"But she loved him not," observed Constantia, in a sad voice.
"Poor Jerry!" laughed Lady Frances, "how could she love him; the Commonwealth jester; wanting only cap, bells, and a hobby-horse, to be fool, par excellence, of the British dominions? And yet he is no fool either; more knave than fool, though my father caught him at last."
"It was a severe jest," said Constantia.
"Why, it was—but verily I believe my father thought there was danger of having two fools at his court, instead of one. It was after this fashion. Jerry presumed a good deal upon the encouragement his Highness had given him—for the Protector loves a jest as well as any, when there is nobody by to repeat it to the grave ones: and his chaplain, Jerry White, chimed in with his humour, and was well-timed in his conceits; and this so pleased my good father, that he suffered him much in private about his person. So he fell, or pretended to fall, desperately in love with my giddy self. It was just at the time, too, when Charles Stuart made his overtures of marriage, that so caught my mother's fancy; and my imagination was marvellously moved by two such strings to my bow—a prince and a preacher—a rogue and a fool:—only think of it, Constantia! However, Jerry grew much too tender, and I began to think seriously I was going too far; so I told my sister Mary, and I am sure she told my father; for, as I was passing through a private anteroom at Whitehall, his reverence was there in ambush, and commenced his usual jargon of love and dove, faithfulness and fidelity, gentleness and gentility, and at last fell upon his knees, while I, half laughing, and half wondering how his rhapsody would end, as end it must—Well, there! fancy Jerry's countenance, clasped hands, and bended knees! and I pulling my hood (I had just returned from a walk) over my face to conceal my merriment, trying to disengage my hand from the creature's claws—when, I really don't know how, but there stood my father before me, with a half smile on his lip, and his usual severity of aspect.
"'My chaplain at prayers! you are mighty devout, methinks,' he said, in his coldest voice. Jerry stammered, and stumbled, and entangled his leg in arising with the point of my father's sword; and then my father's choler rose, and he stormed out, 'The meaning, sir, the meaning of this idolatrous mummery? what would ye of my daughter, the Lady Frances Cromwell?' And Jerry, like all men, though he could get into a scrape, had not much tact at getting out; so he looked to me for assistance—and I gave it. 'He is enamoured, please your Highness,' said I, with more wit than grace, 'of Mistress Mabel, my chief lady.' Then, having got the clue, Jerry went on without hesitation: 'And I was praying my Lady Frances that she would interfere, and prevent Mistress Mabel from exercising so much severity towards her faithful servant.' 'What ho!' said his Highness, 'without there!—who waits?' One of the pages entered on the instant. 'Send hither,' he commanded, 'Mistress Mabel, and also that holy man of the Episcopal faith, who now tarrieth within the house.' Jerry looked confounded, and I trembled from head to foot. Mabel, with her silly face, entered almost at the moment. 'And pray, Mistress Mabel,' said my father, 'what have you to say against my chaplain? or why should you not be married forthwith to this chosen vessel, Jeremiah White?' And Mabel, equally astonished, blushed and courtesied, and courtesied and blushed. Then my father, flinging off his hat and mailed gloves, ordered the Episcopalian to perform the ceremony on the instant, adding, he would take the place of father, and I that of bridesmaid. It was like a dream to us all! I never shall forget it—and Jerry never can; it was most wonderfully comic—Only imagine it, Constance!"
Lady Frances had been so carried away by her mirthful imagining, that she had little heeded her mournful friend; nor was it till her last sentence—"Only imagine it, Constance!"—that she looked fully upon her.
"Hush!" murmured Constantia in a hollow tone; "hush!" she repeated.
"Merciful Heaven! what is it?" inquired Frances, terrified at her earnestness.
"Hush!" again said Constantia: adding, "Do you not hear?"
"Hear? I hear nothing but the tolling of the midnight bell—'Tis twelve o'clock."