"Should you not like to be as my maidens are?"
"Thank you, madam, no: for they have too little to do, and that begets sorrow. Were my lady happy, and—and——But that is my lady's call. Shall I send your women, madam?"
"I have often thought and often said," murmured Lady Frances, as Barbara meekly closed the door, "that nothing is so perplexing to the worldly as straight forward honesty and truth. It is not to be intimidated, nor bribed nor flattered, nor destroyed—not destroyed even by death. I would give half my dowry—alas! do I talk of dowry?—great as my father is, he may be low as others, who have been as great. And now I must accompany my sweet friend to the altar on which she is to be sacrificed. Alas! better would be for her if death were to meet and claim her upon the threshold of the chapel she is about to enter!"
CHAPTER XVI.
Nought is there under heaven's wide hollownesse
That moves more dear compassion of mind,
Than beautie brought t'unworthie wretchednesse
Through envious snares or fortune's freaks unkinde.
* * * * * * * *
To think how causeless of her own accord
This gentle damzell, whom I write upon,
Should plonged be in such affliction,
Without all hope of comfort or reliefe.
Spenser.
"I am driven to it, I am driven to it!" repeated Sir Willmott Burrell, as he attired himself in his gayest robes, while his eyes wandered restlessly over the dial of a small clock that stood upon the dressing-table. "No one has seen her—and I have forced Constantia to wed at six, instead of seven. Once wed—why, there's an end of it; and if the worst should come, and Zillah persecutes me still, I can but swear her mad, and this will terminate her fitful fever." He placed a small pistol within his embroidered dress, and girded his jewelled sword more tightly than before. "The minutes linger more tardily than ever," he continued: "full fifteen to the time.—Would it were over! I am certain Cromwell would not interfere, if once she was my wife; he loves her honour better than the Jew's."
Again he drew forth the pistol and examined it, and then replaced it as before—again girded his sword; and having drunk copiously of some ardent spirit, a flask of which had been placed near him, he descended to the library.
The only person in the apartment was Sir Robert Cecil: he was leaning, in the very attitude in which we first met him, against the high and dark chimney-piece of marble; but, oh, how altered! His hand trembled with emotion as he held it to Sir Willmott, who took it with that air of easy politeness and cordiality of manner he could so well assume.