knew, impossible; and among the bitterest of his regrets was the one, that she did not consider him worthy of her confidence. "I could give her up, almost cheerfully," he would repeat to himself, "if her happiness depended on it; but I cannot support the idea that she thinks me undeserving her esteem." As to his arrest, he cared but little for it: at another time it would have chafed and perplexed him in no small degree; but Constance--the beloved Constance--the playmate of his childhood--the vision of his boyhood--the reality of his maturer years, was alone in his mind. Often did he wish he had not seen her in her womanly beauty; that he had not spent a day beneath the roof where he was now a prisoner; that she had been any thing but worthy of the passionate affection he endeavoured vainly to recall. Had she been less perfect, he thought he could have been less devoted; and yet he would not have her other than she was. But for such a one to be the victim of Sir Willmott Burrell--a traitor! a coward--the thought was insupportable. After many contending ideas, he came to the resolution that, cost what it would, he would put the case in all its bearings to Major Wellmore--another mystery he vainly sought to unravel, but who had evidently powerful interest with the family at Cecil Place. True, he was a partisan of the Protector; but, nevertheless, there were fine manly feelings about his heart; and it was, moreover, clear that he was by no means well inclined towards Sir Willmott Burrell. With this resolution on his mind, bodily fatigue overcame even his anxieties, and he fell into a deep slumber. He had slept but for a short time, when he was suddenly awakened by the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder; he looked up, and by the dim light of the fading lamp saw it was Major Wellmore who disturbed his repose. He started at once from his couch; but the officer seated himself upon an opposite chair, placed his steeple-crowned and weather-beaten hat on the floor, and resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin between the palms of his hands, fixed his keen eyes upon the young Cavalier, who, when perfectly awake, perceived that his visitor was dressed and armed as usual. "Is it morning, sir?" inquired De Guerre, anxious to break the silence. "No, sir," was the concise reply. "The whole house sleeps," resumed Walter; "why then are you up and dressed? and why am I disturbed?" "You are mistaken, young man. Know you a pretty, demure, waiting-gentlewoman, called Barbara?" "Mistress Cecil's attendant?" "The same:--she has but now left the house, to communicate, I suppose, with your respectable friends at the Gull's Nest, and devise means for your escape." "If so, I am sure I know nothing of the foolish plan." "I believe you. There is another who slumbers not." "What, Constantia!--is she ill?" inquired the Cavalier, with an earnestness that caused something of a smile to visit the firm-set lip of the hardy soldier.