"I wish my dear father," replied Constance," to assert his place to live to himself, and laugh at the insolence or jealousies of little minds."

Alas! the mind to which this was addressed was not a great one.

"Pretty talking," said Lord Mowbray ; to resign, and strip one's self of all consequence; to be left unnoticed by the minister among the common herd-a cipher without power-not even the means of providing for a menial dependant: Oh! Lady Constance, how little you know of the world!"

Then changing his tone to something like fondness, which delighted the affection of his single-hearted daughter, he told her, with many circumflections (and hints rather than propositions), that it was in her power, not only to restore him to health, but to enable him to raise his head higher than ever at court, by only listening to Lord Cleveland's proposals.

Constance turned pale at this intimation; for it made her miserable, she said, to think how differently she and her father judged of this nobleman.

"Yet he has still the royal favour,” said Lord Mowbray; "he heads the great party of the king's friends, and by connexion and influence is the most powerful individual in the state."

"This may be all true," said Constance, with a sigh. "Then what can be your objection?" asked the anxious earl. "To be sure, he is somewhat older-" "Oh! it is not that," said Constance.

"He may not be so handsome as many, but he has a noble air, and is more agreeable than most."

"It is not that," continued Constance, in more and more agitation.

"Then what is it?" cried her father; "he is devoted to you, and rich, and you would revel in the gratification of all your wishes.”

Constance was startled to think how different were the notions of her father and herself as to these very riches; and, in particular, how little it had been hitherto in their power to crown her felicity.

"You hesitate, dear Constance," said her father. "May I not hope that your opposition has been more the result of an excusable coquetry, than aversion? If so, how proud shall I be of my daughter!-how quickly restored to health!"

Constance was more and more distressed; more embarrassed than ever how to reply; but under such a misap prehension her presence of mind returned at once. She saw the mischief of reserve, and the necessity for instant explanation. Yet her heart was softened by even the little appearance of softness towards her which the self-flattery of the earl, as to her decision, had produced; and when he took her hand, and she beheld his pallid cheek and faded eye, she could have almost fancied it possible to think of Lord Cleveland without disgust, and at least wished to think of him with less aversion. It was therefore with a tremulous voice, though not the less firm of purpose, that she said it was a most cruel misfortune not to be able to make her wishes bend to his. "Oh!" said she, 66 were these wishes of any other kind, did they only regard my outward prosperity, fortune, power, rank in the world, how gladly would I sacrifice them all. But where my inward happiness is concerned,when every hour and every minute my self-approbation would be forfeited, in professing to love one whom I cannot even esteem!-honour, delicacy, and truth condemn; and my dear father, upon knowing, would be the first to oppose it."

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Alas! how little did she know the parent in whose liberality she thus confided!

The shock this perseverance in refusal gave him had an alarming effect upon his whole frame. Already unnerved, and suffering misery from even the ignoble ambition which governed him, he was tortured by the fear of losing that darling power to which, in effect, all that belonged to him should have rendered him superior. Recovering at length a little, and but a little, from a most alarming fit of agitation, he demanded of her if she had the least wish to preserve his life?

Terrified and distressed, she falteringly asked what could make him doubt it; adding, that to preserve it she would willingly risk her own.

"And yet," said he, "you refuse the sacrifice of what I must hold to be mere caprice; though the alternative is, as I feel it here (putting his hand to his heart), to fix me in my grave."

Constance, overset by this cruel reproach, could not restrain her tears. She even hesitated; and the thought, not merely of gratifying a parent, but of preserving his existence, operating upon her affectionate and gentle

nature, she felt shaken, and was alive only to the sweetness of the rewards of filial duty. She looked with affection upon the face of her father, who, in his agitation, had rested his head on her bosom; forming a picture which, prompted by other causes, would have been moving.

Under all his alarm, which was real enough, the earl felt the advantage he had gained; and thinking to complete it, he made a movement as if he would throw himself on his knees before his daughter, entreating, at the same time, that she would gratify him in this last and only wish of his heart; her refusal of which would, he said, send him to his death.

It

Afflicted, astonished, and wholly overcome by what she saw, the unhappy Constance could scarcely prevent an act which filled her with horror and consternation. stupified all her senses, and shocked all her notions of decency and right. A sort of hysterical seream escaped her, and she implored him not to destroy her by such condescensions.

"At least," said she, falling on her own knees to him, "at least give me time! do not force a decision which, in making me miserable for ever, will not, cannot make you happy."

So saying, she bent her face on his hand, which she kissed, and watered with warm tears,-the effusions of a struggle which almost broke her heart.

We will not say that her suffering did not affect Lord Mowbray; on the contrary, as he had always loved her as much as his nature would permit, he felt moved by the agony of mind which this contest had produced, and, trusting to the influence which he felt he had over her, he thought he might safely relieve her for the present, by granting the time for deliberation which she had implored. We do not know that he did this upon the principle that "the woman who deliberates is lost," for Lord Mowbray had made few investigations concerning the female character. He knew, however, that he possessed his daughter's love. He knew the tenderness of her gentle nature; and, above all, he knew her refined notions of filial duty. Trusting to them all conjoined, he hoped every thing from the proposed deliberation; and with caresses, which on any other occasion would have filled the whole heart of Constance with happiness, he granted the delay proposed, and left her full of hope.

Possibly no woman ever suffered a greater struggle from the same cause than she did at that moment. Her aversion to Lord Cleveland was not confined to personal dislike; it was rooted in principle, and incorporated with all her best feelings. She saw at once personified in him deceit, insolence, and the proud man's contumely; a heart corroded by love of self; a mind that shocked her by its contempt of all that she held most dear, or thought most sacred.

Gentle, generous, and modest herself, could there be any thing of that affinity between them which is the charm of married life? What was worse, could there be any thing that would not be a source of poignant misery? Oh! how different from that divine communion of soul which her fancy had sometimes painted; that mutual inspiration which translates every look into understood language, and every spoken word into kindness and affection!

Her aversion, therefore, was that of refinement to coarseness; of goodness to evil; and but for one thing, death seemed preferable to such an alliance. But that one thing detained her long, before she could decide. Her sacrifice of herself might be the salvation of her father; the death of her own happiness, the life of his.

In such a struggle passed the most unhappy day which Constance had ever yet experienced. She passed it alone, for her father had left her to seek Lord Cleveland, whom he endeavoured to sound on the state of the intention concerning him. Not even the assurance of expected success with his daughter could extract this from the wily earl, who treated him now as a tool, now as an enemy-never as a man who had a right to his confidence. In truth, he had been too often misled to give him the least credit; and except to practise upon his fears, he scarcely noticed him, more than to say he waited the decision before he could even tell whether he could serve him or not.

Meanwhile, the cause of all this unhappiness in the one nobleman, and of moodiness in the other, found something like support and certainty in that firmness of character which we have attempted to describe; and after tossing in a sea of perplexity, her mind righted in the conclusion, that though she might put a force upon her inclinations, she had no right to sacrifice her principles. On this she built a final resolution to persist in

refusing Lord Cleveland; but accompanied it by a determination to dedicate her whole life to the comforting and support of her parent in every thing else.

Fondly, however, she clung to the hope that he would himself be alive to what pride and his station demanded of him, and rise superior to attacks which he might and ought to despise.

The event was any thing but consonant to the expectations of this natural-minded but unhappy lady. Her father, furious from disappointment, was still more so from the recollection how much he had humbled himself to his child, and humbled himself for nothing; while the pure heart of that child was pierced through and through, to think that so dreadful a sacrifice of decorum had been made in a cause so little worthy.

They separated in agony. He, to brood on the degradation he feared he had incurred;-she, to lament, in silence, over this unhappy difference, which filled her heart with unextinguishable sorrow.

CHAPTER XXIV.

FORCED RETIREMENT.

He hath forsook the court,

Broken his staff of office, and dispersed

The household of the king.

What was his reason?

He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

SHAKSPEARE.

WHILE these minor parts were going forward in the drama of ambition, the more principal characters were hastening things to a crisis. Lord Cleveland, finding,

spite of ten thousand manœuvres of Clayton's (who was indefatigable in messages between Old and New Windsor), that his cause with Constance was utterly desperate, resolved to keep no terms with her father, whose office was demanded. Full thirty years' service, as Lord Mowbray called it, or sufferance, as Lord Oldcastle designated it, could not preserve him. It became a fashion, indeed, to affect to abandon him. Jests were entertained