I?--la, it was not I, my lady, I am sure.
_Lady A_.--He will bring us his wife home here tomorrow, a young and
beautiful wife.
_Maid_. Wife?----
_Lady A_. Poor child,--we must give her a gentle welcome. Do you
remember those flowers we saw in the glen as we passed?--I will send for
them in the morning, and we will fill the vacant hearth with these
blossoming boughs.----
_Maid_. But, here--in these woods, a wife!--where on earth will he bring
her from, my lady?
_Lady A_. Ay, we shall see, to-morrow we shall see,--go dream the rest.
[_Exit the maid_.
_Lady A_. Who would have thought it?--so cold and proud he seemed, so
scornful of our sex.--And yet I knew something there lay beneath it
all.--Even in that wild, gay mood, when the light of mirth filled and
o'er-flowed those splendid eyes,--deeper still, I saw always the calm
sorrow-beam shining within.
That picture he showed me--how pretty it was!--The face haunts me with
its look of beseeching loveliness.--Was there anything so sorrowful
about it though?--Nay, the look was a smile, and yet a strange
mourn-fulness clings to my thought of it now.
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