"No, Walter, not in body; but wherefore should you bear that braid so
near you?"
"Sweet Constance, may I now call you by that dear name? Oh, how my heart
rebelled against the sound 'Mistress Cecil!'--Truly is love a
republican, for he does not recognise titles; though, perhaps, it were
better to describe him as a despot, acknowledging none that are not of
his own creation. Why should I not wear the braid? Though now an
outlawed man, it may not be always thus; the time will come when my own
arm shall win the way to glory and to fortune."
"I doubt it not--I doubt it not;--but--save that nothing can make your
fortunes a matter of indifference to the friend and companion of your
childhood--I can have no greater interest in you, nor you in me. But why
prevent my saying to my father that the lost bird is found? Methinks I
would gladly know with him the mysteries of your disappearance, and the
still greater one of your concealment; suffer that I tell----" The
Cavalier smiled a smile so moody, so full of sad expression, that she
paused.
"Not so; I cannot explain any thing: perhaps (if your words be serious)
the time may never come when I can explain. As to your father, if you
ever valued Walter, I charge you, even as you now value his life, that
you give hint to no human being of his existence. I am sure you will
keep my secret; strange as may seem the request, still you will grant
it."
"Yet surely, Walter, you may confide in one who sorrowed for her
playmate, with a lengthened and deep grief; but--" she slowly added,
observing the altered expression of his countenance, "remember, I can
only be to you a friend."
The words were uttered in a tone not to be misconceived. The Cavalier
understood and felt it.
"Better, then, that I had gone forth, as I was about to do, in ignorance
that any here recognised the ruined and outcast Walter! Can there be
truth in the rumour, that one so young, so beautiful, bearing the
softened impress of a noble and immortal mind upon a brow so lofty, is a
willing sacrifice to a coward and villain? Did I not hear you, with my
own ears, protest to the Lady Frances Cromwell, that, of your own free
will, you would never marry this Sir Willmott Burrell? and, if it be so,
if you spoke truth then, who dare compel you, wealthy and high-born, to
give your hand where your heart is not? Oh, you are not the free,
true-hearted girl, that, twelve years ago, leaped upon your native hills
to meet the sunshine and the breeze, and often--alas! alas! that it
should only have been in mere sportiveness--declared that--but no
matter--I see it all, and future Lady of Burrell, bid you farewell and
for ever."