"Say what? Surely all the world can say is, that you did what thousands
of devoted girls have done before you--married to fulfil a contract,"
observed Lady Frances, who well knew that some deadly poison rankled in
her heart, and almost overturned her reason.
"True, true," repeated Constance--"I had forgotten; for I am, as you may
see, bewildered by my misery. But one thing, dear Frances, you can
surely do:--take this poor trinket--it perplexed you once--and if ever
you should meet the Cavalier who parted lately in such company, give it
him back. That simple girl, poor Barbara, found it to-day within the
Fairy Ring, and brought it me:--it is the only memento I had of him,"
she continued, placing it in Lady Frances' hand--"the only one--there,
put it away. And now, dear Frances, since you will companion me through
this last night of liberty, go, fetch your lute, and sing me all the
songs we learned together; or talk in your own sweet way of those we
knew, esteemed, or jested at."
"When I do sing, or when I talk, you do not listen," replied the
youngest of Cromwell's daughters, taking down her lute and striking a
few wild chords: "your ears are open but their sense is shut."
"Forgive me; but, even if it is so, your music and your voice is a most
soothing accompaniment to much bitterness; it is a pretty fable, that of
the nightingale resting her bosom on a thorn, while warbling her finest
notes."
"It proves to me that the nightingale who does so is a most foolish
bird," retorted Frances, rallying, "inasmuch as she might select roses,
instead of thorns, and they are both soft and fragrant."
"And fading," added Constance: "you perceive I heard you."
"Your heart, my dear friend," replied Lady Frances, "only echoes one
tone, and that is a melodious melancholy. Shall I sing you 'Withers'
Shepherd's Resolution,'--my father's rhyming 'Major-general,' who lorded
it so sturdily over the county of Surrey? For my own part, I like the
spirit of the man, particularly as it comes forth in the third verse."
And with subdued sportiveness she sung:-"Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?
"Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of best;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?