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 may infer his own danger.”—He waited as if to receive commands, or at least permission, to go on, but as the lady remained silent, he proceeded, but obviously with caution.—“Look around you,” he said, “noble lady, and observe the barriers with which this place is surrounded, the studious mystery with which the brightest jewel that England possesses is secluded from the admiring gaze. See with what rigour your walks are circumscribed, and your movements restrained at the beck of yonder churlish Foster. Consider all this, and judge for yourself what can be the cause.”

“My lord’s pleasure,” answered the Countess; “and I am bound to seek no other motive.”

“His pleasure it is indeed,” said Varney; “and his pleasure arises out of a love worthy of the object which inspires it. But he who possesses a treasure, and who values it, is oft anxious, in proportion to the value he puts upon it, to secure it from the depredations of others.”

“What needs all this talk, Master Varney?” said the lady, in reply; “you would have me believe that my noble lord is jealous—Suppose it true, I know a cure for jealousy.”

“Indeed, madam!” said Varney.

“It is,” replied the lady, “to speak the truth to my lord at all times; to hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as that polished mirror; so that when he looks into my heart, he shall only see his own features reflected there.”

“I am mute, madam,” answered Varney; “and as I have no reason to grieve for Tressilian, who