“And now, come nearer, for my voice falters, and I would have these words distinctly heard. Child, girl as you are--you I consider pledged to record, to fulfil my desire--my curse! Lay your hand on mine: swear that through life to death,--swear! You speak not! repeat my words after me:”--Constance obeyed:--“through life to death; through good, through ill, through weakness, through power, you will devote yourself to humble, to abase that party from whom your father received ingratitude, mortification, and death! Swear that you will not marry a poor and powerless man, who cannot minister to the ends of that solemn retribution I invoke! Swear that you will seek to marry from amongst the great; not through love, not through ambition, but through hate, and for revenge! You will seek to rise that you may humble those who have betrayed me! In the social walks of life you will delight to gall their vanities in state intrigues, you will embrace every measure that can bring them to their eternal downfall. For this great end you will pursue all means. What! you hesitate? Repeat, repeat, repeat!--You will lie, cringe, fawn, and think vice not vice, if it bring you one jot nearer to Revenge! With this curse on my foes, I entwine my blessing, dear, dear Constance, on you,--you, who have nursed, watched, all but saved me! God, God bless you, my child!” And Vernon burst into tears. It was two hours after this singular scene, and exactly in the third hour of morning, that Vernon woke from a short and troubled sleep. The grey dawn (for the time was the height of summer) already began to labour through the shades and against the stars of night. A raw and comfortless chill crept over the earth, and saddened the air in the death-chamber. Constance sat by her father’s bed, her eyes fixed upon him, and her cheek more wan than ever by the pale light of that crude and cheerless dawn. When Vernon woke, his eyes, glazed with death, rolled faintly towards her, fixing and dimming in their sockets as they gazed;--his throat rattled. But for one moment his voice found vent; a ray shot across his countenance as he uttered his last words--words that sank at once and eternally to the core of his daughter’s heart--words that ruled her life, and sealed her destiny: “Constance, remember--the Oath--Revenge!” CHAPTER II. REMARK ON THE TENURE OF LIFE.--THE COFFINS OF GREAT MEN SELDOM NEGLECTED.--CONSTANCE TAKES REFUGE WITH LADY ERPINGHAM.--THE HEROINE’S ACCOMPLISHMENTS AND CHARACTER.--THE MANOEUVRING TEMPERAMENT. What a strange life this is! what puppets we are! How terrible an enigma is Fate! I never set my foot without my door, but what the fearful darkness that broods over the next moment rushes upon me. How awful an event may hang over our hearts! The sword is always above us, seen or invisible! And with this life--this scene of darkness and dreadsome men would have us so contented as to desire, to ask for no other!