"It is well thought on," she said, recovering her self-command much more
quickly than he could have imagined possible. "I will give it you; it
would be sinful to keep it after that dread to-morrow; even now, what do
I with your gift?" She drew forth from her bosom the locket of which we
have before spoken, and, looking on it fondly for a moment, thought,
though not aloud, "Poor little fragment of the glittering sin that
tempts mankind to their destruction! I heeded not your chasing nor your
gems; but once (forgive it, God, forgive it!) thought far too much of
him who gave it: I should have known better. I will not look on you
again, lest you take root within the heart on which you have rested:
though it was then in innocence, yet now it is a crime; there--" she
held it towards him with a trembling hand. While her arm was thus
extended, Burrell rushed from behind the covert of a wide-spreading
laurel, and, with an action at once unmanly and insulting, snatched the
trinket from her hand and flung it on the sward.
Magic itself could not have occasioned a greater change in the look, the
manner, the entire appearance of the heiress of Cecil. She drew herself
up to her full height, and instantly demanded, "How Sir Willmott Burrell
dared to act thus in her presence?"
The Cavalier drew his sword from its sheath; Burrell was not backward in
following the example. He returned Constantia's look of contempt with
one of sarcasm--the peculiar glance that becomes so effective from under
a half-closed lid--and then his eye glared like that of the hooded
snake, while he replied,-"Methought the lady in her chamber: the destined bride, during the day,
keeps to her own apartment; 'tis the soft night that draws her forth to
interchange love-pledges and soft sayings."
"Villain!" exclaimed De Guerre with startling energy, "hold thy
blaspheming tongue, nor dare to imagine, much less express, aught of
this lady that is not pure as heaven's own firmament!"
"Oh, my good sir," said the other, "I know you now! the braggart
at my Lady Cecil's funeral--the pall-bearer--the church-yard
lounger--the----!"
"Hold, coward!" interrupted the Cavalier, grinding the words between his
teeth. "Lady, I entreat you to retire; this is no scene for you:--nay,
but you must!"
"Touch her not," exclaimed Burrell, the brutality of his vile nature
fully awakened at perceiving Walter attempt to take her hand; "touch her
not, though you are doubtless the youth to whom her heart is given."