A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his reverie. He looked
round, and in the beautiful and richly-attired female who entered at
that instant by a side-door he recognized the object of his search. The
first impulse arising from this discovery urged him to conceal his face
with the collar of his cloak, until he should find a favourable moment
of making himself known. But his purpose was disconcerted by the young
lady (she was not above eighteen years old), who ran joyfully towards
him, and, pulling him by the cloak, said playfully, "Nay, my sweet
friend, after I have waited for you so long, you come not to my bower
to play the masquer. You are arraigned of treason to true love and fond
affection, and you must stand up at the bar and answer it with face
uncovered--how say you, guilty or not?"
"Alas, Amy!" said Tressilian, in a low and melancholy tone, as he
suffered her to draw the mantle from his face. The sound of his voice,
and still more the unexpected sight of his face, changed in an instant
the lady's playful mood. She staggered back, turned as pale as death,
and put her hands before her face. Tressilian was himself for a moment
much overcome, but seeming suddenly to remember the necessity of using
an opportunity which might not again occur, he said in a low tone, "Amy,
fear me not."
"Why should I fear you?" said the lady, withdrawing her hands from her
beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson,--"Why should I fear
you, Master Tressilian?--or wherefore have you intruded yourself into my
dwelling, uninvited, sir, and unwished for?"
"Your dwelling, Amy!" said Tressilian. "Alas! is a prison your
dwelling?--a prison guarded by one of the most sordid of men, but not a
greater wretch than his employer!"
"This house is mine," said Amy--"mine while I choose to inhabit it. If
it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay me?"
"Your father, maiden," answered Tressilian, "your broken-hearted father,
who dispatched me in quest of you with that authority which he cannot
exert in person. Here is his letter, written while he blessed his pain
of body which somewhat stunned the agony of his mind."
"The pain! Is my father then ill?" said the lady.
"So ill," answered Tressilian, "that even your utmost haste may not
restore him to health; but all shall be instantly prepared for your
departure, the instant you yourself will give consent."