e petals, and I put them from me
because I could not see as well as smell:--'twas foolish, but 'twas
natural. The moon at this very moment looks so sallow--pale--and you,'
he bowed to us as he spoke, 'and you, even you, ladies, appear both dim
and cold!' I thought he laid more emphasis on the word _cold_ than on
the other words, perhaps in allusion to the political differences
between Lady Claypole and himself: your sister thought so too.--'You do
us wrong,' she observed warmly; 'never, never cold to John Milton!
never, indeed never! This sad affliction, if it should continue, (which
the Almighty in his mercy forbid!) will create for you new worlds; when
all its treasures are destroyed, you will but close your eyes on earth
that you may look through heaven.' What would I not have given for such
a rewarding smile as played upon without disturbing his features! Your
sister, surprised into an enthusiasm that was not in keeping with her
usually subdued deportment, turned aside, and taking me by the hand,
presented me to him, saying, 'Here, sir, is a little girl, who, though
she has only numbered sixteen summers, has learned to value Milton!'
What do you think I said, Frances? Nothing:--that might have
passed--but what do you think I did? I fell on my knees, and kissed his
hand! I am almost ashamed to repeat such frowardness, though done in all
the purity of truth;--not that I think he was displeased."

"Displeased!" interrupted the Lady Frances, who had kept silence
marvellously long; "oh! no, it is not in man to be displeased with the
devotedness, the love of woman----"

"I prithee, peace," interrupted Constance in her turn: for the word
'love' had called the flush into her pale cheek; "thou art ever placing
earth on a level with heaven."

"And thou, my saintly friend, wouldst bring heaven down to earth. I
remember my sister Claypole treating of this before, saying that Milton
laid his fingers on thy forehead, and that thou didst clip off the
particular ringlet pressed by them, and enshrine it in a jewelled
cross."

"I confess----"

"To the folly of despoiling thy tresses?"

"Dearest Frances, you are cruel in your gaiety. How I watched his
retreating footsteps as he passed under the archway, after bidding us
good night! His gait was measured, but, though his sight was so
impaired, I observed that his head was thrown upward, and that he walked
as one having no fear."

"Well, give me Milton in the morn, but the gay