voice that could never be harsh. "It may seem folly--madness if you will,
that the brilliant and all-idolized Miss Vernon should listen to the vows
of so lowly an adorer: but try me--prove me, and own--yes, you _will_ own
some years hence, that that folly has been happy beyond the happiness of
prudence or ambition."

"This!" answered Constance, struggling with her emotions; "this is no spot
or hour for such a conference. Let us meet to-morrow--the western
chamber."

"And the hour?"

"Twelve!"

"And I may hope--till then?"

Constance again grew pale; and in a voice that, though it scarcely left
her lips, struck coldness and dismay into his sudden and delighted
confidence, answered,

"No, Percy, there is no hope!--none!"

[1] Then uncommon.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE INTERVIEW.--THE CRISIS OF A LIFE.

The western chamber was that I have mentioned as the one in which
Constance usually fixed her retreat, when neither sociability nor state