the lady pilgrim. 
79 
The earl had long sat in that same position. Two 
or three times Dudley had passed in and out, pausing 
each time by the door, anxiously regarding his 
master, and wondering what had called him up 
theft morning, long before another inmate of the 
castle was stirring. 
“ What can be the matter ? ” he muttered, as he 
turned away the last time, with an air of unsatis¬ 
fied curiosity. “ He is not wont to be in such an 
unsocial mood. It is early, too,” he continued, as 
he glanced up to an old clock which ticked in a 
curiously-carved case, in one corner of the hall. 
« Something more than usual is in the wind, for 
sure.” 
« It cannot be! ” exclaimed the earl, lifting his 
face, with a troubled expression, from his hands; “ I 
had strong hopes of it, but it cannot be! The 
Lady Arabella is determined to dash from her lips 
every cup of happiness and honor I, in my doting 
fondness, would mingle for her ; she will never be 
a peeress in the proud realm of England; she pre¬ 
fers an untitled plebeian to one of her own rank; 
she laughs at all titles of distinction, and speaks 
even jestingly of stars, garters, and diamonds. 
From whom does the girl take her disposition ? 
Not from me. Heaven knows, not from me. My 
earliest dreams were of power; my infantile grasp- 
ings were after the trappings of royalty; but the 
countess, her mother, was a true prototype of the 
child—modest as the violet which hides in the 
