Beaumont, who, with
unruffled fortitude, saw them take an inventory of his property, even to
the most minute article, his wearing apparel being exempted as a mark of
especial mercy[1]. Morgan, who at every turn expected to discover
Constantia fainting with terror, or shrieking for mercy, was
disappointed at only encountering the steady heroism of her father, and
the iron rigidity and proud contempt of her aunt, whose regret at seeing
the hoarded treasures of her industry, and the idols of her cleanly
notability, exposed to the hands and eyes of the profane vulgar, was
subdued by her detestation of the meanness and baseness of those from
whom her revered brother suffered this indignity and spoliation.
"And where," said Morgan, "are the pretty maids? Hid in some corner, I
doubt not. Poor lambs! they are innocent, and have no cause to fear
anything. I am sure they shall be welcome to an asylum in my house; and
you too, Madam Mellicent, if you would condescend----"
"They are gone, Morgan," said she, suddenly restored to the use of her
speech by the supreme pleasure of reproving a villain; "they are gone
with Eustace to the Marquis of Newcastle, out of thy power or that of
thy wicked masters, and their unjust ordinances.
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