ighed as his eye followed her from the room, and thus said he
to himself, "Were I the obscure gentleman I once was, how sweet a lot
would that girl's love choose to me from the urn of fate! But, oh! when
we taste of power and greatness, and master the world's dark wisdom,
what doth love shrink to?--an hour's bliss and a life's folly." His
delicate lip curled, and breaking from his soliloquy, he entered the
king's closet. Edward was resting his face upon the palms of his hands,
and his bright eyes dwelt upon vacant space, till they kindled into
animation as they lighted on his favourite.

"Dear Will," said the king, "knowest thou that men say thou art
bewitched?"

"Beau sire, often have men, when a sweet face hath captured thy great
heart, said the same of thee!"

"It may be so with truth, for verily love is the arch-devil's birth."

The king rose, and strode his chamber with a quick step; at last
pausing,--

"Hastings," he said, "so thou lovest the multiplier's pretty daughter?
She has just left me. Art thou jealous?"

"Happily your Highness sees no beauty in looks that have the gloss of
the raven, and eyes that have the hue of the violet."

"No, I am a constant man, constant to one idea of beauty in a thousand
forms,--eyes like the summer's light-blue sky, and locks like its
golden sunbeams! But to set thy mind at rest, Will, know that I have
but compassionated the sickly state of the scholar, whom thou prizest so
highly; and I have placed thy fair Sibyll's chamber near her father's.
Young Lovell says thou art bent on wedding the wizard's daughter."

"And if I were, beau sire?"

Edward looked grave.

"If thou wert, my poor Will, thou wouldst lose all the fame for shrewd
wisdom which justifies thy sudden fortunes. No, no; thou art the flower
and prince of my new seignorie,--thou must mate thyself with a name and
a barony that shall be worthy thy fame and thy prospects. Love beauty,
but marry power, Will. In vain would thy king draw thee up, if a
despised wife draw thee down!"

Hastings listened with profound attention to these words. The king did
not wait for his answer, but added laughingly,--

"It is thine own fault, crafty gallant, if thou dost not end all her
spells."

"What ends the spells of youth and beauty, beau sire?"

"Possession!" replied the king, in a hollow and muttered voice.

Hastings was about to answer, when the door opened, and the officer in
waiting announced the Duke of Clarence.