Kitabı oku: «Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire», sayfa 24
VIII.
ASHDOWN LODGE
Erected by Inigo Jones, and still continuing in precisely the same state as at the period of this history, Ashdown Lodge is a large square edifice, built in the formal French taste of the seventeenth century, with immense casements, giving it the appearance of being all glass, a high roof lighted by dormer windows, terminated at each angle by a tall and not very ornamental chimney, and surmounted by a lofty and lantern-like belvedere, crowned in its turn by a glass cupola. The belvedere opens upon a square gallery defended by a broad balustrade, and overlooking the umbrageous masses and lovely hills around it. The house, as has been stated, is approached by four noble avenues, the timber constituting which, is, of course, much finer now than at the period under consideration, and possesses a delightful old-fashioned garden, and stately terrace. The rooms are lofty but small, and there is a magnificent staircase, occupying nearly half the interior of the building. Among other portraits decorating the walls, is one of Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James the First, and Queen of Bohemia, for whom the first Earl of Craven entertained so romantic an attachment, and to whom he was supposed to be privately united. Nothing can be more secluded than the situation of the mansion, lying as it does in the midst of a gentle valley, surrounded by a thick wood, and without having a single habitation in view. Its chief interest, however, must always be derived from its connection with the memory of the chivalrous and high-souled nobleman by whom it was erected, and who made it occasionally his retreat after the death of his presumed royal consort, which occurred about four years previous to the date of this history.
Amabel was delighted with her new abode, and she experienced the kindness of a parent from her aunt, with whom, owing to circumstances, she had not hitherto been personally acquainted, having only seen her when too young to retain any recollection of the event. The widow of a farmer, who had resided on Lord Craven's estate near Kingston Lisle, Mrs. Buscot, after her husband's death, had been engaged as housekeeper at Ashdown Lodge, and had filled the situation for many years to the entire satisfaction of her employer. She was two or three years older than her brother, Mr. Bloundel; but the perfect health she enjoyed, and which she attributed to the salubrious air of the downs, combined with her natural cheerfulness of disposition, made her look much the younger of the two. Her features, besides their kindly and benevolent expression, were extremely pleasing, and must, some years ago, have been beautiful. Even now, what with her fresh complexion, her white teeth, and plump figure, she made no slight pretensions to comeliness. She possessed the same good sense and integrity of character as her brother, together with his strong religious feeling, but entirely unaccompanied by austerity.
Having no children, she was able to bestow her entire affections upon Amabel, whose sad story, when she became acquainted with it, painfully affected her; nor was she less concerned at her precarious state of health. For the first day or two after their arrival, Amabel suffered greatly from the effects of the journey; but after that time, she gained strength so rapidly, that Mrs. Buscot, who at first had well-nigh despaired of her recovery, began to indulge a hope. The gentle sufferer would sit throughout the day with her aunt and Nizza Macascree in the gallery near the belvedere, inhaling the pure breeze blowing from the surrounding hills, and stirring the tree-tops beneath her.
"I never expected so much happiness," she observed, on one occasion, to Mrs. Buscot, "and begin to experience the truth of Doctor Hodges' assertion, that with returning health, the desire of life would return. I now wish to live."
"I am heartily glad to hear you say so," replied Mrs. Buscot, "and hold it a certain sign of your speedy restoration to health. Before you have been a month with me, I expect to bring back the roses to those pale cheeks."
"You are too sanguine, I fear, dear aunt," rejoined Amabel, "but the change that has taken place in my feelings, may operate beneficially upon my constitution."
"No doubt of it, my dear," replied Mrs. Buscot; "no doubt."
The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to introduce a subject very near her heart, but, feeling doubtful as to its reception, she checked herself. The devoted attachment of the apprentice to her niece had entirely won her regard, and she fondly hoped she would be able to wean Amabel from all thought of the Earl of Rochester, and induce her to give her hand to her faithful lover. With this view, she often spoke to her of Leonard—of his devotion and constancy, his good looks and excellent qualities; and though Amabel assented to all she said, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to perceive that the impression she desired was not produced. It was not so with Nizza Macascree. Whenever Leonard's name was mentioned, her eyes sparkled, her cheek glowed, and she responded so warmly to all that was said in his praise, that Mrs. Buscot soon found out the state of her heart. The discovery occasioned her some little disquietude, for the worthy creature could not bear the idea of making even her niece happy at the expense of another.
As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier than he had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, and noted with unspeakable delight the gradual improvement which appeared to be taking place in her health. The greater part of his time, however, was not passed in her society, but in threading the intricacies of the wood, or in rambling over the neighbouring downs; and he not only derived pleasure from these rambles, but his health and spirits, which had been not a little shaken by the awful scenes he had recently witnessed, were materially improved. Here, at last, he seemed to have got rid of the grim spectre which, for two months, had constantly haunted him. No greater contrast can be conceived than his present quiet life offered to the fearful excitement he had recently undergone. For hot and narrow thoroughfares reeking with pestilential effluvia, resounding with frightful shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on every side marks of the destructive progress of the scourge—for these terrible sights and sounds—for the charnel horrors of the plague-pit—the scarcely less revolting scenes at the pest-house—the dismal bell announcing the dead-cart—the doleful cries of the buriers—for graves surfeited with corruption, and streets filled with the dying and the dead—and, above all, for the ever-haunting expectation that a like fate might be his own,—he had exchanged green hills, fresh breezes, spreading views, the song of the lark, and a thousand other delights, and assurances of health and contentment. Often, as he gazed from the ridge of the downs into the wide-spread vale beneath, he wondered whether the destroying angel had smitten any of its peaceful habitations, and breathed a prayer for their preservation!
But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected city was trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety was lest he should be sent back to London. Seldom straying further than the gates of the mansion, though often invited by John Lutcombe to accompany him to some of the neighbouring villages; having little to do, and less to think of, unless to calculate how much he could consume at the next meal,—for he had banished all idea of the plague,—he conceived himself at the summit of happiness, and waxed so sleek and round, that his face shone like a full moon, while his doublet would scarcely meet around his waist.
One day, about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things were in this happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the gallery at the summit of the house, observed a troop of horsemen, very gallantly equipped, appear at the further end of the northern avenue. An inexpressible terror seized her, and she would have fled into the house, but her limbs refused their office.
"Look there!" she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, presented herself at the glass door. "Look there!" she said, pointing to the cavalcade; "what I dreaded has come to pass. The Earl of Rochester has found me out, and is coming hither to carry me off. But I will die rather than accompany him."
"You may be mistaken," replied Nizza, expressing a hopefulness, which her looks belied; "it may be the Earl of Craven."
"You give me new life," rejoined Amabel; "but no—no—my aunt has told me that the good earl will not quit the city during the continuance of the plague. And see! some of the horsemen have distinguished us, and are waving their hats. My heart tells me the Earl of Rochester is amongst them. Give me your arm, Nizza, and I will try to gain some place of concealment."
"Ay, let us fly," replied the other, assisting her towards the door; "I am in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parravicin is doubtless with them. Oh! where—where is Leonard?"
"He must be below," cried Amabel "But he could not aid us at this juncture; we must depend upon ourselves."
Descending a short staircase, they entered Amabel's chamber, and fastening the door, awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival of the horsemen. Though the room whither they had retreated was in the upper part of the house, they could distinctly hear what was going on below, and shortly afterwards the sound of footsteps on the stairs, blended with merry voices and loud laughter—amid which, Amabel could distinguish the tones of the Earl of Rochester—reached them.
While both were palpitating with fright, the handle of the door was tried, and a voice announced that the apprentice was without.
"All is lost!" he cried, speaking through the keyhole; "the king is here, and is accompanied by the Earl of Rochester and other profligates."
"The king!" exclaimed Amabel, joyfully; "then I am no longer apprehensive."
"As yet, no inquiries have been made after you," continued Leonard, unconscious of the effect produced by his intelligence, "but it is evident they know you are here. Be prepared, therefore."
"I am prepared," rejoined Amabel. And as she spoke, she threw open the door and admitted Leonard. "Do not stay with us," she added to him. "In case of need, I will throw myself on his majesty's protection."
"It will avail you little," rejoined Leonard, distrustfully.
"I do not think so," said Amabel, confidently. "I have faith in his acknowledged kindness of heart."
"Perhaps you are right," returned Leonard. "Mrs. Buscot is at present with his majesty in the receiving-room. Will you not make fast your door?"
"No," replied Amabel, firmly; "if the king will not defend me, I will defend myself."
Leonard glanced at her with admiration, but he said nothing.
"Is Sir Paul Parravicin here?" asked Nizza Macascree, with great anxiety.
"I have not seen him," replied Leonard; "and I have carefully examined the countenances of all the king's attendants."
"Heaven be praised!" exclaimed Nizza.
At this juncture, Mrs. Buscot entered the room. Her looks bespoke great agitation, and she trembled violently.
"You have no doubt heard from Leonard that the king and his courtiers are below," she said. "His majesty inquired whether you were here, and I did not dare to deceive him. He desires to see you, and has sent me for you. What is to be done?" she added, with a look of distraction. "I suppose you must obey."
"There is no alternative," replied Amabel; "I will obey his majesty's commands as soon as I can collect myself. Take back that answer, dear aunt."
"Has Leonard told you that the Earl of Rochester is here?" pursued Mrs. Buscot.
Amabel replied in the affirmative.
"God grant that good may come of it!" cried Mrs. Buscot, clasping her hands together, as she quitted the room; "but I am sorely afraid."
A half-suppressed groan from the apprentice told that he shared in her apprehensions.
"Leave us, Leonard," said Amabel; "I would prepare myself for the interview."
The apprentice obeyed, and closing the door after him, stationed himself at the foot of the staircase. Left alone with Nizza, Amabel threw herself on her knees, and besought the support of Heaven on this trying occasion. She then arose, and giving her hand to Nizza, they went down stairs together. Leonard followed them at a little distance, and with a beating heart. Two gentlemen-ushers were posted, at the door of the chamber occupied by the king. Not far from them stood Mrs. Buscot, who, having made known her niece to the officials, they instantly admitted her, but ordered Nizza to remain outside.
On entering the room, Amabel at once discovered the king. He was habited in a magnificent riding-dress and was seated on a rich fauteuil, around which were grouped a dozen gaily-attired courtiers. Amongst these were the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege. As Amabel advanced, glances of insolent curiosity were directed towards her, and Rochester, stepping forward, offered to lead her to the king. She, however, declined the attention. Greatly mortified, the earl would have seized her hand; but there was so much dignity in her deportment, so much coldness in her looks, that in spite of his effrontery, he felt abashed. Charles smiled at his favourite's rebuff, but, in common with the others, he could not help being struck by Amabel's extraordinary beauty and natural dignity, and he observed, in an under-tone, to Etherege, "Is it possible this can be a grocer's daughter?"
"She passes for such, my liege," replied Etherege, with a smile. "But I cannot swear to her parentage."
"Since I have seen her, I do not wonder at Rochester's extravagant passion," rejoined the monarch. "But, odds fish! she seems to care little for him."
Having approached within a short distance of the king, Amabel would have prostrated herself before him, but he prevented her.
"Nay, do not kneel, sweetheart," he said, "I am fully satisfied of your loyalty, and never exact homage from one of your sex, but, on the contrary, am ever ready to pay it. I have heard much of your attractions, and, what is seldom the case in such matters, find they have not been overrated. The brightest of our court beauties cannot compare with you."
"A moment ago, the fair Amabel might be said to lack bloom," observed Etherege; "but your majesty's praises have called a glowing colour to her cheek."
"Would you deign to grant me a moment's hearing, my liege?" said Amabel, looking steadfastly at the king.
"Not a moment's hearing merely, sweetheart," returned Charles; "but an hour's, if you list. I could dwell on the music of your tones for ever."
"I thank your majesty for your condescension," she replied; "but I will not long trespass on your patience. What I have to say concerns the Earl of Rochester."
"Stand forward, my lord," said Charles to the earl, "and let us hear what complaint is to be made against you."
Rochester advanced, and threw a passionate and half-reproachful glance at Amabel.
"It may be improper for me to trouble your majesty on so light a matter," said Amabel; "but your kindness emboldens me to speak unreservedly. You may be aware that this nobleman once entertained, or feigned to entertain, an ardent attachment to me."
"I need scarcely assure you, my liege," interposed Rochester, "that it was no feigned passion. And it is needless to add, that however ardently I felt towards my fair accuser then, my passion has in nowise abated."
"I should wonder if it had," rejoined Charles, gallantly. "I will not contradict you, my lord," said Amabel; "it is possible you may have loved me, though I find it difficult to reconcile your professions of regard with your conduct—but this is not to the purpose. Whether you loved me or not, I loved you—deeply and devotedly. There is no sacrifice I would not have made for him," she continued, turning to the king, "and influenced by these feelings, and deluded by false promises, I forgot my duty, and was rash enough to quit my home with him."
"All this I have heard, sweetheart," replied Charles. "There is nothing very remarkable in it. It is the ordinary course of such affairs. I am happy to be the means of restoring your lover to you, and, in fact, came hither for that very purpose."
"You mistake me, my liege," replied Amabel. "I do not desire to have him restored to me. Fortunately for myself, I have succeeded in mastering my love for him. The struggle has well-nigh cost me my life—but I have conquered."
"I have yet to learn, sweetheart," observed Charles, with an incredulous look, "that woman's love, if deeply fixed, can be subdued."
"If I had not been supported by religion, my liege, I could not have subdued it," rejoined Amabel "Night and day, I have passed in supplicating the Great Power that implanted this fatal passion in my breast, and, at length, my prayers have prevailed."
"Aha! we have a devotee here!" thought Charles. "Am I to understand, fair saint, that you would reject the earl, if he were to offer you his hand?" he asked.
"Unquestionably," replied Amabel, firmly.
"This is strange," muttered Charles. "The girl is evidently in earnest.
What says your lordship?" he added to Rochester.
"That she shall be mine, whether she loves me or not," replied the earl.
"My pride is piqued to the conquest."
"No wonder!—the resistless Rochester flouted by a grocer's daughter. Ha! ha!" observed Charles, laughing, while the rest of the courtiers joined in his merriment.
"Oh! sire," exclaimed Amabel, throwing herself at the king's feet, and bursting into tears, "do not abandon me, I beseech you. I cannot requite the earl's attachment—and shall die if he continues his pursuit. Command him—oh! command him to desist."
"I fear you have not dealt fairly with me, sweetheart," said the king. "There is a well-favoured youth without, whom the earl pointed out as your father's apprentice. Have you transferred your affections to him?"
"Your majesty has solved the enigma," observed Rochester, bitterly.
"You wrong me, my lord," replied Amabel. "Leonard Holt is without. Let him be brought into the royal presence and interrogated; and if he will affirm that I have given him the slightest encouragement by look or word, or even state that he himself indulges a hope of holding a place in my regards, I will admit there is some foundation for the charge. I pray your majesty to send for him."
"It is needless," replied Charles, coldly. "I do not doubt your assertion. But you will do the earl an injustice as well as yourself, if you do not allow him a fair hearing."
"If you will allow me five minutes alone with you, Amabel, or will take a single turn with me on the terrace, I will engage to remove every doubt," insinuated Rochester.
"You would fail to do so, my lord," replied Amabel. "The time is gone by when those accents, once so winning in my ear, can move me."
"At least give me the opportunity," implored the earl.
"No," replied Amabel, decidedly, "I will never willingly meet you more; for though I am firm in my purpose, I do not think it right to expose myself to temptation. And now that I have put your majesty in full possession of my sentiments," she added to the king; "now that I have told you with what bitter tears I have striven to wash out my error,—I implore you to extend your protecting hand towards me, and to save me from further persecution on the part of the earl."
"I shall remain at this place to-night," returned Charles. "Take till to-morrow to consider of it, and if you continue in the same mind, your request shall be granted."
"At least, enjoin the earl to leave me unmolested till then," cried Amabel.
"Hum!" exclaimed the king, exchanging a look with Rochester.
"For pity, sire, do not hesitate," cried Amabel, in a tone of such agony that the good-natured monarch could not resist it.
"Well, well," he rejoined; "it shall be as you desire. Rochester, you have heard our promise, and will act in conformity with it."
The earl bowed carelessly.
"Nay, nay, my lord," pursued Charles, authoritatively, "my commands shall be obeyed, and if you purpose otherwise, I will place you under restraint."
"Your majesty's wishes are sufficient restraint," rejoined Rochester; "I am all obedience."
"It is well," replied Charles. "Are you satisfied, fair damsel?"
"Perfectly," replied Amabel. And making a profound and grateful reverence to the king, she retired.
Nizza Macascree met her at the door, and it was fortunate she did so, or Amabel, whose strength began to fail her, would otherwise have fallen.
While she was thus engaged, Charles caught sight of the piper's daughter, and being greatly struck by her beauty, inquired her name.
"Odds fish!" he exclaimed, when informed of it by Rochester, "a piper's daughter! She is far more beautiful than your mistress."
"If I procure her for your majesty, will you withdraw your interdiction from me?" rejoined the earl.
"No—no—that is impossible, after the pledge I have given," replied Charles. "But you must bring this lovely creature to me anon. I am enchanted with her, and do not regret this long ride, since it has brought her under my notice."
"Your majesty's wishes shall be obeyed," said Rochester. "I will not wait till to-morrow for an interview with Amabel," he added to himself.
Supported by Nizza Macascree and her aunt, and followed by Leonard, Amabel contrived to reach her own chamber, and as soon as she was sufficiently recovered from the agitation she had experienced, detailed to them all that had passed in her interview with the king. While the party were consulting together as to the course to be pursued in this emergency, the tap of a wand was heard at the door, and the summons being answered by Mrs. Buscot, she found one of the ushers without, who informed her it was the king's pleasure that no one should leave the house till the following day, without his permission.
"To insure obedience to his orders," continued the usher, "his majesty requires that the keys of the stables be delivered to the keeping of his chief page, Mr. Chiffinch, who has orders, together with myself, to keep watch during the night."
So saying, he bowed and retired, while Mrs. Buscot returned with this new and alarming piece of intelligence to the others.
"Why should the mandate be respected?" cried Leonard, indignantly. "We have committed no crime, and ought not to be detained prisoners. Trust to me, and I will find some means of eluding their vigilance. If you will remain here to-morrow," he added to Amabel, "you are lost."
"Do not expect any rational advice from me, my dear niece," observed Mrs. Buscot, "for I am fairly bewildered."
"Shall I not forfeit the king's protection by disobeying his injunctions?" replied Amabel. "I am safer here than if I were to seek a new asylum, which would be speedily discovered."
"Heaven grant you may not have cause to repent your decision!" cried Leonard, despondingly.
"I must now, perforce, quit you, my dear niece," said Mrs. Buscot, "though it breaks my heart to do so. His majesty's arrival has thrown everything into confusion, and if I do not look after the supper, which is commanded at an early hour, it will never be ready. As it is, there will be nothing fit to set before him. What with my distress about you, and my anxiety about the royal repast, I am well-nigh beside myself."
With this, she quitted the room, and Amabel signifying to Leonard that she desired to be left alone with Nizza Macascree, he departed at the same time.
As Mrs. Buscot had stated, the utmost confusion prevailed below. The royal purveyor and cook, who formed part of the king's suite, were busily employed in the kitchen, and though they had the whole household at their command, they made rather slow progress at first, owing to the want of materials. In a short time, however, this difficulty was remedied. Ducks were slaughtered by the dozen; fowls by the score, and a couple of fat geese shared the same fate. The store ponds were visited for fish by John Lutcombe; and as the country abounded with game, a large supply of pheasants, partridges, and rabbits was speedily procured by the keeper and his assistants. Amongst others, Blaize lent a helping-hand in this devastation of the poultry-yard, and he had just returned to the kitchen, and commenced plucking one of the geese, when he was aroused by a slap on the shoulder, and looking up, beheld Pillichody.
"What ho! my little Blaize, my physic-taking porter," cried the bully; "how wags the world with you? And how is my pretty Patience? How is that peerless kitchen-maiden? By the god of love! I am dying to behold her again."
"Patience is well enough, for aught I know," replied Blaize, in a surly tone. "But it is useless for you to think of her. She is betrothed to me."
"I know it," replied Pillichody; "but do not suppose you are the sole master of her affections. The little charmer has too good taste for that. 'Blaize,' said she to me, 'will do very well for a husband, but he cannot expect me to continue faithful to him.'"
"Cannot I?" exclaimed the porter reddening. "Fiends take her! but I do!
When did she say this?"
"When I last visited your master's house," replied Pillichody. "Sweet soul! I shall never forget her tender looks, nor the kisses she allowed me to snatch from her honeyed lips when your back was turned. The very recollection of them is enchanting."
"Zounds and fury!" cried Blaize, transported with rage. "If I am only a porter, while you pretend to be a major, I will let you see I am the better man of the two." And taking the goose by the neck, he swung it round his head like a flail, and began to batter Pillichody about the face with it.
"S'death!" cried the bully, endeavouring to draw his sword, "if you do not instantly desist, I will treat you like that accursed bird—cut your throat, pluck, stuff, roast, and eat you afterwards." He was, however, so confounded by the attack, that he could offer no resistance, and in retreating, caught his foot against the leg of a table, and fell backwards on the floor. Being now completely at the porter's mercy, and seeing that the latter was preparing to pursue his advantage with a rolling-pin which he had snatched from the dresser, he besought him piteously to spare him.
"Recant all you have said," cried Blaize, brandishing the rolling-pin over him. "Confess that you have calumniated Patience. Confess that she rejected your advances, if you ever dared to make any to her. Confess that she is a model of purity and constancy. Confess all this, villain, or I will break every bone in your body."
"I do confess it," replied Pillichody, abjectly. "She is all you describe. She never allowed me greater freedom than a squeeze of the hand."
"That was too much," replied the porter, belabouring him with the rolling-pin. "Swear that you will never attempt such a liberty again, or I will pummel you to death. Swear it."
"I swear," replied Pillichody.
"Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you to prevent mischief," cried Blaize. And kneeling down upon the prostrate bully, who groaned aloud, he drew his long blade from his side. "There, now you may get up," he added.
So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do nothing for some time but strut up and down the kitchen with the sword over his shoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other domestics, and especially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to make his appearance at the time, laden with a fresh supply of game.
"Why, Blaize, man," cried the keeper, approvingly, "I did not give you credit for half so much spirit."
"No man's courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried," rejoined Blaize. "I would combat with you, gigantic John, if Patience's fidelity were called in question."
Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into a corner, where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter askance, as if meditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly apprehensive of this, and thinking it becoming to act with generosity towards his foe, Blaize marched up to him, and extended his hand in token of reconciliation. To the surprise of all, Pillichody did not reject his overtures.
"I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize," he said, "otherwise I should never rest till I had been repaid with terrible interest for the indignities I have endured."
"Nay, heed them not," replied Blaize. "You must make allowances for the jealous feelings you excited. I love Patience better than my life."
"Since you put it in that light," rejoined Pillichody, "I am willing to overlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions! no man can be a greater martyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three of my most intimate friends for merely presuming to ogle the widow of Watling-street, who would have been mine, if she had not died of the plague."
"Don't talk of the plague, I beseech you," replied Blaize, with a shudder. "It is a subject never mentioned here."
"I am sorry I alluded to it, then," rejoined Pillichody. "Give me back my sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, and am willing to drown the remembrance of our quarrel in a bottle of sack."
Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key of the cellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pillichody, they seated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack and a couple of large glasses on a stool between them.
"I suppose you know why I am come hither?" observed the major, smacking his lips after his second bumper.
"Not precisely," replied Blaize. "But I presume your visit has some reference to Mistress Amabel."
"A shrewd guess," rejoined Pillichody. "And this reminds me that we have omitted to drink her health."
"Her better health," returned Blaize, emptying his glass. "Heaven be praised! she has plucked up a little since we came here."
"She would soon be herself again if she were united to the Earl of Rochester," said Pillichody.
"There you are wrong," replied Blaize. "She declares she has no longer any regard for him."
