"For three months, I suppose," she replied; "but I am not able to
calculate the lapse of time. It has seemed very--very long. Oh that I
could behold the sun again, and breathe the fresh, pure air!
"Come with me, and you shall do so," rejoined Wyat.
"I have told you I cannot fly," she answered. "I cannot sacrifice my
grandsire."
"But if he is leagued with this demon he deserves the worst fate that
can befall him," said Wyat. "You should think only of your own safety.
What can be the motive of your detention?"
I tremble to think of it," she replied; " but I fear that Herne has
conceived a passion for me."
"Then indeed you must fly," cried Wyat; "such unhallowed love will tend
to perdition of soul and body."
"Oh that there was any hope for me!" she ejaculated.
"There is hope," replied Wyat. "I will protect you--will care for you--will
love you."
"Love me! "exclaimed Mabel, a deep blush overspreading her pale
features. "You love another."
"Absence has enabled me to overcome the vehemence of my passion,"
replied Wyat, "and I feel that my heart is susceptible of new emotions.
But you, maiden," he added coldly," you are captivated by the
admiration of the king.
Pages:
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454