ed
the room before she was aware of his presence.

"You are not well," he observed, seating himself in a chair beside that
into which she had sunk: "I hope I do not disturb you unpleasantly. You
keep watch too anxiously by your father's couch."

"I am better now," she replied; "but that of which you speak, my thought
of the living and the dead, although it may have somewhat touched my
health, has been my happiest duty."

"Perhaps you would rather hear what I have to say to-morrow," he
observed, a momentary feeling of sympathy forcing itself upon his mind,
as he noticed her white lip, and still whiter cheek.

"I pray you, sir," she replied proudly, "to proceed: I am as ready now
as I can be on the morrow to listen to aught it may be your pleasure to
advance. Your observations, if it please you, now."

"I have no 'observations' to offer, Mistress Cecil,--may I say
Constance? for so I used to call you in the early days of our
betrothment,--though I have much to request. I confess, I have felt
hurt, and aggrieved, at the small show of courtesy you have vouchsafed
me; but, as I believe that sorrow, and an habitual reserve, have wrought
this manner, I do not blame, though I regret it deeply. The time, I
hope, fair lady, is not far distant when you will ratify my claim to
your hand; then the devotedness of my future life,--the entireness of
my attachment,--the depth of my love----"

"Sir Willmott Burrell," interrupted Constantia, "_the grass upon my
mother's grave is not yet green; and would you talk of love?_"

For a moment the knight was silent.

"Reasons--reasons that I will explain hereafter, make me exceedingly
desire that the contract should be immediately fulfilled. Nay, lady, do
not start, and shudder," he continued, taking her hand, that hung
listlessly, and without motion, within his grasp; "even should you not
love as I do, affection will make you all mine own, within a little
time."

"Believe it not, Sir Willmott," said Constantia, at length disengaging
her hand; "I can never love you."

Men have been accustomed, in all ages, to hear simple truths, of such a
description, declared in so simple a manner. Ladies rant, and protest
that they abhor and abominate,--or they weep, and shriek, and call the
gentleman odious, or horrid, or some such gentle name; which the said
gentleman perfectly understands to mean--any thing he pleases; but
Constantia's perfect truth, the plain earnestness of that brief
sentence