Sir Robert."

"He is indeed."

"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."

"He has ever been to justice as its right hand."

How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her father had
talked about Sir Willmott--if there were any tidings of Walter De
Guerre, or where he had been since his disappearance with Major
Wellmore! but she could not--she dared not ask another question: indeed,
Constantia effectually prevented her so doing, for, taking her hand with
that extraordinary combination of frankness and reserve which is ever
the characteristic of a great and honest mind, she said--

"My sweet friend, do not question me; I have either answered your
father's questionings as I answer every one, truly, in word and spirit,
or told him, when he asked what I must not reveal, that I could not
tell. I never equivocated in my whole life; equivocation is a
subterfuge, mean as well as sinful--the special pleading of a lie."

"My dear Lady Perfection!"

"Do not mock me, sweet Frances: the world will say, and say rightly, you
are much nearer perfection than I am; you have far more of the
woman--the open, cheerful, confiding woman. But hear me say a few words
more,--and apply them as you will. I once saw a young fresh tree--it was
an oak--a bright tree and a beautiful! It flourished on the hill-side,
and injured nothing; for its shadow was harmless, and served but as a
kindly shelter for the modest violet and the pale primrose. The
woodcutter looked upon it as he passed it by, and said it would grow to
be the pride of the forest;--the village children held their innocent
revelry beneath its gay branches:--but, Frances, dear Frances, the storm
gathered, and the thunder leaped from cloud to cloud in the angry
heavens, and the lightning--the forked lightning, darted among its
leaves, and struck it to the heart. The next morning the sun saw that it
was blighted; and the sun said, 'My beautiful tree and my brave, that my
beams delighted to shine upon, is blasted; but I will throw forth my
warmest rays, and my favourite shall revive, and again be glorious!' And
the sun came in all its power, and it shone upon the tree; but the more
it shone, the more quickly the tree withered--for it fainted beneath the
kindness which had the will, but not the gift, of renovation."

Lady Frances turned from her friend with tears, and asked her no more
questions. Constantia wept not, but passed towards the servants' hall to
give