"You would not wish me your wife," said Constance, in a faltering tone, resolving to make trial of Sir Willmott's generosity, while her strength seemed to rise with her honest purpose,--"you would not wish me your wife; for not only do I not love you, but--I love--another." Now, Sir Willmott Burrell did not start from his chair, nor did he pace up and down the polished floor,--he fixed his eyes upon Constantia, as if he would have read within her soul _who_ she loved; but the expression gradually changed, from a deep and perilous curiosity, to one of firm resolve, until, drawing his breath between his set teeth, he said, slowly and deliberately, but in a restrained tone, as if the voice came from the fiend within him,-- "I am sorry for it, Constantia Cecil; for it cannot prevent your being mine--mine--and, by the God that hears me, mine only, and for ever!" Constantia rose slowly from her seat, and said, in a firm voice, "I did not come here to suffer insult, sir." She walked across the room with so dignified a step, that she had nearly reached the door, before Burrell acquired sufficient courage to stay her departure. He laid his hand on her arm as she touched the lock, but she shook it off as coolly, yet as firmly, as the apostle threw from him the viper into the flames at Melita. Burrell, however, had too much at stake tamely to relinquish his purpose. He spoke in a constrained voice, and said,-- "I entreat you to remain; if it be not for your own good, it will be for your father's that you do so." The mention of her father's name at once commanded her attention. She desired Burrell to speak on; without, however, resuming her seat. He paused for so considerable a time that she at length observed,-- "I wait, Sir Willmott, and will wait patiently, if it be necessary: but methinks your silence now is as uncourteous as your speech a brief while since." "It is because I feel for you, Mistress Cecil,--feel for you acutely, that I thus hesitate. I would spare you the pain I know my words must inflict; and therefore, once more, calmly, but energetically, implore you to consent to the immediate fulfilment of the contract existing between us." "This is trifling, sir. I desire that you suffer me to pass forth. I might have known you had nothing to say that concerned my father; and, as to myself, if you could be mean enough, under such circumstances, to accept my hand, I cannot be base enough to give it." "A fine sentence!" exclaimed Burrell, sneeringly. "I make bold to tell you, lady, I care not so much as you may imagine for your affections, which I know you have sufficient principle to recall, and bestow upon the possessor of that fair hand, whoever he may be. Nay, look not so wrathful, for I know _that_ which would make your proud look quail, and the heiress of Cecil rejoice that she could yet become the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell!"