There was one person to whom this festive scene afforded no amusement. This was the fair Cicely. After Cholmondeley’s departure—though wholly unacquainted with what had befallen him—she lost all her sprightliness, and could not summon up a smile, though she blushed deeply when rallied by the warder. In surrendering her heart at the first summons of the enamoured esquire, Cicely had obeyed an uncontrollable impulse; but she was by no means satisfied with herself for her precipitancy. She felt that she ought to have resisted rather than have yielded to a passion which, she feared, could have no happy result; and though her admirer had vowed eternal constancy, and pleaded his cause with all the eloquence and fervour of deep and sincere devotion—an eloquence which seldom falls ineffectually on female ears—she was not so unacquainted with the ways of the world as to place entire faith in his professions. But it was now too late to recede. Her heart was no longer her own; and if her lover had deceived her, and feigned a passion which he did not feel, she had no help for it, but to love on unrequited.
While her bosom alternately fluttered with hope, or palpitated with fear, and her hands mechanically pursued their employment, she chanced to raise her eyes, and beheld the sinister gaze of Lawrence Nightgall fixed upon her. There was something in his malignant look that convinced her he read what was passing in her breast—and there was a bitter and exulting smile on his lip which, while it alarmed her on her account, terrified her (she knew not why) for her lover.
“You are thinking of the young esquire who left you an hour ago,” he observed sarcastically.
“I will not attempt to deny it,” replied Cicely, colouring; “I am.”
“I know it,” rejoined the jailer; “and he dared to tell you he loved you?”
“And you?—what answer did you give him, mistress?” continued Nightgall, furiously grasping her arm. “What answer did you give him, I say?”
“Let me go,” cried Cicely. “You hurt me dreadfully. I will not be questioned thus.”
“I overheard what you said to him,” rejoined the jailer. “You told him that you loved him—that you had loved no other—and would wed no other.”
“I told him the truth,” exclaimed Cicely. “I do love him, and will wed him.”