seat when Lord Norbourne told his daughter to go; and, as Constance left the room, she rose with an intention of following, and then sat down, pale and trembling, as if she equally dreaded to stay or go.
"You are ill, my dearest mother!" exclaimed Norbourne, springing to her side.
Lord Norbourne rose also; and his movement seemed to recall Mrs. Courtenaye to herself. She rose calmly; and, saying to her son,—"I shall expect you in half an hour; I wish to have some conversation with you;" she, also, quitted the apartment.
Courtenaye thought the intermediate space a good opportunity of telling his uncle that his affections were irrevocably engaged. He had surmised, once or twice lately, that Lord Norbourne was not so careless of Constance as he seemed to be, and that the report of their marriage was not without his sanction. However painful the subject might be, the sooner any such idea was put an end to the better, for the sake of all parties.
"My mother has of late," said he, "been
