Cornelia dared hardly venture to clasp the beautiful phantom to her bosom; but tenderly supported her tremulous frame to a sofa, where she gently seated her; and, pressing her soft hand in her's, gazed at her through her crowding tears. Was this fragile being, just hanging like a broken lilly, between the next breeze and the cold earth; was it she who had stood the fearful thunders of Ceuta? who had raised her head amidst the storm of war, to staunch the bleeding wounds of Louis de Montemar? to cherish his life at the expence of her own?
"It was!" cried the full heart of Cornelia to herself; and, in inarticulate, but ardent, language, she uttered her welcome.
The kindness of her voice drew the last sting of jealousy from the bosom of Marcella. She looked up, and thanked her with her eyes. There was something which passed from them, so powerful to the heart of Cornelia, that she gave way to the impulse of the impression; and, clasping the interesting Spaniard to her bosom, imprinted on her cheek a sister's kiss. That glance of Cornelia's noble countenance had struck Marcella with its general resemblance to that of her cousin; and she seemed to feel a pledge of something more than the welcome of a stranger, in this repeated embrace of Louis's most beloved relative.
The Marchioness was soon at home with the benign Pastor of Lindisfarne; and both she and Ferdinand were inquiring of him various particulars respecting their suit with Alice and Mrs. Coningsby, when Louis entered the room, after having introduced Don Garcia to the Duke.
Cornelia stretched out her hand to him. "Louis," said she, "you must make an interest for me, in the heart of Lady Marcella before she sees Alice, whom she will doubly love, for her own sake, and for Don Ferdinand's."
"Miss Coningsby," replied Marcella, "needs no interest but her own."
Louis approached with happy trepidation. What he said was as little to the purpose, as it was unheard by Marcella; and would have been marvelled at by Cornelia, had she not lately found a key in her own bosom, to explain language that had no visible meaning, and certain inconsistencies in demeanour, which betrayed all they meant to conceal.