had so much interested her, had
given no signs of reciprocal recollection. She was dissatisfied that he
was not her cousin's escort; and though, in wishing to see him again,
she thought she had no other motive than to thank him for past services,
she never before felt so much pain from unacknowledged gratitude.
Constance was too much overpowered by the remembrance of her own
preservation to attend to the silent perplexity of Isabel, whom a secret
consciousness of what she could scarce believe to be a fault restrained
from a thousand inquiries which she would not have scrupled to make
after one to whom she was wholly indifferent.

The transport which Dr. Beaumont felt at the restoration of his daughter
was checked by a discovery of the most agonizing kind. Monthault still
continued in a languishing condition; but his accomplice underwent an
examination as to the purpose of his attempt, and the name of his
employer. On promise of pardon the miscreant offered to make a full
discovery. His conditions were accepted; and he then named Eustace
Evellin as the person who was to receive the advantage of the nefarious
action. He asserted, that being overcome with despair at the thought of
having forfeited his uncle's favour by his bad conduct, Eustace
determined to possess his cousin at any hazard, and that Major Monthault
had been wrought upon, by his earnest entreaties, to become his agent.
The woman who had personated a trooper's widow, and drawn the two ladies
to the retired spot where Eustace was seized, gave such a description of
the stranger who bribed her to fabricate a tale of distress as exactly
tallied with the person of Eustace, but bore no resemblance to
Monthault. Another was brought to swear that he had seen Dr. Beaumont's
nephew in Oxford since its surrender to the Parliament. His long silence
to his family was an inexplicable mystery; but to visit Oxford without
throwing himself at his uncle's feet, and imploring pardon, was such a
tacit acknowledgement of conscious unworthiness, as even the candour of
Dr. Beaumont could not controvert. In an agony of mind, far exceeding
all that he had endured for his despoiled fortunes, and only equalled by
what he felt for his persecuted King; he requested Mr. Barton to
discharge the accomplices, and hush up the business. He then returned
home, clasped the trembling Constantia in his arms, and conjured her
never to name her unworthy cousin. "I would bid you not think of him,"