Not having anything better to do, Atherton began to wander about the deserted suite of apartments, with which his own chamber communicated by a side door. As the windows were closed, the rooms looked very dark, and he could see but little, and what he did see, impressed him with a melancholy feeling; but the furthest room in the suite looked lighter and more cheerful than the others, simply because the shutters had been opened. It was a parlour, but most of the furniture had been removed, and only a few chairs and a table were left. Atherton sat down, and was ruminating upon his position, when a door behind was softly opened--so very softly that he heard no sound. But he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and, looking up, beheld Constance standing beside him. When he met her in the park with Monica, he had not noticed any material alteration in her appearance; but now that he gazed into her face, he was very much struck by the change which a week or two had wrought in her looks. Dressed in deep mourning, she looked much thinner than heretofore, and the roses had entirely flown from her cheeks; but the extreme paleness of her complexion heightened the lustre of her magnificent black eyes, and contrasted forcibly with her dark locks, while the traces of sadness lent fresh interest to her features. Not without anxiety did Atherton gaze at her, and at last he said: "You have been ill, Constance?" "Not very ill," she replied, with a faint smile. "I am better--and shall soon be quite well. My illness has been rather mental than bodily. I have never quite recovered from the terrible shock which I had to undergo--and, besides, I have been very uneasy about you. Now that you are safe I shall soon recover my health and spirits. At one time I feared I should never behold you again, and then I began to droop." "I thought you possessed great firmness, Constance," he remarked. "So I fancied, but I found myself unequal to the trial," she rejoined. "I had no one to cheer me. Monica's distress was even greater than my own, and her mother did not offer us much consolation, for she seemed convinced that both you and Jemmy were doomed to die as traitors." "Well, your apprehensions are now at an end, so far as I am concerned," said Atherton; "and I see no cause for uneasiness in regard to Jemmy, for he is certain to escape in one way or other. I hope to meet him a month hence in Paris. But I shall not leave England till I learn he is free, as if he fails to escape, I must try to accomplish his deliverance." "Do not run any further risk," she cried. "I have promised to help him, and I must keep my word," he rejoined. "I ought not to attempt to dissuade you, for I love Jemmy dearly, but I love you still better, and I therefore implore you for my sake--if not for your own--not to expose yourself to further danger. I will now tell you frankly that I could not go through such another week as I have just passed."