"Thank God!" exclaimed Frances, "she must be recovered, for her position

is changed." And so it was--the veil of black had entirely fallen off,

and her unconfined hair reposed in rich shadowy masses on her bosom and

shoulders: one arm rested on her knee, while the extended hand supported

her head; the other was open on her lap, and upon its small and

transparent palm lay a large locket of peculiar workmanship, set round

with brilliants. On this her eyes were fixed; and when her bower-maid,

Barbara, endeavoured to rouse her mistress's attention, the first

symptom of returning consciousness she gave, was to hide the jewel

within her bosom. She appeared like one waking from a long dream.

Frances spoke to her in a tone of gentle cheerfulness,-"Come, dearest, it is cold; we will in: you must be better presently.

One moment; let me bind up this hair; it keeps back the cloak from

covering your throat, and you shiver like an aspen." Frances was

gathering the large tresses eagerly in her hand, when she stopped, and

letting them suddenly fall, exclaimed,-"What's here to do! One of the finest of your lady's braids severed more

than mid-way, and by no scissors, truly; absolutely butchered! Do but

look, Barbara; I am sure 'twas not so this morning!"

The young tire-woman lifted up her hands in horror and amazement; for

she very properly regarded her mistress's beautiful hair as under her

own especial control, and was about to make some inquiry touching the

mysterious incident, when Constance drew the cardinal completely over

her head, and, leaning her arm on Barbara's shoulder, proceeded towards

the house.

Notwithstanding the great anxiety of Lady Frances on the score of her

friend's indisposition, and it is but justice to admit she loved her

with all the constancy of which her volatile nature was capable, her

affection was nearly overpowered by her curiosity--curiosity to discover

how Constance obtained the locket, and how she lost her most admired

tress. Yet, to neither of these perplexities had she the slightest clue.

Intimate as they had been from childhood; superior as was her rank to

that of Sir Robert Cecil's daughter; yet was there no one of her

acquaintance with whom she would not sooner have taken a liberty than

with Constance Cecil. In the course of the day she tried every little

art that female ingenuity could devise, short of saying, "How came you

by that locket?" to induce her to talk on the subject--and in vain.

Constance made no assertion--offered no explanation; but, when Frances

appeared to come too near the subject, she silenced all farther approach

to confidential communication, simply by raising her clear, calm, and

holy eye, letting it fall upon the animated, restless face of her

companion, and then shading its glory by the long silken lashes that

almost rested on the exquisitely moulded cheek. It was this peculiar

look that made her lively friend usually designate her "the awful

beauty."




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