arry not,
but see that you proceed discreetly, and, above all, secretly. It is a
long journey at this hour; the roan pony is in the park, and easily
guided--he will bear you along quickly;--and for security--for you are
timid, Barbara--take the wolf-hound."

Barbara had long known that a servant's chief duty is obedience, yet she
would just then have done errand to any one rather than to Robin Hays;
she however replied,--

"Please ye, mistress, the roan pony is easy to guide, if you happen to
be going the way he likes, and that is, ever from the park to the
stable, from the stable to the park; otherwise, like the Israelites of
old, he is a stiff-necked beast, whom I would rather eschew than commune
with. And the wolf-hound, my lady, behaves so rudely to little Crisp,
holding him by the throat in an unseemly fashion, and occasionally
despoiling him of a fragment of his ears, toes, or tail, as it pleasures
him, that I had rather take black Blanche if you permit me--she can soon
find Crisp or Robin either."

"As you please, Barbara; only silence and hasten."

"My mistress," thus ran Barbara's thoughts as she wended on her way
through the night, "is a wonderful lady; so good, so wise, so rich, yet
so unhappy! I wouldn't be a lady for the world!--it is hard fate enough
to be a woman, a poor, weak woman, without strength of limb or wisdom of
head; and, withal, a fond heart, yet afraid and ashamed to show its
fondness. If I was my lady, and my lady I, instead of sending my lady to
tell Robin Hays to let the poor gentleman out, I'd just go and let him
out myself, or send my lady (supposing her the maid Barbara) to let him
out, without telling anybody about it. And I am sure she loves that poor
gentleman; and yet she, wise, good, rich, and wonderful, is just going,
in the very teeth of her affections, to marry that black Burrell! I am
very happy that I'm not a lady, for I'd die, that I would ten times
over, sooner than marry any one I didn't love. It will kill her, I
know--I feel it will: yet why does she marry him? And she keeps such
deep silence too.--Down, pretty Blanche, and do not rouse your sleek
ears: your ears, Blanchy, are lady's ears, and so ought to hear nothing
frightening--and your eyes, Blanche, are lady's eyes, and should never
see any thing disagreeable.--What ails thee, doggy? Nay, wag ye'r tail,
and do not crouch so; 'tis but the shadow of a cow, I think.--How my
heart beats!"

The beating of the maiden's