The baronet's sentence remained unfinished, for the look and manner of his daughter terrified him. She had risen from her knees, and stood, her eyelids straining from her glaring eyes, that were fixed upon her father, while her hands were extended, as if to shut out the figure upon which she still gazed. "It is all madness--moon-struck madness," she exclaimed, and her arms dropped at either side as she spoke; "some cruel witchery surrounds me; but I will speak and break the spell. Father, you are not a murderer? you did not murder----" and she, too, whispered a name, as if it were one that the breath of heaven should not bear. The baronet sprang from his seat, as if a musket ball had entered his heart. "'T is false!" he exclaimed; "there is no blood upon my hand--look at it--look at it! Burrell has no proofs--unless that villain Dalton has betrayed me," he added, in a lower tone; "but I did not the act, the blood is on _his_ head, and not on mine. Constance, my child, the only thing on earth _now_ that can love me, do not curse--do not spurn me. I ask not your sacrifice, that I may be saved;--but do not curse me--do not curse your father." The haughty baronet fell, humbled to the dust, at his daughter's feet, clasping her knees in awful emotion, but daring not to look upon the face of his own child. It would be as vain to attempt, as it would be impossible to analyse, the feelings of that high-souled woman during moments of such intense misery. She neither spoke nor wept; nor did she assist her father, by any effort, to arise; but, without a sentence or a word, folding her mourning robe around her, she glided like a ghost forth from the chamber. When she returned, her step had lost its elasticity, and her eye its light; she moved as if in a heavy atmosphere, and her father did not dare to look upon her, as she seated herself by the chair he had resumed. She took his hand, and put it, but did not press it, to her lips: he thought he felt a tear drop upon his burning fingers; but the long hair that fell over her brow concealed her face. He was the first to break the dreadful and oppressive stillness. "I would speak with Burrell: there must have been treachery. Of himself, believe me, he knew nothing: but I was so taken by surprise, that I did not consider----" "Stop, sir, I entreat you," interrupted Constance. "There is now no motive for consideration. I have just seen, and promised to be the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell within this week--and three of its days are already past:--_his_ silence, and _your honour_ are secured."