"This will do," said Wilmot, to whom it was communicated, "if it last. Cultivate it by all means." They did so; but what was their grief to find that he soon became cold and lost to the subject. He turned over the leaves with a glazed and lack-lustre eye, and it was evident that he was not able to comprehend, still less to remember, any of the comforting truths which he had read. The only result was a feeling that he was stupified. In fact, the whole Bible was so new, and so totally the reverse of all that had ever been his study, that the most sublime images were lost, the most consolatory passages thrown away upon him. His thoughts wandered back to the world, like Plato's grosser spirits to the charnel-houses, where the bodies they had inhabited, were still lingering. Like them, he was not even fit to be improved, and though separated from his old habits, he could not live without them. "The Scriptures," said he, "are not a fit guide to men who have known the world." In a little time, all notion of a diversion to his thoughts from reading, was given up, and he relapsed into fits of longer and deeper melancholy, of which the worst apprehensions began now to be entertained. These were confirmed by Wilmot, who endeavoured to rouse the attention of his patient, in vain. Once, and once only, he almost succeeded; but it was only for a moment, though that moment was important, and showed what the ruling thought had been. Wilmot having tried to rouse him, by all the exciting topics he could think of, at last mentioned De Vere, as desirous to pay his duty to him. "I cannot see him," murmured the startled earl, "but tell him to put no trust in a minister, because he may have betrayed another for his sake. Tell him that Clayton is a rogue, and that I myself am-" The unhappy nobleman could get no further, and, turning on his side, the little fire which this exertion had kindled in his eye, was spent, and he relapsed into a silence which soon became eternal. Luckily for their own peace, neither Constance nor Lady Eleanor heard these last words. They would have been a knell never to be forgotten. To Wilmot alone were they uttered, who only revealed them to De Vere, and then buried them in his own heart. They proved, indeed, that conscience, as well as disappointment, had had a share in hurrying on his fate. Upon the news being communicated, Constance uttered no cry, and shed no tear. She had been so prepared, and resignation had been so habitual to her, that she at least experienced no paroxysm, though she felt much mental grief. On her knees, in her closet, her soul poured itself forth, and she felt supported, nay, even raised. On the second day, she had the relief of tears, that bath and balm to pent-up minds; and Wilmot, who had staid on purpose to watch over her, thought he might quit her, after advising her instant removal to Talbois with Lady Eleanor. To this not merely change of scene was an inducement, but the many irksome but necessary acts of business which she was forced to winess. Her situation itself, of sole representative of her father, made these more personal; and she gladly availed herself of the offered assistance of Mortimer, whose proximity of blood seemed to authorize it, and whose undeviating and delicate attentions in the most minute particulars, saved her many a bit ter moment. Little do those know, who have never felt the misery of losing those they love, of what value these attentions are, or how much anguish is spared by them to the sufferer. Never can we be too grateful for them ; for, of all kindnesses, all generous, all friendly acts, the soothing hand stretched to our assistance, under mental wo, is fullest of healing, and most eagerly caught at. Just so was it with Constance, in her feeling towards her cousin. She did not see him till the day after the event had taken place; when, softened to a tenderness she had never before shown, she gave and received an embrace from him which thrilled his heart. "How good of you to come! but you were always so!" was all she could say. Enough, and more than enough, to fill him with extacy; for had the empire of the world been offered him to forego the delight of those honied words, we may safely say he would have spurned at the offer. Their effect upon him impressed her still more with his sympathy; for, what with his real feeling for her situation, what with the joy which this indication of her resumed kindness occasioned, he could not restrain a burst of emotion, which showed itself in many tears. It was a sympathy which Constance felt home, and never afterwards forgot. CHAPTER XII. DECISION. Belike she thinks that Proteeus has forsook her. Now by the honour of mine ancestry, SHAKSPEARE. THE first month of the mourning of Constance was passed with her aunt in the privacy of Talbois; during which, Mortimer had taken order for the numerous things that needed attention at the castle. He had, as nearest male relation, in the quality of chief mourner, attended the funeral of his uncle, which was as private as the rank and consequence of the deceased could admit. Indeed, except by Lord Clanellan, whose regard for Constance, and Dr. Herbert, whose respect for the De Vere part of the family, prompted it, only some neighbouring gentlemen attended. Not one of the former political associates of Lord Mowbray made either offer or inquiry; which, considering all things, can scarcely move our wonder. But there was one omission which was at least unexpected by all who knew not the truth. Mr. Clayton, however, was not to be blamed, if he was not seen at the grave of the man who had made him what he was: a duty which we are to suppose him to have been extremely anxious to fulfil; for he actually wrote to De Vere to ask permission to do so, and was refused. "I expected as much," said Lord Cleveland's new confidant. It is really hard that one should be prevented from showing one's attachment to the memory of an early friend.' The world admired these sentiments; nor were the world wrong. The sentiments were good; and if Clayton concealed the fact, that when he made the offer, he knew there was that between him and the Mowbrays which would prevent its being accepted, how was the world to make the discovery? Lady Elizabeth Partridge, and the Misses Partridge, (who had put on full mourning for the earl, though they had, ever since his retirement, talked of him only as their foolish old relation,) went so far as to say this was very pretty of Mr. Clayton, and very unkind of Mr. De Vere. This, however, was after the opening of the will, to which Lord Cleveland, as the nearest male relation after De Vere, and Mr. Partridge, as the husband of Lady Elizabeth, had been invited. Neither of the latter persons found themselves so much as mentioned, any more than Clayton; who, however, declared, that although his patron had often told him he should be handsomely remembered, he entirely forgave it. The will, indeed, was of some years' standing, and, except the sum of five thousand pounds to Lady Eleanor, left Lady Constance sole inheretrix of all the testator's property with Lord Clanellan for her guardian. Lord Cleveland and Mr. Partridge immediately re turned to town, coolly observing, that it was not worth while to have called them so far on such an errand. Lord Cleveland, however, openly expressed his disappointment that the Cleveland part (no inconsiderable one) of the Mowbray fortune, had not been made to revert to the Cleveland name, in his person. This was, in fact, an idea on which he had long dwelt, not only within his own mind, but on all public occasions that . warranted the mention of it. So that, on his return to London, he every where spread the failure of his just expectations, and gave himself the air of an injured man. All eyes were now turned, more than ever, to the great heiress; who, however, was too secluded and too much occupied by her recent loss, even to know how great a space she filled in the world's curiosity. Though she had reigned a whole season in the beau monde, her character was by no means yet understood. She was, indeed, thought the most difficult of young women, Alas! poor Constance, she thought not of difficulty; she only wished to be let alone. Much of the blaze that had surrounded her had been, owing to her father, instigated by Cleveland for political purposes. From that she was delivered, and could, at least, now indulge the plan of life most agreeable to her own views. At present, indeed, the seclusion of what she called the dear forest, seemed the only life suitable to her frame of mind; and a visit from Lord and Lady Clanellan in their quality of friends and guardians, seemed all, or nearly all she wanted. But, except for a few days, to give her an account of her affairs, establish his house in the comforts necessary for her reception, and to receive Lord Clanellan, Mortimer came not. Yet, although there was no ostensible cause for his absence, his mother did not seem to wonder, much less to complain. Still it was matter of surprise to Constance, that he should thus, without apparent reason, absent himself from his only home. The sensible heart, and high mind of De Vere had, indeed, sustained a perilous contest on this occasion. His love for his cousin was, perhaps, higher than ever; but the jealousy, we may say, the romance of his pride, rose in proportion. The misery was, that he was not sure he was right; and as there was now no secret about it with his mother, he consulted her. "To doubt," said she, "is to decide. If you are uncertain, let the decision be on the side of honour." De Vere staid away. But a reason for his absence was now luckily supplied |