"I have made her Countess," he said to Varney; "surely she might wait

till it consisted with my pleasure that she should put on the coronet?"

The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly an opposite light.

"What signifies," she said, "that I have rank and honour in reality, if

I am to live an obscure prisoner, without either society or observance,

and suffering in my character, as one of dubious or disgraced

reputation? I care not for all those strings of pearl, which you fret me

by warping into my tresses, Janet. I tell you that at Lidcote Hall, if

I put but a fresh rosebud among my hair, my good father would call me

to him, that he might see it more closely; and the kind old curate would

smile, and Master Mumblazen would say something about roses gules. And

now I sit here, decked out like an image with gold and gems, and no one

to see my finery but you, Janet. There was the poor Tressilian, too--but

it avails not speaking of him."

"It doth not indeed, madam," said her prudent attendant; "and verily

you make me sometimes wish you would not speak of him so often, or so

rashly."

"It signifies nothing to warn me, Janet," said the impatient and

incorrigible Countess; "I was born free, though I am now mewed up like

some fine foreign slave, rather than the wife of an English noble.

I bore it all with pleasure while I was sure he loved me; but now my

tongue and heart shall be free, let them fetter these limbs as they

will. I tell thee, Janet, I love my husband--I will love him till

my latest breath--I cannot cease to love him, even if I would, or if

he--which, God knows, may chance--should cease to love me. But I

will say, and loudly, I would have been happier than I now am to

have remained in Lidcote Hall, even although I must have married poor

Tressilian, with his melancholy look and his head full of learning,

which I cared not for. He said, if I would read his favourite volumes,

there would come a time that I should be glad of having done so. I think

it is come now."

"I bought you some books, madam," said Janet, "from a lame fellow who

sold them in the Market-place--and who stared something boldly, at me, I

promise you."

"Let me see them, Janet," said the Countess; "but let them not be of

your own precise cast,--How is this, most righteous damsel?--'A PAIR OF

SNUFFERS FOR THE GOLDEN CANDLESTICK'--'HANDFULL OF MYRRH AND HYSSOP TO

PUT A SICK SOUL TO PURGATION'--'A DRAUGHT OF WATER FROM THE VALLEY OF

BACA'--'FOXES AND FIREBRANDS'--what gear call you this, maiden?"




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