It did not escape the Lady Frances, that however thankful and comforted

was Constantia by her release from the terrible doom of a union with Sir

Willmott Burrell, she was deeply humbled and smitten by the publicity

that had been given to her father's meditated crime, and she skilfully

avoided any allusion to the scene of the night. The feelings of the

maiden were, however, elicited sufficiently to satisfy even the

curiosity of Frances Cromwell, by one of those simple incidents that

speak more eloquently than words. As Barbara sat on the cushion, she

could see into the garden beneath: the window overhung the very spot

where Walter had gathered the wild rose as he went forth a prisoner,

with Major Wellmore, from the house in which he was already considered a

master; and the simple girl discerned, amid the foliage of the trees,

even Walter himself, whose gaze was fixed upon the casement above.

"Look, Mistress, look!" she exclaimed.

Lady Frances and Constantia did look both at the same moment, and saw

the same sight. They also both at once withdrew their glance, and, as

the eyes of the ladies encountered, a blush, not of shame, or pride, or

anger, overspread the fine features of Constantia--it was the pure

bright colouring of assured affection; it said more than if volumes had

been written to express her feelings. If she seemed less dignified, she

looked more lovely than ever: it was as sunshine lending new warmth and

fresh beauty to a landscape, which needed that alone to vivify and

enlighten, to cheer and charm, to gladden and give life.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Frances, clasping her hands--"thank God!--after

all, Constantia, you are but a woman!"

"My dear friend," replied the lady, literally turning on her couch to

hide her blushes, "this is no time to trifle: the melancholy----"

She paused for want of words: that proneness to dissemble, which

inevitably attends all women who ever were or ever will be in love, was

struggling with her high and truthful nature. But Constantia was still

Constantia, and could not depart from truth, so as successfully to feign

what she did not feel: her sentence consequently remained unfinished,

and Lady Frances was left at full liberty to draw her own conclusions

therefrom,--a matter of no great difficulty.

"I have received a letter from my sister Mary," she said, kindly

changing the subject, "and it will please you to know that my lordly

father is inclined to listen to reason, and manifests a disposition to

admit the reasonableness of his daughter Frances becoming Rich. Beshrew

me! but most fathers like that distinction for their children; only,

alas! in this instance, Rich and riches are not synonymous. What think

you of that? His Highness has not said a word to me on the subject.

There is your prim Barbara smiling. Ah! you too, I suppose, will soon be

saluted as Mistress or Dame Hays. Fie, fie, Barbara! I thought you had

better taste. But never mind, I will not say a word to his

disparagement--no, nor suffer one of the court curs to growl at Crisp

when he visits the buttery at Whitehall or Hampton. What have you done

with the Lady Zillah?"




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