He was so much engrossed by these unpleasant thoughts, that it was in vain officious Tom several times rode up close upon him, making his own horse curvet and caper, hoping to attract his master’s attention, and remind him that he was loitering on the road long after his dinner hour.  L’Isle went on at a foot-pace up the hill of Elvas, until, from a neighboring hedge, a nightingale, for whose ditty the hours of darkness were too short, began his plaintive song.  Many a time had L’Isle paused to listen to such minstrelsey; but now his ear, or something else, was out of tune: 

  “Except I be with Silvia in the night,
   There is no music in the nightingale.”

Rousing himself, he cantered through the gate, and hastened to his quarters.

Now, it was some time since L’Isle’s servants had picked up the notion, that in no way could they please him half so well as by obeying the slightest hint from Lady Mabel.  So his man came promptly out, armed with her note, and thrust it into his hand before he had left the saddle.  Entering his quarters hastily, he broke it open, and read it with infinite satisfaction.

(Lady Mabel Stewart sends her compliments to Col.  L’Isle.  She has a presentment that her pleasant sojourn in Elvas draws to its end.  Like Mrs. Shortridge, she is ambitious to leave among her Portuguese friends, the most favorable recollection of herself.  So to-night she will spare no pains, but will dress, look, sing and act her best, and be as agreeable as she can to the natives at Mrs. Shortridge’s house.  She relies, confidently, on Col.  L’Isle’s attending her as interpreter, and saying a thousand witty and pleasant things in her name.  This, too, may be her last opportunity of thanking him for the many, many delightful excursions enjoyed under his guidance and protection.  She may never repeat, but can never forget them!)

This note relieved L’Isle of a load of anxiety.  It was plain that Lord Strathern had gotten over his anger, and meant to have no quarrel with him; or, more gratifying still, would not have the whole house of Strathern involved in it, and so had given no hint of it to his daughter.  It was too the first note he had ever received from Lady Mabel, and sportive as its tone was in the beginning, there was something of feeling and even sadness in its close.  L’Isle well knew, while Lady Mabel had only chosen to assume it, that the time for leaving Elvas was indeed at hand.  Yet a few days, and a few things were more uncertain than his again meeting Lady Mabel on this side of the grave.

A few golden hours had yet to fleet by.  Who would throw away a happiness because it is fleeting?  L’Isle had sunk into a delightful reverie, anticipating the pleasures of the evening, when his man of method laid before him the despatch from his other correspondent, Sir Rowland Hill.