which
danger and death could appear, that did not present itself to the
alarmed mind of these long-suffering maidens, during the few weeks that
intervened between the time that a Loyalist could appear in England
without imminent hazard, and their receiving the intelligence which
dispelled every doubt. A day seemed an age to exhausted patience, and
the transports of others added to their sadness.

Isabel was at length informed, that a stranger inquired for her. Her
bosom throbbed violently--"Is he young or old?" was all she could utter.
"Middle aged," was the reply. "Alas!" said she, "I forget how rapidly
time has stolen on since I parted with De Vallance. I have not looked at
my face for years; 'tis changed, I am sure; I have lost every
attraction, but my heart is still the same."--"Ever the same good
heart!" repeated Eustace, as he rushed in, and caught her in his
affectionate arms. "O! tell me, Isabel, where is my Constantia?" "Speak,
low," said Isabel, attempting to smother a hysterical laugh. "Dear
Eustace, how you are altered! Do not enter that room, the shock will be
too great!"

The terrors of Eustace prompted a thousand inquiries.--"Was Constantia
well? Was she faithful?" "Yes, yes!" replied Isabel, struggling in vain
for composure; "but----" a thousand fears lurked in that word, and Eustace
gazed in mute horror, while Isabel recovered self-command enough to say,
"We are very much altered." Eustace shed tears of joy.--"Virtue and
fidelity are always young and lovely," said he.--"You should not have
taken me by surprise," resumed the much-agitated Isabel; "let me
recollect myself a moment, and then you shall see our long-suffering
father, and your ever-beloved Constance."

Her eyes were turned to the door at which Eustace entered, with an
unacknowledged expectation of another visitant, and she stood incapable
of the promised introduction. But the well-remembered, long-desired
voice of Eustace had penetrated the inner-chamber, and Constantia, pale
and silent, advanced to meet her betrothed love; held out her hand with
timid joy, and sunk speechless into his arms. "My boy! my boy! let me
fold thee to my heart, and expire in thy embraces!" exclaimed the
agonized Neville, as with ineffectual efforts he strove to rise from the
couch of infirmity. Eustace cast himself at his feet. "Your blessing,"
said he, "on one who is no disgrace to your blood. Dearest father, your
commands have been obeyed; I have redeemed my h