"Mistress Cecil seems to approve our choice no better than her

father's," he said, after a pause of intense anxiety to all present: "We

would have taught this youth what is due to ourself and our

Commonwealth, by the gentlest means within our power. Methinks, women

are all alike."

"Father! she is dying!" exclaimed the easily-alarmed Lady Frances.

"One moment, and I shall be well," said Constantia: and then she added, "Sir Willmott Burrell, you pant for vengeance, and now you may have it.

Believing that lady, in the sight of God, to be your wife, I cannot

wrong her; though I would have sacrificed myself to--to--." She was

prevented from finishing her sentence by the Protector's exclaiming with

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the energy and warmth of his natural character, "We knew it; and now let me present your bridegroom. Frances, it was

excess of joy that caused this agitation."

Constantia interrupted him.

"Not so, your Highness. Alas! God knows, not so. But while I say that

the evil contract shall never be fulfilled--though I will never become

the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell, I also say that the wife of Walter de

Guerre I can never be. Nay more, and I speak patiently, calmly--rather

would I lay my breaking heart, ere it is all broken, beneath the waves

that lash our shore, than let one solitary word escape me, which might

lead you to imagine that even the commands of your Highness could mould

my dreadful destiny to any other shape."

There was no mistaking the expression of the Protector's countenance; it

was that of severe displeasure; for he could ill brook, at any period,

to have his wishes opposed and his designs thwarted. While Constance was

rising from her seat, Sir Willmott Burrell grasped her arm with fiendish

violence, and extending his other hand towards the door leading to the

closet, where she had left her sleeping father, he exclaimed: "Then I accuse openly, in the face of the Protector and this company,

Robert Cecil, who stands there, of the murder of his brother Herbert,

and of the murder of Sir Herbert Cecil's son; and I assert that Hugh

Dalton was accessory to the same!"

A shriek so wild and piercing issued from Constantia's lips that it rang

over the house and terrified all its inmates, who crowded to the portal,

the boundary of which they dared not pass.

It was little to be wondered that she did shriek. Turning toward the

spot at which the villain pointed, the Protector saw the half-demented

Baronet standing in the door-way. He had opened the closet, and come

forth during the momentary absence of his attendant, and now stood

moping and bowing to the assembly in a way that would have moved the

pity of a heart of stone.




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