On the morrow the messenger made his way to the constable's castle, and delivered to him the letter: who, when he had read its contents, grievously lamented the bitter wickedness of the sentence, crying, 'Alas! alas! how can this world continue, so steeped in sin and cruelty is every creature!—Gracious God! if it be thy will, how can it meet the righteousness of thy judgment thus to suffer innocence to be betrayed, and wicked men to reign on in prosperity?—O! blameless Constance! deep is the measure of my grief, that I must either be your tormentor and your bane, or myself endure a shameful death!'
Both young and old in the neighbourhood wept at the news of this cursed letter; and on the fourth day Constance, with a deadly pale face, went toward the vessel: and kneeling down upon the strand, she said, 'Lord! ever welcome be thy decree;' and, she added, 'he that shielded me from blame while I was amongst you, can preserve me from harm in the wide sea. He is now as strong as he ever was: in Him I put my trust; He will be my sail and my load-star on the perilous deep.'
