"Pshaw!" cried the clergyman when he had read it; "pshaw! lady, it is all nonsense! The very reverend lord cardinal will never try to make you marry against your will. Do not frighten yourself about it, my dear lady; depend on it, 'tis all nonsense. Let me see it again." But after he had read it over once more, Dr. Wilbraham's opinion seemed in some degree to change. He considered the letter, and reconsidered it, with very thoughtful eyes, and then declared it was strange that any one should write it unless it were true; and yet he would not believe that either. "Pray, lady, have you any idea who wrote it?" demanded he.
"I can imagine but one person," said Lady Constance, "who could possess the knowledge and would take the pains. Margaret, leave us," she continued, turning to the waiting-woman. "I have heard, my dear Dr. Wilbraham," she proceeded, as soon as they were alone, "that you were in former times acquainted with an old knight called Sir Cesar. I met him yesterday when I was out in the park." Lady Constance paused, and a slight blush came into her cheek, as she remembered that the good clergyman knew nothing of the affection which subsisted between herself and Darnley; and feeling a strong repugnance to say that he was with her at the moment, she hesitated, not knowing how to proceed.
Dr. Wilbraham relieved her, however, by exclaiming, the instant she stopped, "Oh, yes, lady; in truth I know him well. He was the dearest and the best friend of my Lord Fitzbernard; and though unhappily given to strange and damnable pursuits--God forgive him!--I must say he was a friend to all the human race, and a man to be trusted and esteemed. But think you this letter came from him?"
"He is the only one," replied Constance, "on whom my mind could for a moment fix as having written it."
"It is very likely," answered the clergyman: "it is very likely; and if it comes from him, you may believe every word that it contains. His knowledge, lady, is strange, is very strange, and is more than good, but it is sure. He is one of those restless spirits that must ever be busy; and, human knowledge not being sufficient for his eager mind, he has sought more than he should seek, and found more than is for the peace of his soul."
"But if he make a good use of his knowledge," said Constance, "surely it cannot be very wicked, my dear sir."
"It is presumptuous, lady," replied the clergyman; "it is most presumptuous to seek what God has concealed from our poor nature."
"But if this letter be from him," said the lady, "and the bad tidings that it brings be true, what ought I to do? You, whom my dear father left with me, asking you never to quit me---you must be my adviser, and tell me what to do in this emergency; for sure I am that you will never advise me to marry a man whom I do not love, and who does not even love me."
"No, no, heaven forbid! especially when you would rather marry Osborne," said the good clergyman with the utmost simplicity, looking upon it quite as a matter of course, which required no particular delicacy of handling: "and a much better thing too, lady, in every respect," he continued, seeing that he had called up a blush in Constance's cheek, and fancying that it arose from a fear of his disapproving her choice. "If you will tell the lord cardinal all the circumstances, depend upon it he will not press you to do anything you dislike. Let him have the whole history, my dear lady; tell him that you do not love Lord Darby, and that he loves another; and then show him how dearly Darnley loves you, and how you love him in return; and then----"
"Oh, hush, hush! my dear Dr. Wilbraham!" cried the lady, with the blood glowing through her fair clear skin, over neck, and face, and forehead. "Impossible, indeed; quite impossible! You forget."