ed
Constantia's bed.

The next chamber was occupied by her father: it was lofty, but not
spacious. The inside of the door was guarded by many bolts; and at the
moment his daughter was seeking commune with, and counsel from, the
Almighty, he was employed in examining and securing them with evident
anxiety. First one, and then another, was pushed to its rest; then he
turned the key in the lock--once, twice. Having shaken, or rather
attempted to shake, the massive door, to determine if it were really
secure, Sir Robert Cecil proceeded to inspect the window fastenings; and
being convinced they were in their places, he turned to the table where
the light burnt brightly, examined a brace of pistols, which he placed
under his pillow, and then, took down a huge heavy sword from a shelf
where it lay concealed, pulled it forth from its scabbard, and applied
his thumb along the edge, to be satisfied of its sharpness. Having laid
the weapon by his bed-side, he commenced, unaided, to undress. This did
not occupy him long, though he stopped occasionally, his eye glancing
round the apartment, his ear bent, as if some unhallowed noise had
struck upon it suddenly. As he moved to his lonely couch, he passed
before an immense glass, in a heavy oaken frame: his own reflection met
his eye; he started as if a spectre had crossed his path--his cheek
blanched--his knees smote one against the other--his respiration was
impeded. At last, waving his hand, as if to dispel the phantom his
imagination had conjured up, he sprang into the bed, and buried his head
under its pillows.

At the end of the corridor which led to the sleeping-chambers, was the
apartment appropriated to Burrell of Burrell, whenever he was a guest at
Cecil Place; his visits, however, were not so frequent, or of such long
duration, as might have been expected in the lover of Lady Constance
Cecil. He was fast approaching the meridian of life, and his youth had
been spent chiefly at court:--at both courts, in fact, for he had been a
partisan of the unhappy Charles, and afterwards, at heart, as complete
a regicide as any who took a more active part in the terrible
transactions of the times. He joined the army of the Parliament,
nevertheless, but for a short time, pleading, as an excuse, the
necessity there was for remaining amongst his own tenants and thralls to
keep them in subjection. Sir Willmott Burrell may well be designated a
man of two characters--one for public, one for p