of Eustace."

Monthault flew into heroics, and struggled to detain her. "Cruel
Constantia," said he, "know you not that love is an involuntary passion
which reason vainly tries to subdue? Cannot you, who see the conflict in
my soul, pity me without doubting my friendship or my honour?"

"I confess I do doubt both," was her reply; "but provided you no more
offend me with such language, I will not mention my suspicions to
Eustace. I am, 'tis true, a simple girl, yet not so weak as to value
myself on an extrinsic appendage which, if I possess, I share with the
butterfly. If beauty renders me more amiable in the eyes of those I
love, it is a welcome endowment; but I never will patiently hear it
commended at the expence of any better quality."

It is probable that, after this repulse, Monthault would never more have
thought of Constance if some other pursuit had intervened. But, in the
leisure of suspended warfare, a vacant understanding and depraved
appetite sees no resource from _ennui_ but gallantry. He had tried
flattery; but it failed to excite vanity, or to lead his intended prey
into the toils of ambition. He resolved to pursue another scheme, by
which he hoped that beauty might be separated from its plighted love.

While Oxford resounded with preparations for the removal of the Prince
and the commencement of the campaign, Monthault affected regret at
leaving Eustace. "I wish," said he, "you could accompany me to see
actual service; you would then feel a just contempt for military
martinets and parade exercise. Goring would, I know, delight in bringing
forward a spirit like yours. But it is impossible. The barriers which
detain you are insuperable. I myself know too well the power of beauty;
yet, if you knew all that was said, even for Constantia's sake you might
resolve, for a few months, to tear yourself from her arms."

"I cannot understand you," answered Eustace. "True, I am contracted to
Constantia; but it is not she who detains me at Oxford. We are not to be
married till we are both at full age; nor even then unless the times
wear a happier aspect."

"Her character!" retorted Eustace; "can that need any other vindicator
than my honour? or rather, does any man impugn it? We have loved from
our childhood; but it has been with that innocence which enables us to
look forward to years of happiness, unembittered by reproach."

Monthault smiled, said he rejoiced at this expurgation, but added, "Can
you wonder O