Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Ah, poor Constance, I was not aware she was ill!" said he, and he
went forth to inquire of her condition and find if aught could be done
for her enlivenment to health and spirits. When he returned and
saw Katherine so surrounded, and his guests engaged at cards and
battledore and music, and some in converse as to whether they should
ride forth to the chase, he was somehow stirred to think of Constance
lying alone in her chamber; and there recurred to him the tale of the
night before; 'twas she that loved him. He felt sorry for her if such
a thing were true; but 'twas not possible, and to convince himself he
would go to her and give her the brotherly kiss as heretofore, and
take notice if there was aught in her manner to denote verification of
the miserable gipsy's story. He would put an end to such feeling, if
'twere there. He sent word if he might see her for himself, and be
assured her illness was not feigned, in order she might shirk the
duty--like a wicked sister--of presenting her fair face for the
enlightenment of the gloom that seemed about to penetrate, from
without, the castle walls.
Constance lay propped amongst pillows, in a gorgeous _peignoir_ of
lace, arranged for the moment to display advantageously her plump arms
and a slender white neck encircled with pearls. Her brow was high and
narrow; her dark hair was carefully arranged in wavy folds upon
the pillow; her eyes, under drooping lids, glittered coldly and
imperiously. The nose was straight, and too thin for beauty. Her lips,
touched with rouge, were also thin and full of arrogance. There she
lay, impatient for the love of this one man, who was e'en now at the
door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account