"
The countess looked steadfastly on her fluctuating countenance. "Has
Constantine, my dear girl, hinted to you that he ever was otherwise
than as he now appears?"
Miss Beaufort could not reply. She would not trust her lips with
words, but shook her head in sign that he had not. Lady Tinemouth was
too well read in the human heart to doubt for an instant the cause of
her question, and consequent emotion. Feeling that something was due
to an anxiety so disinterested, she took her passive hand, and said,
"Mary, you have guessed rightly. Though I am not authorized to tell
you the real name of Mr. Constantine, nor the particulars of his
history, yet let this satisfy your generous heart, that it can never
be more honorably employed than in compassionating calamities which
ought to wreath his young brows with glory."
Miss Beaufort's eyes streamed afresh, whilst her exulting soul seemed
ready to rush from her bosom.
"Mary!" continued the countess, wanned by the recollection of his
excellence, "you have no need to blush at the interest which you take
in this amiable stranger! Every trial of spirit which could have
tortured youth or manhood has been endured by him with the firmness
of a hero. Ah, my sweet friend," added the countess, pressing the
hand of the confused Miss Beaufort, who, ashamed, and conscious that
her behavior betrayed how dearly she considered him, had covered her
face with her handkerchief, "when you are disposed to believe that a
man is as great as his titles and personal demands seem to assert,
examine with a nice observance whether his pretensions be real or
artificial.
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