"Like the infant Moses, doubtless," interrupted the Major; adding, "But found you no Pharaoh's daughter to succour and take pity? Methought there were many to become nursing fathers and mothers to the spawn, the off-sets, of monarchy."
"Sir!" exclaimed the Cavalier with emotion, "why this needless insult? You told me to proceed; and now——"
"I tell you to desist. What care I to hear of the love you bear the woman Cecil? She is the betrothed of another man; and were she not, think you I could wish her wedded to one holding principles such as yours? Have not her gallant brothers, boys fostered, nurtured in freedom, soared to taste the liberty of heaven? Have they not yielded up their breath, their life-blood in the holy cause? The saplings were destroyed, although the Lord's arm was outstretched, and mighty to save! And think ye I would see her, who is part and parcel of such glorious flesh, wedded to one who yearns for the outpouring of slaughter, and the coming again of a race of locusts upon this now free land?"
"If Lady Constance would have broken the unjust contract," replied Walter, reasoning for once with something like coolness, "I should not have thought of asking your opinion, or consulting your wishes, Major Wellmore."
"And yet, had you been different, had the Lord given unto you to discern the right, I could, I might, I would say, have had sufficient influence to order it otherwise—that is, if her affections be not placed on Burrell; for I hold it as a fleshly and most carnal act to bestow the hand in marriage, where the heart goeth not with it."
"If Mistress Cecil were asked," said Walter, "she would not, I am sure, deny that the man is held by her in utter abhorrence."
"I have heard of this," replied the veteran, "but look upon the information most doubtingly. Constantia Cecil is a truth-loving and a God-fearing woman, and I deem her to be one who would die sooner than plight a false faith: it would be difficult to find a motive strong enough to destroy her sense of religion, or the rectitude springing therefrom."
"Ask yourself, acquainted as you are with both natures," persisted De Guerre, "if one like Mistress Cecil could love such as Sir Willmott Burrell?"
"I grant the apparent impossibility of the case; but mark ye, it is easier to believe in the existence of impossibilities, paradoxical as such a phrase may sound, than to fathom the mind of a woman, when she pleases to make secret what is passing within her, or when she has taken some great charge into her heart. Howbeit, whether she loves Sir Willmott or not, she is little likely to love one who seeks, like you, the ruin of his country."
"The ruin of my country!" repeated the Cavalier.