is none of these," interrupted Constance. "She is
pure in heart--in word--in look. She really has nothing to conceal; she
is all purity and grace, and with her husband shared for years the
friendship of the illustrious Selden and Archbishop Usher."

"Well, I am willing to admit all this," retorted Frances, eager to catch
at any thing to divert her friend's melancholy. "But, for all that, I
never could feel easy in the society of your very wise people; it is not
pleasant to know that those you are speaking to regard you as a fool,
though they may be too well-bred to tell you so. And now I remember a
story about Selden that always amused me much. When he was appointed
among the lay members to sit in the Assembly of Divines at Westminster,
one of the ministers, with all the outward show of self-sufficient
ignorance, declared that the sea could not be at any very great distance
from Jerusalem; that as fish was frequently carried from the first to
the last place, the interval did not probably exceed thirty miles! and
having concocted this opinion, he gave it forth, as it had been one of
the laws of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not! Well, the Synod
were about to adopt this inference, when Selden quietly observed, that
in all likelihood it was 'salt fish!' Was not that excellent?"

"Yet his wit, in my estimation, was his least good quality. Methinks the
Commonwealth has reason to be most proud of two such men as John Selden
and Archbishop Usher."

"But the glory has departed from Israel," was Frances' reply, "for they
are gathered to their fathers."

"The sun may be shorn of its beams," said Constantia, with something of
her former energy of manner, "but it is still a sun. Cromwell is the
Protector of England!"

That was the rallying point of Lady Frances' feelings, and she embraced
her friend with increased affection.

"I love you more than all," said the kind girl, "for your appreciation
of my father; I only hope that posterity may do him equal justice. But
why, I ask again, dear Constance, have you not permitted me to speak to
him about this wedding? You reap sorrow, and not joy, of the contract.
Well, well," she continued, perfectly understanding Constantia's mute
appeal for silence, "I will say no more, for I ought to be satisfied
with the privilege of being thus enabled to disturb the solitude you
consider so sweet."

"How lessened," exclaimed Constance, "I must appear in the eyes of all
good and wise