De Guerre, "to bid for awhile farewell to Mistress
Cecil; to thank her for the kindness I have received under this roof;
and to assure her that it can never be forgotten."

"You have received but little attention--too little, indeed; yet, my
father's health--our recent heavy affliction--will, I am sure, plead for
us, and win an excuse. I was not, however, aware that your departure
would come so suddenly. Is my father apprised of it?"

"He is not:--forgive me, lady; but I could not avoid saying how much and
how truly I have felt the kind consideration you have bestowed upon one
who, however worthy, I hope, in many respects, has nevertheless deceived
you."

"De Guerre may deceive me," replied Constance, with considerable
emotion, extending one hand as she spoke, and covering her face with the
other, "De Guerre may deceive me, but Walter--_dear_ Walter--never."

The young man took her offered hand, and pressed it affectionately to
his lips. "Ah! how soon you saw in the Cavalier the companion and
playmate of your childhood, though you believed him dead! Women have
quick eyes, and warm hearts for old friends. Unrecognised by my
nurse--by your father--yet discovered by you--by you only, Constance! I
need not say, do not betray me; do not breathe, even to those walls, who
it is that has entered within them; let it remain secret as the grave.
But I need not urge you thus, for treachery is not in your nature; let
me talk of other things, and ask by what token, Constance, did you trace
me through the disguise that years, and the burning sun of many a
parched land, have thrown over my features and my form?"

"It was your voice that struck me first--some tones and modulations,
that I well remembered when you called my dog:--then the unforgotten
locket which you placed in my hand, which, when I had seen you, I knew
could have been placed there by no other:--then----" Constance paused
and blushed; she ought to have felt angry at the liberty that had been
taken with her tresses, but she gave no expression to such a feeling;
and the pause was broken by the Cavalier, who drew from his bosom the
beautiful braid of which the maiden had been robbed.

The colour on Constantia's cheek was succeeded by a deadly paleness.

"Ah! what a moment it was, by that old temple, the lily triumphing over
the rose on your fair cheek, even more than now, yet with such mild and
gentle triumph, one scarce could wish it less; your eyes veiled by
those