Eustace felt in his inmost heart that now he loved Eleanor more tenderly than in the days of his ignorance. She was become the loadstar of his aching heart. On the other hand, such an attachment looked hopeless--nay, more, that it was very madness to be cherished by a stripling who knew no kindred, and had no fortune. He had resolved to quit Hawksglen; but still he lingered. It was his anxious desire that, before taking the final step, he should have an interview with his lady-love, to explain his motives and to bid her adieu. For a while the opportunity was denied him--trivial obstacles interposing (perhaps designed by the cunning of Lady Elliot) to baulk his wish, and causing him to tarry still for the fortunate moment.
On a bright May day, Eustace was returning alone from the hills and woods in the vicinity of Hawksglen, among which he had listlessly spent hours since the early morning. He had gone forth from the castle on foot--not to seek the chase, for he took neither his favourite hound, nor his steed Roland (named after the famous Paladin of Romance); and though he carried a hunting-spear, it was for defence in case of danger. His only object was to roam and meditate on his dark prospects amid the solitudes of nature, unseen by an evil eye. On his homeward way through the woodlands he reached a lake, near which, and surrounded by a clump of sepulchral yews, appeared the ruined chapel or hermitage, beneath which was the burial-vault of the Hawksglen family, where lay the ashes of his generous benefactress. The castle was within a short distance; but its turrets were not visible from the banks of the lake, being hidden by a wooded height.
The sunlight beamed on the sheet of water, the placidity of which was unbroken by the slightest ripple, save when a trout leaped at a fly and sank with a slight plash, or a waterfowl skimmed lightly across the lustrous surface. Yonder, half-hidden among tall, aquatic plants, a gaunt heron stalked stealthily in the bordering shallows, intent upon its prey. The sky was serenely blue, and the air profoundly still, as if Zephyrus slept in his cave of the west. This quiet, secluded scene of wood and water, which the fairy court may have frequented in the moonlight, awoke in the youth's mind reminiscences of happy days past and gone. Wearied with his wanderings, he sat down upon the trunk of an aged tree which a recent storm had overthrown, and gave free scope to musings which recalled the "light of other days"--the "sunshine of the heart." In the dreamy hush of the woodlands, whose fresh, green foliage marked the advent of summer, the inconstant carol of a bird fell sweetly on the ear.