By holy Mary! Butts, there's knavery.
SHAKSPEARE
Having consigned the Lady Frances Cromwell to her perfumed couch, and
the companionship of Waller's sweet and sonorous strains, we leave her
to determine whether the high and mighty Lady Dorothea Sidney, the
Poet's Saccharissa, or the gentle Lady Sophia Murray, the beauteous
Amoret of his idolatry, were most worthy the affection he so generously
bestowed on both. Waller, the most specious flatterer of flattering
courts--the early worshipper of Charles the First--the pusillanimous
betrayer of his friends--the adulator of Cromwell--the wit and the
jester of the second Charles--the devotional whiner of the bigot
James--had not, however, sufficient power to keep the lady from her
slumbers long. She was soon in the refreshing sleep, known only to the
light-hearted.
Constance Cecil was more wakeful. After Barbara's dismissal from the
presence of Lady Frances, she crept with slow and stealthy space to the
chamber of her dear mistress, and softly turning the bolt, displaced the
curtains of silver damask with so light a touch, that her entrance was
unnoticed. The girl perceived at once that her lady was not asleep. She
had evidently been reading, for the holy volume was still open, and one
hand rested amid its leaves: but even Barbara was astonished when she
saw that her attention was spell-bound to the mysterious locket she held
in the other hand. The excellent servant, with that true honesty of mind
which no education can teach, knowing that her lady had not heard her
enter, and feeling, rather than reasoning upon, the indelicacy of prying
into what she believed was secret, purposely let fall a chalice, which
effectually roused Constance, who, placing the trinket under the pillow,
called upon her attendant for her night drink, and then pointed out a
particular psalm she wished her to read aloud. It was a holy and a
beautiful sight in that quiet chamber: the young and high born maiden,
her head resting on pillows of the finest cambric; her arms crossed
meekly on her bosom, whose gentle breathings moved, without disturbing
the folds of her night-tire; her eyes elevated; her lips sufficiently
apart to show the small, pearly teeth, glittering in whiteness within
their coral nest;--then, as promises of hope and happiness beyond the
control of mortality, found voice from Barbara's mouth, a tear would
steal down her cheek, unbidden and unnoticed, but not unregistered by
that God who knows our griefs, and whose balm is ever for the heavy at
heart.
Barbara sat on a writing stool by the bed-side, supporting the Bible on
her knees, while the beams of a golden lamp, placed on a lofty tripod
near the foot of the bed, fell directly on the book: the light, however,
was not sufficiently powerful to illume the farthermore parts of the
chamber, whose walls were hung with figured tapestry, the gloom of which
contrasted strongly with the bright blue and silver that canopied
Constantia's bed.