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?"