, treat her kindly: be to her what I ought to have
been--a protector! Sir Willmott, I cannot live very long; say only that
you will treat her kindly. Whatever I have shall be yours: you will be
kind, will you not?" And he looked at Sir Willmott with an air of such
perfect childishness, that the knight imagined his mind had given way.

"Sit down, my good sir; compose yourself--you are much agitated--I pray
you be composed."

"Broad lands are a great temptation," continued Sir Robert, with the
same appearance of wavering intellect--"Broad lands and gold are great
temptations, and yet they do not make one happy. Stoop your
head--closer--closer--there:--now I will tell you a secret, but you must
not tell it to Constantia, because it would give her pain--I have never
been happy since I possessed them! Stop, I will tell you all, from
beginning to end. My brother, Sir Herbert--I was not Sir Robert then--my
brother, I say----"

"Some other time, my dear sir," interrupted Burrell, whose apprehension
was confirmed; "you must cheer up, and not think of these matters: you
must take some wine." He filled a goblet from a silver flagon that stood
with refreshments on the table; but the baronet's hand was so unsteady,
that Sir Willmott was obliged to hold the cup to his lips. "Now, my dear
sir, collect your thoughts; you know all things are safe and secret:
there is no possibility of your ever being otherwise than beloved and
respected."

"Not by my child," said the unhappy man two or three times, twisting his
hands convulsively--"Not by my child, my pride, my Constantia! Her kiss
is as cold as ice upon my brow; and I thought--perhaps 'twas but a
dream, for I have been sleeping a little--I thought she wiped her lips
after she kissed me. Do you think she would destroy the taste of her
father's kiss?"

"Most certainly not: she loves you as well and as dearly as ever."

"I cannot believe it, Sir Willmott, I cannot believe it;--besides,
there's no safety for me till Hugh Dalton's pardon is granted."

"Damn him!" growled Burrell, and the curse grated through his closed
teeth--"Damn him, deeply, doubly, everlastingly!"

"Ay, so he will be damned," replied Sir Robert, in a calm, quiet tone,
"and we shall all be damned, except Constantia; but he must be
pardoned--on earth I mean--for all that."

Burrell looked daggers at Sir Robert Cecil, but he heeded them not, saw
them not. Sir Willmott's first suspicion was right--the injured were