Equally inconsistent is the charge aimed at my gallant brother. Dearest
Constantia, surely you cannot believe Eustace to be a traitor; yet your
cold looks and marked indifference to poor Monthault, and the care with
which you avoid your lover's name, lest his friend should attempt his
exculpation, indicate, that either you suffer this futile charge to
dwell too much upon your mind, or that you mistook the mere attachment
of kindred for devoted affection."
"Isabel," returned Constantia, with a look of mild expostulation, "I
know not how far to trust rumour, but this I know, that the tongue of
Monthault will corrode the fame of Eustace, either in censuring or
commending him. Do not imagine there is any change in me, or that I
mistook the nature of my own feelings. Whether Eustace deserves reproach
or renown, my heart will never own another possessor. It is either
wedded to his deserts, or so estranged by his faults, that love may as
well light his fire on a monumental tablet as make me again admire in
man, that fair semblance of generous integrity, by which Eustace won me
to select him as the partner of my future life.
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