a few sad notes on her guitar, and then, throwing it aside, took up the flag she was embroidering, and began mechanically to ply the needle, occasionally pausing in her graceful toil, with her head inclined towards the open window, as if she fancied she heard sounds from the water. Suddenly she started and sprung to the balcony. The regular dip of oars now struck distinctly upon her ears, each instant approaching nearer and nearer, and a dim object soon advanced from the distant gloom; and, as it came swiftly on, she could distinguish the bodies of men and the outline of a boat boldly relieved against the gla.s.sy flood. In a few seconds it was hidden by an oak and a clump of shrubbery, but she could hear it still as it made its way towards the entrance of the ca.n.a.l in front of the "Boat and Anchor," as the inn of Jost Stoll was designated. After listening a while longer, and hearing nothing to confirm her hopes that it bore a message to the White Hall, she re-entered her boudoir and once more resumed her embroidery. This in a little while she restlessly cast aside, and, approaching her harp, struck its golden chords, and, accompanying it by her voice, sung, in a wild and thrilling strain, a popular Irish air. Now slow and solemn sounded the deep, majestic notes; now light and free; now soft, and touching, and most melancholy, even to sadness, they wailed beneath the magic touch of her fingers--her voice, or deep as an angel's trumpet, or soft as a guitar, or clear as a flute, or wild and high like a clarion, following in faultless harmony through the rangeless fields of melody.

"Like an emerald gem on the breast of the sea, Dear Erin, my home! is thy vision to me; As the sun to the day--as the moon to the night, Is thy thought to my soul--'tis its warmth and its light.

"Sweet clime of my kindred--loved land of my birth!

The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth; Oh! where'er I may roam--howe'er bless'd I may be, My spirit all lonely returns unto thee.

"There first budded pa.s.sion--there burst into bloom The flower of young hope--though it droop'd to the tomb!

But that brief life of love! though whole ages may roll O'er my heart in despondence--'tis fresh in my soul.

"Let the winds wildly blow--let the waves madly rise, Till the storm-sprite's libation is flung in the skies; Still my spirit will seek, o'er the ocean's bright foam, For my home in dear Erin--my own native home!"[A]

[Footnote A: Composed by Owen Grenliffe Warren, Esq.]

The last notes of the music were trembling on the chords, and the maiden stood as if entranced by her own strains, when a noise like the flitting of a humming-bird in the chamber caused her to start, and, at the same instant, something glittered past her eyes and fell at her feet. She stooped to lift it from the carpet with an exclamation between fear and surprise.

"A silver arrow! What can it mean? Ha! surely I have seen it before--no, no, it cannot be! I will examine it! what strange recollections--what long buried memories start up! I will see if my suspicions are true!"

She held it to the light with a trembling hand, and with undisguised astonishment read:

"Field of Archery, Castle Cor, May, MDCXCIV."

"Merciful Heaven!" she almost shrieked, "it is--_it is the same_! Who can have done this? Whence came it? 'Tis Lester!"

"It is Lester!" repeated a deep, rich voice.

She turned with a half cry and startled look towards the window, and, to her terror, beheld standing just without on the balcony, in the shadow of the curtain, a tall dark figure enveloped in a cloak, his features shaded by sable plumes drooping over his brow from a Spanish hat looped boldly up in front.

She would have shrieked, but her surprise and alarm for a moment denied her utterance. She leaned on her harp for support, and gazed on the intruder without the power to move. He advanced a step and stood within the window. The movement restored her presence of mind, and with a degree of self-possession that surprised herself, and in the tone and manner of one who feels herself insulted by intrusion rather than intimidated by the presence of the intruder, she cried,

"Stand, sir, whoever thou art! Approach no nearer, or I alarm the Hall."

As she spoke she extended her hand towards a silver bell that stood on a table near her. Quicker than thought, the stranger's hand was upon hers, and he was kneeling, without cloak or bonnet, at her feet. Surprise, rather than fear, rooted her to the spot. She gazed on him with astonishment; and, as she gazed, her features worked with extraordinary emotion. The light shone full upon his face, and exhibited the features of a fair, handsome man, scarce twenty-five, with light flowing hair, an eye like a hawk's, and a figure of the most n.o.ble and manly proportions. He wore a short Flemish cloak of green cloth, richly embroidered, and a short Spanish sword, with a jewelled hilt, hung at his side. His face was lifted to hers with eloquent pleading. She met his gaze with a wild, alarmed look--clasped her hands on her forehead as if she would recall the past, and steadfastly fixed her eyes upon him as if tracing in his features a resemblance that startled her.

"Kate."

Soft were the tones of his deep, rich voice as he spoke, and full of tenderness were his eyes as he lifted them to hers.

"Robert of Lester!" she cried, starting back as if memory had vividly returned at the sound of his voice.

"I am he," was the reply of the stranger, bending his head lowly, as if deprecating her displeasure.

"Leave me, sir," she said, haughtily, though returning love was evidently struggling for the mastery over her sense of right. As she spoke she drew herself up commandingly, though her bosom heaved with emotion, and her averted eyes contradicted her words.

"Dearest Kate!"

"Robert of Lester, I bid you leave me. Your presence is an intrusion, sir."

"Lady," he said, with tenderness, "do you not remember when, five years since, you placed, with your own fair hands, the arrow you now hold in them, in my bonnet."

"Nay, bring not up the past; 'tis buried--long forgotten," she cried, nervously, and in a voice tremulous with feeling. "Would to G.o.d you had not appeared to revive it."

"Lady," he continued, in a soft, subdued tone, that touched her heart, "does not love's early dream--"

"That dream is o'er. Oh, that you would cease to recall what will only render me miserable!" she added, with feeling, burying her face in her hands.

"Is there no room for pardon--none for forgiveness? Hear me, Kate!

dearest Kate! You who were my playmate in childhood--who in youth first awakened love in this bosom. Dash not the cup of hope for ever to the ground! I have sought thee, and now kneel to thee, to tell thee how fondly, how madly I love--"

"Cease, sir. This is no language for me to hear. Once--but, no matter--'tis past. If you have aught to say touching matters foreign to this, speak, and I can listen; then, prithee depart. Oh, that thou hadst kept away from me for ever! The sight of thee has torn my heart!"

"Then there is hope?"

"None."

"Hast forgotten," he said, with pa.s.sionate tenderness, "how often we have sailed together on the little mere by Castle More; how together we have pursued the stag through the forests of Castle Cor; how oft we have rambled by the sh.o.r.es of its bay by moonlight, entwined in each other's arms as we walked; how we loved one another, and did pledge in the sight of Heaven undying love--"

"Robert, Robert--" she cried, moved by the touching images he had recalled.

"Have you forgotten," he continued, in the same tone, rising and advancing a step nearer to her, while she leaned against the harp, nor thought to retreat from him, "oh, have you quite forgotten all this?

Can you recall it and bid me leave thee? Will you spurn him you have loved and still love--"