no gentle nurse. Exposure in the
wars has caused him to appear somewhat older than he is. You know,
dearest lady, that war--"

"But he is gray--"

"Exposure in the wars--"

"And wrinkled--"

"Exposure in the wars--"

"But there is that about him I never could love, were he as young
as--I never can love him--I hate him, and I will not wed him."

"But, my dear, dear, dearest young lady, what _will_ you do?" The
thought never entering her head that the Lady Isoleth could do any
thing but submit to the will of others; for woman in those times was
sought and given in marriage without often consulting her own
inclination.

What will I do, dear nurse? Why I will fall on my knees at the feet of
my beloved guardian and plead with him. He never refused me any thing;
and I know he will grant--"

"But your father's will, dearest lady--"

"Shall be put aside, where his daughter's happiness is at stake."

"Would it may be as you wish, sweetest lady. But I fear. Still he is a
right noble prince, and will make a right noble husband."

"_Not_ for me."

CHAPTER III.

THE SURPRISE.

In the saddest of sad moods the Lady Isoleth betook herself to her
favorite retreat among the rocks, and there within her own little
vine-covered bower, was--not a bird, nor a squirrel, nor her tame
deer--but a man! young and wondrously handsome; with a broad, pale,
noble brow, and a host of jet-black curls shading it. There was
something in his clear, dark eye, so still and serene as it gazed
beyond this world, and something in the expression of his fine, manly
face, so tender, so almost sad, that made her forget to be afraid of
him. She approached him gently, and asked him in a soft voice,

"What are thy meditations, beautiful stranger?"

"I was dreaming of thee!" uttered he, awaking from his reverie, and
fixing his dark, earnest eyes full upon the glowing form before him.
His glance, so full of passion, so full of tenderness, so fervent,
went to her heart and woke it up--that precious little heart that had
been sleeping for sixteen long years.

"Of me! How can that be?" asked Isoleth, with a deep blush. "Dost thou
know me? Dost thou--'

"One like thee, most beautiful being!"

"One like me--just like me? How strange! What is her name?"

"Whatever is thy name, loveliest, most lovely lady, is hers."

"My name is Isoleth," replied she, with a low voice, and a deep blush.

"Art thou the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath? _Art_ thou? Stupi