 said De Bracy; »and I
leave thee to form it.«
    Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying scene with undismayed
courage; but it was because she had not considered the danger as serious and
imminent. Her disposition was naturally that which physiognomists consider as
proper to fair complexions, mild, timid, and gentle; but it had been tempered,
and, as it were, hardened, by the circumstances of her education. Accustomed to
see the will of all, even of Cedric himself (sufficiently arbitrary with
others), give way before her wishes, she had acquired that sort of courage and
self-confidence which arises from the habitual and constant deference of the
circle in which we move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of her will
being opposed, far less that of its being treated with total disregard.
    Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, a fictitious
character, induced over that which was natural to her, and it deserted her when
her eyes were opened to the extent of her own danger as well as that of her
lover and her guardian; and when she found her will, the slightest expression of
which was wont to command respect and attention, now placed in opposition to
that of a man of a strong, fierce, and determined mind, who possessed the
advantage over her, and was resolved to use it, she quailed before him.
    After casting her eyes around as if to look for the aid which was nowhere to
be found, and after a few broken interjections, she raised her hands to heaven,
and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It was impossible
to see so beautiful a creature in such extremity without feeling for her, and De
Bracy was not unmoved, though he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He had,
in truth, gone too far to recede; and yet, in Rowena's present condition, she
could not be acted on either by arguments or threats. He paced the apartment to
and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose herself, now
hesitating concerning his own line of conduct.
    If, thought he, I should be moved by the tears and sorrow of this
disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss of those fair hopes for
which I have encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince John and his
jovial comrades? »And yet,« he said to himself, »I feel myself ill framed for
the part which I am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it is
disturbed with agony, or on those eyes
