ction
from Kingston Lisle. The shawl thrown over her head prevented her cries
from being heard; and, notwithstanding her struggles, she was placed on
horseback before a powerful man, who galloped off with her along the
Wantage-road. After proceeding at a rapid pace for about two miles, her
conductor came to a halt, and she could distinguish the sound of other
horsemen approaching. At first she hoped it might prove a rescue; but
she was quickly undeceived. The shawl was removed, and she beheld the
Earl of Rochester, accompanied by Pillichody, and some half-dozen
mounted attendants. The earl would have transferred her to his own
steed, but she offered such determined resistance to the arrangement,
that he was compelled to content himself with riding by her aide. All
his efforts to engage her in conversation were equally unsuccessful. She
made no reply to his remarks, but averted her gaze from him; and,
whenever he approached, shrank from him with abhorrence. The earl,
however, was not easily repulsed, but continued his attentions and
discourse, as if both had been favourably received.

In this way they proceeded for some miles, one of the earl's attendants,
who was well acquainted with the country, being in fact a native of it,
serving as their guide. They had quitted the Wantage-road, and leaving
that ancient town, renowned as the birthplace of the great Alfred, on
the right, had taken the direction of Abingdon and Oxford. It was a
lovely evening, and their course led them through many charming places.
But the dreariest waste would have been as agreeable as the richest
prospect to Amabel. She noted neither the broad meadows, yet white from
the scythe, nor the cornfields waving with their deep and abundant,
though yet immature crops; nor did she cast even a passing glance at any
one of those green spots which every lane offers, and upon which the eye
of the traveller ordinarily delights to linger. She rode beneath a
natural avenue of trees, whose branches met overhead like the arches of
a cathedral, and was scarcely conscious of their pleasant shade. She
heard neither the song of the wooing thrush, nor the cry of the startled
blackbird, nor the evening hymn of the soaring lark. Alike to her was
the gorse-covered common, along which they swiftly speeded, and the
steep hill-side up which they more swiftly mounted. She breathed not the
delicious fragrance of the new-mown hay, nor listened to the distant
lowing herds, the ble