er--of presenting her fair face for the
enlightenment of the gloom that seemed about to penetrate, from
without, the castle walls.

Constance lay propped amongst pillows, in a gorgeous _peignoir_ of
lace, arranged for the moment to display advantageously her plump arms
and a slender white neck encircled with pearls. Her brow was high and
narrow; her dark hair was carefully arranged in wavy folds upon
the pillow; her eyes, under drooping lids, glittered coldly and
imperiously. The nose was straight, and too thin for beauty. Her lips,
touched with rouge, were also thin and full of arrogance. There she
lay, impatient for the love of this one man, who was e'en now at the
door.

When Constance was a baby, she had watched Cedric upon his nurse's
knee taking his pap, and a little later amused him with her dolls. She
had played with him at bat and ball; had ridden astride behind him
upon a frisking pony; had learned and used the same oaths when none
were by to note her language but grooms and stable-boys--always when
Angel, the head nurse, was not about. She would outswear the young lad
and then tease him because he could not find words to equal hers.
They had played at "Lord and Lady," and rode about the terraces in
a miniature sedan chair, and cooks and scullions winked and nodded,
wisely and predictively. And when they came to man's and woman's
estate, Cedric's regard for her was as a brother's; but hers for
him, alas! was deep love. It seemed to her as if the world was just
beginning; a bright, glorious world full of untold wealth of love,
when she thought perhaps she might yet win him for her own; and indeed
she thought, as already possessing him. On his part there was
being born in his heart a great joy: that of a new and first love.
Heretofore he and Constance had known all things in common, and now
suddenly he was satiate of her. But Katherine, he had thought, was
so young and bright and beautiful; a child that had lived within the
cloister and had grown to maidenhood in sweet innocence. 'Twas like
finding in some tropic clime, embowered and shaded by thick, waxy
leaves, a glorious, ripe pomegranate, which he would grasp and drink
from its rich, red pulp, a portion that would cool and 'suage a
burning thirst; while Constance, by the side of Katherine, was like a
russet apple, into whose heart the worm of worldly knowledge had eaten
its surfeit and taken all sweetness away, and the poor thing hung low,
all dried and s