A few weeks had wrought a fearful change upon his countenance and form:
the eyes were more hollow, the cheeks more pale, the hair ribanded with
white, where but a little before there had been few grey hairs, and the
shoulders were much rounded since his interview with the Buccaneer. He
proceeded courteously to meet his guest, bowing, and expressing the
honour he felt in being introduced (through the Lord's mercy) to the
preserver of his friend. The baronet had approached slowly towards De
Guerre during this salutation, but either his dim sight, or the
obscurity of the further end of the room, prevented his being at first
struck with his appearance. As the young man advanced, Sir Robert
Cecil's gaze was fastened on his countenance with a gasping earnestness,
that shook every fibre of his frame; his lips trembled, and remained
apart, and he seemed for a few moments unable to move to the seat he had
quitted.
The "friend" he had alluded to was seated in a carved chair near the
fire, his foot placed upon a cushioned stool, and his arms folded over
his bosom, his head rested on his chest, but his eyes were fixed on the
beautiful face of Constance Cecil, who had risen on the stranger's
entrance; nor did it escape the notice of so keen an observer, that the
lady's cheek was suddenly suffused by a deep hue of crimson, as suddenly
succeeded by a pallor and trembling, that made her cling to the arm of
Lady Frances Cromwell for support.
"I beg to present," he rose, and said, "to my worthy friend Sir Robert
Cecil, and to you, Lady Frances Cromwell, and to you also, Mistress
Cecil, this young gentleman, by the name of Walter de Guerre, who,
though of French extraction, hath doubtless had an English godfather,
who hath favoured him with an English Christian name. And now, most
worthy baronet, as master of this mansion, I pray you to present me to
him who hath a swift arm and a ready hand for the defence of an attacked
soldier."
"Major Wellmore, young gentleman; a tried and trusty friend to the
English Commonwealth and its Protector!" said Sir Robert at last;
adding, as if in apology for his emotion--"Constance! this strange
megrim in my head!" And Constance, with the watchful care of an
affectionate child, led him to his seat, presented him a glass of
cordial; and not till he had declared himself quite recovered, did she
return to her station on the low sofa, beside her friend Lady Frances
Cromwell.