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<h2>STANDARD<br />
NOVELS.</h2>

<h3>N<sup>o</sup> LXXIX.</h3>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of
life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by
the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be.
Apuleius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by
his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of <span class="smcap">Boccaccio</span> has outlived
the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author."</p></div>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<h1>THE BUCCANEER.</h1>

<h3 style="margin-bottom: 3em">COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.</h3>

<p class="center">LONDON:<br />
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET:<br />
<br />
BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;<br />
J. CUMMING, DUBLIN.<br />
<br />
1840.<br />
</p>

<p class="center"><small>London:<br />
Printed by <span class="smcap">A. Spottiswoode</span>.<br />
New-Street-Square.</small></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p class="center"><small><i>J. Cowse, pinxt. W. Greatbatch, sc.</i></small></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 499px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:s:sc-hall-the-buccaneer-a-tale-illo-illo-frontis3.jpg" width="499" height="800" alt="THE BUCCANEER. The Protector instantly exclaimed Guards! what ho!
without there! Five or six rushed into the room
and laid hands upon Robin." title="THE BUCCANEER." />
<span class="caption">THE BUCCANEER.<br />
<i>The Protector instantly exclaimed "Guards! what ho!
without there!" Five or six rushed into the room
and laid hands upon Robin.</i><br /><br />
<i>London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1840.</i></span>
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:s:sc-hall-the-buccaneer-a-tale-illo-illo-title.jpg" width="449" height="772" alt="Title page" title="Title page" />
<span class="caption"><i>Kneeling on a high-backed and curiously
carved chair, which he leaned over pulpit-fashion,
was seen the lean, lanky figure
of <a name="Page_tpt" id="Page_tpt"></a><a href="#Page_tptn">Fleetword</a>.</i></span>
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h1>
<small>THE</small><br />
<br />
<big>BUCCANEER.</big><br />
<br />
<small>A TALE.<br />
<br />
<small>BY</small></small><br />
<br />
MRS. S. C. HALL.<br />
</h1>

<hr style="width: 35%;" />

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Stay! methinks I see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A person in yond cave. Who should that bee?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I know her ensignes now&mdash;'tis Chivalrie<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Possess'd with sleepe, dead as a lethargie;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If any charme will wake her, 'tis the name<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of our Meliadus! I'll use his Fame.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span><br />
</div></div></div>
<hr style="width: 35%;" />

<p class="center">
REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.<br />
<br />
LONDON:<br />
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET:<br />
BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;<br />
J. CUMMING, DUBLIN.<br />
1840.<br /></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE BUCCANEER.</h2>



<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>

<div class="blockw">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She seems a sea wasp flying on the waves.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Dryden.</span>
</div></div></div>

<p>It was between the hours of ten and twelve on a fine night of
February, in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-six, that three
men moored a light skiff in a small bay, overshadowed by the
heavy and sombre rocks that distinguish the Isle of Shepey
from other parts along the coast of Kent, the white cliffs of
which present an aspect at once so cheerful and so peculiar to
the shores of Britain. The quiet sea seemed, in the murky
light, like a dense and motionless mass, save when the gathering
clouds passed from the brow of the waning moon, and
permitted its beams to repose in silver lines on its undulating
bosom.</p>

<p>It was difficult to account for the motive that could have
induced any mariner to land upon so unpropitious a spot,
hemmed in as it was on every side, and apparently affording
no outlet but that by which they had entered&mdash;the trackless
and illimitable ocean. Without a moment's deliberation, however,
the steersman, who had guided his boat into the creek,
sprang lightly to the shore: another followed; while the third,
folding himself in the capacious cloak his leader had thrown
off, resumed his place, as if resolved to take his rest, at least
for a time.</p>

<p>"Little doubt of our having foul weather, master," observed
the younger of the two, in a half querulous, half positive
tone, as standing on a huge bank of sea-weed, he regarded first
the heavens, and then the earth, with the scrutinising gaze of
one accustomed to pry into their mysteries. His companion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
made no answer, but commenced unrolling a rich silk scarf,
that had enveloped his throat, and twisting it into loose folds,
passed it several times around his waist&mdash;having previously
withdrawn from a wide leathern belt that intervened between
his jacket and trousers a brace of curiously-fashioned pistols,
which he now handed to the young sailor, while he elevated
the hilt of his dagger, so that, without removing or disturbing
the silken sash, he could use it in an instant. Having fully
ascertained this point, by drawing the weapon more than once
from its sheath, he again deposited the pistols in his belt, and
buttoned his vest nearly to the throat; then drew the ends of
his sash still more tightly, and placing a hand on either side,
turned towards the cliffs, measuring their altitude with an eye,
which, though deficient in dignity, was acute, and peculiarly
fierce in expression.</p>

<p>The seaman, for such was his calling, was about five feet
eight or nine inches in height. His hair, as it appeared from
beneath a cap singularly at variance with the fashion of the
time, curled darkly round a face, the marked features of which
were sufficiently prominent, even in that uncertain light, to
denote a person of no ordinary mind or character. His figure
was firm and well-proportioned, and, though he might have
numbered fifty years, it had lost neither strength nor elasticity.
His whole bearing was that of a man whom nothing could have
turned from a cherished purpose, were it for good or evil:
though his eye was, as we have described it, fierce and acute,
it was also restless and impatient as the waves upon which he
had toiled from his earliest years.</p>

<p>Again he surveyed the cliff, and, stepping close to its base,
applied the point of a boat-spear to remove the sea-weed that
spring and high tides had heaped against it; he then summoned
the youth to his assistance: after a few moments'
search, the lad exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Here it is, master&mdash;here is one&mdash;here another&mdash;but,
my eyes! are we to trust our necks to such footing as this?
I'd rather mount the top-gallant of the good ship Providence
in the fiercest Nor-wester that ever blow'd, than follow such a
lubberly tack."</p>

<p>"Then go back to the boat, sir," replied the elder, as he
began, with cautious yet steady daring, to ascend&mdash;a course
attended with evident danger, "Go back to the boat, sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>&mdash;and,
here, Jeromio! you have not been taught your duty on
board the Providence, and, I presume, have no scruples, like
our friend Oba Springall. Jeromio! I say, hither and up
with me!"</p>

<p>"I am ready, sir," replied the youth, whose momentary
dread had been dispelled by this attempt to promote a rival to
the post of honour; "I am ready, sir:" muttering, however,
soon afterwards to himself, as the difficulties of the way increased,
"He thinks no more of his life than if he were a
sprat or a spawn." No other word was breathed by either of
the adventurers, as they threaded the giddy path, until about
midway, when the elder paused and exclaimed, "A-hoy there,
boy! there are two steps wanting; you had better indeed go
back. To me, the track has been long familiar; not so to
you."</p>

<p>The youth thought of his master's taunt, and Jeromio,
and resolved to take his chance. "Ay, ay, sir, no danger
when I follow you." But the peril was, in truth, appalling,
though its duration was brief. Below, the sea that was now
rapidly covering the small creek, rudely agitated and opposed
by a rising breeze, dashed and foamed against the rocks. To
fall from such a height was inevitable destruction. There was
scarcely sufficient light to mark the inequality of the ascending
cliffs; and a spectator, gazing on the scene, must have imagined
that those who clung to such a spot were supported by
supernatural agency. The Skipper, nothing daunted, struck
the spear, that had served as a climbing-stick, firmly into the
surface of mingled clay and stone, and then, by a violent effort,
flung himself upwards, catching with his left hand at a slight
projection that was hardly visible; thus, hanging between
earth and heaven, he coolly disengaged the staff, and placed
it under the extended arm, so as to form another prop; and
feeling, as it were, his way, he burrowed with his foot a resting
in the cliff, from which he sprang on a narrow ledge, and
was in safety. He then turned to look for his young companion,
to whom he extended the boat-spear that had been of
such service. Animated by his master's success and example,
Springall's self-possession was confirmed; and both soon stood
on the brow of the precipice.</p>

<p>"Sharp sailing that, boy," observed the elder, as the youth
panted at his side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ay, ay, sir," replied Springall, wiping his face with the
sleeve of his jacket. "Take a drop, master," he continued,
drawing a tin bottle from his bosom, "'twill warm ye after
such a cursed cruise."</p>

<p>The Skipper nodded as he accepted the flask, "I hope you
are as well armed on all points as on this; but don't take in
too great a reef, or it will make you a heavy sailor before your
time: drop anchor now, and keep watch here till further
orders."</p>

<p>"Keep watch here, sir!" said Springall, in a mournful
tone. "And did ye bring me ashore, and up that devil's
rope-ladder, to leave me to watch here?"</p>

<p>The Captain looked upon him angrily for a moment. "I
am rightly served for taking man or boy out of the canting
hulks that lag on the water. Did ye ever chance to hear such
a sound on board the ship Providence as 'Silence, and obey
orders?' Let not your walk, youngster, extend beyond that
point, from which, at daybreak, you can catch a view of the
court tree, where, if ancient habits are not all put off, there
will be revelries ere long: the old church at Minster will be
also within your sight, while the sea between us and the Essex
coast, and for miles along the Northern ocean, can scarcely
bear a sail that your young eyes will not distinguish. Watch
as if your life&mdash;as if a thousand lives hung upon the caution
of a moment; and remember, while the blue light revolves,
which you now see in the vessel's bow, all things abroad go on
well. You also know the pass-word for our friends, and the
reception for our enemies. If you should be at all afraid,
three loud notes on your whistle will summon Jeromio, and a
single flash of your pistol will bring the long-boat off, and
into the creek in five minutes. You can then tumble down
the devil's rope-ladder, as you call it, and send the less timid
Italian to keep watch till my return&mdash;you understand me."
So saying he strode onwards, leaving the youth, who had not
yet passed eighteen summers, to his discontented solitude and
ill-temper.</p>

<p>"Understand you! I wonder who does, ever did, or ever
will; perched up here like a sea-mew, and not having touched
land for five weeks! 'Beyond that point!' I'll be even with
him, for I wo'n't walk to that point: I'll just stay in the one
spot." With this resolution, he flung himself upon a bank of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
early wild thyme, that filled the air with its refreshing odour.
Long after his master was out of sight, he continued pulling
up tufts of the perfumed herb, and flinging them over the
cliff.</p>

<p>"Now, by my faith," he mentally exclaimed, "I have a
mind to pelt that Jeromio with some of these clay lumps: he
is enjoying a sound nap down there, like an overgrown seal,
as he is; and I am everlastingly taunted with Jeromio!
Jeromio! Jeromio! at every hand's turn. Here goes, to
rouse his slumbers." He drew himself gradually forward,
and raised his hand to fling a fragment of stone at his fellow-seaman:
the arm was seized in its uplifted position, by a
figure enveloped in a dark cloak, that, muffled closely round
the face, and surmounted by a slouched hat, worn at the time
by both Cavalier and Roundhead, effectually concealed the
person from recognition. He held the youth in so iron a
grasp, that motion was almost impossible; and while the moon
came forth and shone upon them in all her majesty, the two
who contended beneath her light might have been aptly compared,
in their strength and weakness, to the mighty eagle
overcoming the feeble leveret.</p>

<p>The stranger was the first to speak, as motioning with his
disengaged hand towards the revolving light that hung in the
vessel's bow, he inquired,&mdash;</p>

<p>"What colours does that ship carry?"</p>

<p>"Her master's, I suppose."</p>

<p>"And who is her master?"</p>

<p>"The man she belongs to."</p>

<p>"She's a free-trader then?"</p>

<p>"The sea is as free to a free ship, as the land to a free man,
I take it."</p>

<p>"Reptile! dare you barter words with me?&mdash;Your commander's
name?"</p>

<p>The boy made no answer.</p>

<p>"Dost hear me? Your commander's name?" and as the
question was repeated, the mailed glove of the interrogator
pressed painfully into Springall's flesh, without, however,
eliciting a reply.</p>

<p>"He has a name, I suppose?"</p>

<p>"That you, or any cowardly night-walker, would as soon
not hear; for it is the name of a brave man," replied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
youth at last, struggling violently, but ineffectually, to reach
the whistle that was suspended round his neck.</p>

<p>"Fool!" exclaimed the stranger, "dost bandy strength as
well as words? Learn that in an instant I could drop thee
into the rolling ocean, like the egg of the unwise bird." He
raised the youth from the earth, and held him over the precipice,
whose base was now buried in the wild waste of waters,
that foamed and howled, as if demanding from the unyielding
rock a tribute or a sacrifice.</p>

<p>"Tell me thy master's name."</p>

<p>The heroic boy, though with certain death before him, made
no reply. The man held him for about the space of a minute
and a half in the same position: at first he struggled fiercely
and silently, as a young wolf caught in the hunter's toils; yet
fear gradually palsied the body of the unconquered mind, and
his efforts became so feeble, that the stranger placed him on
his feet, saying,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I wish not to hurt thee, child!" adding, in a low and
broken voice, "Would that the Lord had given unto me sons
endowed with the same spirit! Wilt tell me thy own name?"</p>

<p>"No! If you are a friend, you know our pass-word; if a
foe, you shall not know it from me. You can go down the
cliff, and ask our commander's name from yon sleepy Orson;
his tongue goes fast enough at all seasons."</p>

<p>The stranger entirely withdrew his hold from Springall,
while he moved towards the summit of the rock. Quick as
lightning, the whistle was applied to the youth's mouth, and
three rapid, distinct notes cut through the night air, and were
echoed by the surrounding caverns.</p>

<p>"I thank thee, boy," said the mysterious being, calmly;
"that tells of Hugh Dalton and the Fire-fly."</p>

<p>And he disappeared so instantaneously from the spot, that
Springall rubbed first his eyes, and then his arm, to be assured
whether the events of the last few minutes were not the effects
of a distempered imagination. He had, however, more certain
proof of its reality: for, upon peering closely through the
darkness into the thick wood that skirted the east, he distinctly
noted the glitter of steel in two or three points at the same
moment; and apprehensive that their landing must have been
witnessed by more than one person&mdash;the hostile intentions of
whom he could scarcely doubt&mdash;he examined the priming of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
his pistols, called to Jeromio to look out, for that danger was
at hand, and resumed his watch, fearful, not for his own
safety, but for that of his absent commander.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the Skipper, who was known in the Isle
of Shepey, and upon other parts of the coast, by the name of
Hugh Dalton, proceeded uninterruptedly on his way, up and
down the small luxuriant hills, and along the fair valleys of as
fertile and beautiful a district as any of which our England
can boast, until a sudden turn brought him close upon a dwelling
of large proportions and disjointed architecture, that evidently
belonged to two distinct eras. The portion of the house
fronting the place on which he stood was built of red brick,
and regularly elevated to three stories in height; the windows
were long and narrow; and the entire of that division was in
strict accordance with the taste of the times, as patronised and
adopted by the rulers of the Commonwealth. Behind, rose
several square turrets, and straggling buildings, the carved and
many-paned windows of which were of very remote date, and
evidently formed from the relics of some monastery or religious
house. Here and there, the fancy or interest of the owner had
induced him to remodel the structure; and an ill-designed and
ungraceful mixture of the modern with the ancient gave to
the whole somewhat of a grotesque appearance, that was
heightened by the noble trees, which had once towered in majesty
and beauty, being in many places lopped and docked, as
if even the exuberance of nature was a crime in the eyes of the
present lord of the mansion.</p>

<p>"Sir Robert," muttered Dalton, "may well change the
name of his dwelling from Cecil Abbey to Cecil Place. Why,
the very trees are manufactured into Roundheads. But there
is something more than ordinary a-foot, for the lights are floating
through the house as if it were haunted. The sooner I
make harbour, the better."</p>

<p>He paced rapidly forward, and stood before a small building
that was then called a porter's lodge, but which had formerly
been designated the Abbey Gate, and which, perhaps in consideration
of its simple, but singular, beauty, had been spared
all modern alteration. The ivy that clustered and climbed to
its loftiest pinnacles added a wild and peculiar interest to this
remnant of ancient architecture. It contained a high carriage
archway, and a lateral passage beneath it, both decorated with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
numerous ornamental mouldings and columns, flanked at the
angles by octagonal turrets of surpassing elegance. An apartment
over the arch, which, during the reign of monastic
power, had been used as a small oratory, for the celebration of
early mass to the servants and labourers of the convent, was
now appropriated to the accommodation of the porter and his
family.</p>

<p>The Skipper applied his hand to the bell, and rang long and
loudly. For some time no answer was returned. Again he
rang, and after much delay, an old man was seen approaching
from the house, bearing a torch, which he carefully shaded
from the night wind.</p>

<p>"My good friend," inquired the sailor in no gentle tone,
"is it Sir Robert's wish that those who come on business
should be thus kept waiting?"</p>

<p>"You know little of the affliction with which it has pleased
the Lord to visit Sir Robert, or you would not have rung so
loudly: our good lady is dying!" and the old man's voice
faltered as he spoke the tidings.</p>

<p>"Indeed!" was the only reply of Dalton, as he passed
under the archway; but the word was spoken in a tone that
evinced strong feeling. The porter requested him to walk into
the lodge.</p>

<p>"The place is in confusion; and as to seeing my master, it
is a clear impossibility; he has not left our lady's bedside
these three days, and the doctor says she will be gathered to
her kindred before morning."</p>

<p>"He will leave even her to attend to me; and therefore, my
friend, on your own head be the responsibility if you fail to
deliver to him this token. I tell you," added Dalton, "death
could hardly keep him from me!"</p>

<p>The porter took the offered signet in silence, and only
shook his head in reply, as they passed together towards the
house.</p>

<p>"You can tell me, I suppose, if Master Roland is still with
his Highness's army?"</p>

<p>"Alack and well-a-day! God is just and merciful; but, I
take it, the death of that noble boy has gone nigher to break
my lady's heart than any other sorrow: the flesh will war
against the spirit. Had he died in honourable combat at
Marston or at Naseby, when first it was given him to raise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
his arm in the Lord's cause!&mdash;but to fall in a drunken frolic,
not befitting a holy Christian to engage in&mdash;it was far more
than my poor lady could bear."</p>

<p>"Oliver promised to be a fine fellow."</p>

<p>"Do not talk of him, do not talk of him, I entreat you,"
replied the domestic, placing his hand on his face to conceal
his emotion; "he was, indeed, my heart's darling. Long before
Sir Robert succeeded to his brother's property, and when
we lived with my lady's father, I was the old gentleman's
huntsman, and that dear child was ever at my heels. The
Lord be praised! the Lord be praised! but I little thought
the blue waves would be his bier before he had seen his twentieth
year. They are all gone, sir: five such boys!&mdash;the
girl, the lamb of the flock, only left. You do not know her,
do ye?" inquired the old man, peering with much curiosity
into the Skipper's face, as if recognising it as one he had seen
in former days.</p>

<p>The sailor made no answer.</p>

<p>They had now entered a small postern-door, which led to
the hall by a narrow passage; and the porter proceeded until
they stood in one of those vaulted entrances that usually convey
an idea of the wealth and power of the possessor.</p>

<p>"You can sit here till I return," observed the guide, again
casting an inquiring look upon the form and features of the
guest.</p>

<p>"I sit in no man's hall," was the stern reply.</p>

<p>The porter withdrew, and the seaman, folding his arms,
paced up and down the paved vestibule, which showed evident
tokens of the confusion that sickness and death never fail to
create. He paused occasionally before the huge and gaping
chimney, and extended his sinewy hands over the flickering
embers of the expiring fire: the lurid glare of the departing
flames only rendered the darkness of the farthermost portion
of the hail more deep and fearful. The clock chimed eleven:
it was, as ever, the voice of Time giving warning of eternity!</p>

<p>A light gleamed at the most distant end of the apartment,
and a slight but graceful girl approached the stranger. She
was habited in a close vest of grey cloth: her head covered
with a linen cap, devoid of any ornament; from under the
plain border of which, a stream of hair appeared, tightly drawn
across a forehead of beautiful colour and proportions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>

<p>"Will you please to follow, sir, to my master's study?"</p>

<p>Dalton turned suddenly round; the entire expression of his
countenance softened, and his firm-set lips opened, as if a word
laboured to come forth, and was retained only by an effort.</p>

<p>"Will you not follow, good sir?" repeated the girl,
anxiously but mildly. "My master is ill at ease, and wishes
to return to my lady's room: it may be&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The sentence remained unfinished, and tears streamed afresh
down cheeks already swollen with weeping.</p>

<p>"Your name, girl?" inquired the stranger, eagerly.</p>

<p>"Barbara Iverk," she replied, evidently astonished at the
question. He seized her arm, and, while gazing earnestly in
her face, murmured in a tone of positive tenderness,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Are you happy?"</p>

<p>"I praise the Lord for his goodness! ever since I have
been here, I have been most happy; but my dear lady, who
was so kind to me&mdash;&mdash;" Again her tears returned.</p>

<p>"You do not know me?&mdash;But you could not." Hugh
Dalton gradually relaxed his hold, and pulled from his bosom
a purse heavy with Spanish pieces&mdash;he presented it to the
girl, but she drew back her hand and shook her head.</p>

<p>"Take it, child, and buy thee a riding-hood, or a farthingale,
or some such trumpery, which thy vain sex delight in."</p>

<p>"I lack nothing, good sir, I thank ye; and, as to the
coined silver, it is only a tempter to the destruction of body
and soul."</p>

<p>"As it may be used&mdash;as it may be used," repeated the
sailor quickly; "one so young would not abuse it."</p>

<p>"Wisdom might be needed in the expenditure; and I have
heard that want of knowledge is the forerunner of sin. Besides,
I ask your pardon, good sir, but strangers do not give
to strangers, unless for charity; and I lack nothing."</p>

<p>She dropped so modest a courtesy, and looked so perfectly
and purely innocent, that moisture, as unusual as it might be
unwelcome, dimmed the eyes of the stern man of ocean; and
as he replaced the dollars, he muttered something that sounded
like, "I thank God she is uncontaminated!" He then followed
the gentle girl through many passages, and up and
down more than one flight of stairs: they both at length
stopped before a door that was thickly plated with iron.</p>

<p>"You need not wait," said Dalton, laying his hand on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
latch. Barbara paused a moment, to look on the wild being,
so different from the staid persons she was in the daily habit
of seeing at the hall; and then her light, even step, faded on
the sailor's ear.</p>

<p>Sir Robert Cecil was standing, or rather leaning, with
folded arms, against a column of the dark marble chimney-piece,
which, enriched by various carvings and mouldings, rose
nearly to the ceiling. The Baronet's hair, of mingled grey
and black, had been cropped according to the approved fashion
of the time; so that his features had not the advantage of
either shadow or relief from the most beautiful of nature's ornaments.
He might have been a few years older or younger
than the sailor who had just entered; but his figure seemed
weak and bending as a willow-wand, as he moved slowly
round to receive his visiter. The usually polite expression of
his countenance deepened into the insidious, and a faint smile
rested for a moment on his lip. This outward show of welcome
contrasted strangely with the visible tremor that agitated
his frame: he did not speak; either from inability to coin an
appropriate sentence, or the more subtle motive of waiting until
the communication of the stranger was first made.</p>

<p>After a lengthened pause, during which Dalton slowly advanced,
so as to stand opposite Sir Robert Cecil, he commenced
the conversation, without any of that show of courtesy, which
the consciousness of their relative situations might have called
for: even his cap was unremoved.</p>

<p>"I am sorry, Sir Robert, to have come at such a time;
nor would I now remain, were it not that my business&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I am not aware," interrupted the Baronet, "of any matters
of '<i>business</i>' pending between us. I imagine, on reflection,
you will find that all such have been long since
concluded. If there is any way, indeed, in which I can
oblige you, for the sake of an old servant&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"<i>Servant!</i>" in his turn interrupted Dalton, with emphasis,
"we have been companions, Sir Robert&mdash;<i>companions</i> in more
than one act; and, by the dark heavens above us, will be so in
another&mdash;if necessary."</p>

<p>The haughty Baronet writhed under this familiarity; yet
was there an expression of triumphant quietude in his eye, as
if he despised the insinuation of the seaman. "I think, considering
all things, you have been pretty well paid for such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
acts, Master Dalton; I have never taken any man's labour for
nothing."</p>

<p>"Labour!" again echoed the sailor, "labour may be paid
for; but what can stand in lieu of innocence, purity of heart,
and rectitude of conduct?"</p>

<p>"Gold&mdash;which you have had, in all its gorgeous and
glowing abundance."</p>

<p>"'Two'n't do," retorted the other, in a painfully subdued
tone; "there is much it cannot purchase. Am I not at this
moment a banned and a blighted man&mdash;scouted alike from the
board of the profligate Cavalier, and the psalm-singing Puritan
of this most change-loving country? And one day or another
I may be hung up at the yard-arm of a Commonwealth&mdash;Heaven
bless the mark!&mdash;a Commonwealth cruiser!&mdash;or
scare crows from a gibbet off Sheerness or Queenborough, or be
made an example of for some act of piracy committed on the
high seas!"</p>

<p>"But why commit such acts? You have wherewithal to
live respectably&mdash;quietly."</p>

<p>"Quietly!" repeated the Skipper; "look ye, Master&mdash;I
crave your pardon&mdash;<i>Sir</i> Robert Cecil; as soon could one of
Mother Carey's chickens mount a hen-roost, or bring up a
brood of lubberly turkies, as I, Hugh Dalton, master and
owner of the good brigantine, that sits the waters like a
swan, and cuts them like an arrow&mdash;live quietly, quietly,
on shore! Santa Maria! have I not panted under the hot sun
off the Caribbees? Have I not closed my ears to the cry of
mercy? Have I not sacked, and sunk, and burnt without acknowledging
claim or country? Has not the mother clasped
her child more closely to her bosom at the mention of my
name? In one word, for years have I not been a <span class="smcap">Buccaneer</span>?
And yet you talk to me of quietness!&mdash;Sir, sir, the soul so
steeped in sin has but two resources&mdash;madness, or the grave; the
last even I shrink from; so give me war, war, and its insanity."</p>

<p>"Cannot you learn to fear the Lord, and trade as an honest
man?"</p>

<p>Dalton cast a look of such mingled scorn and contempt on his
companion, that a deep red colour mounted to his cheek as he
repeated, "Yes! I ask, cannot you trade as an honest man?"</p>

<p>"No! a curse on trade: and I'm <i>not</i> honest," he replied
fiercely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>

<p>"May I beg you briefly to explain the object of your visit?"
said the Baronet at last, after a perplexing pause, during which
the arms of the Buccaneer were folded on his breast, and his
restless and vigilant eyes wandered round the apartment, flashing
with an indefinable expression, when they encountered the
blue retreating orbs of Sir Robert.</p>

<p>"This, then: I require a free pardon from Old Noll, not
not only for myself, but for my crew. The brave men, who
would have died, shall live, with me. As a return for his
Highness's civility, I will give up all free trade, and take the
command of a frigate, if it so please him."</p>

<p>"Or a revenue cutter, I presume," observed the Baronet,
sarcastically.</p>

<p>"Curse me if I do!" replied Dalton, contemptuously&mdash;"the
sharks! No, no, I'm not come to that yet; nor would
I ever think of hoisting any flag but mine own, were it not for
the sake of a small craft, as belonging to&mdash;no matter what."</p>

<p>"You have seen but little of the girl."</p>

<p>"Too little: and why? Because I was <i>ashamed</i> to see
her&mdash;but now&mdash;not ten minutes ago&mdash;I was glad she did
not know me. Sir Robert, when your own daughter hangs upon
your arm, or looks with her innocent eyes into your face,
how do you feel?"</p>

<p>Sir Robert Cecil had been too well schooled in Puritanism
to suffer the emotions of his mind to affect his features. He
did not reply to the question, but skilfully turning the conversation,
brought the intruder back to his old subject.</p>

<p>"How do you purpose procuring this free pardon?"</p>

<p>"I! I know not how to procure it; I only wish it procured:
the means are in your power, not mine."</p>

<p>"In mine!" ejaculated the Baronet with well-feigned astonishment;
<a name="Page_13t" id="Page_13t"></a><a href="#Page_13tn">"you</a> mistake, good Dalton, I have no interest at
Whitehall; I would not ask a favour for myself."</p>

<p>"That is likely; but you must ask one for me."</p>

<p>"<i>Must!</i>" repeated Sir Robert, "is a strange word to use
to me, Dalton."</p>

<p>"I'm not scholar enough to find a better," replied the other
insolently.</p>

<p>"I cannot if I would," persisted the Baronet.</p>

<p>"One word more, then. The Protector's plans render it
impracticable for me to continue, as I have done, on the seas:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
I know that I am a marked man, and unless something be determined
on, and speedily, I shall be exposed to that ignominy
which, for my child's sake, I would avoid. Don't talk to me
of impossibilities; you <i>can</i> obtain the pardon I desire, and,
in one word, Sir Robert Cecil, you <i>must</i>!"</p>

<p>Sir Robert shook his head.</p>

<p>"At your pleasure, then, at your pleasure; but at your
peril also. Mark me! I am not one to be thrown overboard,
and make no struggle&mdash;I am not a baby to be strangled without
crying! If I perish, facts shall arise from my grave&mdash;ay,
if I were sunk a thousand fathoms in my own blue sea&mdash;facts
that would&mdash;&mdash;You may well tremble and turn pale! The
secret is still in our keeping; only remember, I fall not singly!"</p>

<p>"Insulting villain!" said Sir Robert, regaining his self-command;
"you have now no facts, no proofs; the evidence
is destroyed."</p>

<p>"It is <i>not</i> destroyed, Robert Cecil," observed Dalton, calmly
pulling a bundle of papers from his vest: "look here&mdash;and
here&mdash;and here&mdash;do you not know your own hand-writing?
you practised me first in deception: I had not forgotten your
kind lessons, when in your presence I committed forged letters
to the flames!"</p>

<p>The man laughed the laugh of contempt and bitter scorn
as he held forward the documents. For a few moments Sir
Robert seemed petrified; his eyes glared on the papers, as if
their frozen lids had not the power of shutting out the horrid
proofs of his iniquity. Suddenly he made a desperate effort to
secure them; but the steady eye and muscular arm of the
smuggler prevented it.</p>

<p>"Hands off!" he exclaimed, whirling the Baronet from him,
as if he had been a thing of straw; "you know my power, and
you know my terms: there needs no more palaver about it."</p>

<p>"Will not gold serve your purpose?"</p>

<p>"No, I have enough of that: I want distinction and fame,
a free pardon, and the command of one of your registered and
acknowledged plunderers; or, mayhap, baptism for my own
bright little Fire-fly, as the 'Babe of Grace;' or&mdash;But, hang
it, no&mdash;I'd sink the vessel first, and let her die, as she has
lived, free, free, free! <i>I</i> belong to a civilised set of beings,
and must therefore be a slave, a slave to something or some one.
Noll knows my talents well, knows that I am as good a com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>mander,
ay, and for the matter of that, would be as honest a one
as the best."</p>

<p>He paused: the Baronet groaned audibly.</p>

<p>"We have one or two little jobs upon the coasts here of
Kent and Essex, trifles that must, nevertheless, be attended to;
but this day month, Sir Robert Cecil, we meet again. I will
not longer keep you from your wife. Gracious Heaven! where
was I when mine expired! But farewell! I would not detain
you for her sweet and gentle sake: she will be rewarded for
her goodness to my child! Remember," he added, closing the
door, <a name="Page_15t" id="Page_15t"></a><a href="#Page_15tn">"remember</a>&mdash;one month, and Hugh Dalton!"</p>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>

<div class="blockw">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Death! be not proud, though some have called thee<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Die not, poor Death&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;Why swell'st thou, then?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One short sleep past, we wake eternally';<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Death shall be no more:&mdash;Death! thou shalt die.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Dr. Donne.</span><br />
</div></div></div>


<p>When Sir Robert Cecil returned to his wife's chamber, all
within was silent as the grave. He approached the bed; his
daughter rose from the seat she had occupied by its side, and
motioned him to be still, pointing at the same time to her
mother, and intimating that she slept. "Thank God for
that!" he murmured, and drew his hand across his brow,
while his chest heaved as if a heavy weight had been removed
from it. The attendants had left the room to obtain
some necessary refreshment and repose, and father and daughter
were alone with the sleeper in the chamber of death. The
brow of Lady Cecil was calm, smooth, and unclouded, white
as alabaster, and rendered still more beautiful by the few
tresses of pale auburn hair that escaped from under the head-tire.
The features were of a noble yet softened character,
although painfully emaciated; and not a shadow of colour
tinged her upturned lip. Her sleep, though occasionally sound,
was restless, and the long shadowy fingers, that lay on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
embroidered coverlet, were now and then stirred, as if by
bodily or mental suffering. There was an atmosphere of
silence, not of repose, within the apartment, at once awful
and oppressive; and Sir Robert breathed as if his breathings
were but a continuation of suppressed sobs.</p>

<p>Constance Cecil, never in earlier life, never in after years,
gracious and beautiful as she ever was, appeared half so interesting
to her unhappy father as at that moment. There was
at all times about her a majesty of mind and feeling that lent
to her simplest word and action a dignity and power, which,
though universally felt, it would have been impossible to
define. If one could have procured for her a kingdom to
reign over, or have chosen from the galaxy of heaven a region
worthy her command, it must have been that pale and holy
star, which, splendid and alone in the firmament, heralds the
approach of day; so unfitted might she have been deemed to
mingle with a world less pure, so completely placed by nature
above all the littleness of ordinary life. Her noble and majestic
form was the casket of a rich and holy treasure, and her
father's conscience had often quailed, when contemplating the
severity of her youthful virtue. Dearly as he loved his wife,
he respected his daughter more, and the bare idea that certain
occurrences of former years might be known to her was as a
poisoned dagger in his heart. He had been a daring, and was
still an ambitious man&mdash;successful in all that men aim to
succeed in; wealthy, honoured, and powerful, and&mdash;what is
frequently more ardently sought for than all&mdash;feared; yet
would he rather have sacrificed every advantage he had gained&mdash;every
desire for which he had unhesitatingly bartered his
own self-esteem&mdash;every distinction he had considered cheaply
purchased at the price of conscience, than have lost the good
opinion, the confiding love of his only child. Even now he
looked upon her with mingled feelings of dread and affection,
though her bearing was subdued and her lofty spirit bowed by
sorrow, as she stood before him, the thick folds of her dressing-gown
falling with classic elegance to her feet, her fine hair
pushed back from her forehead and carelessly twisted round
her head, and her countenance deepened into an expression of
the most intense anxiety: while, assured that the invalid slept
on, she whispered into his ear words of consolation, if not of
hope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>

<p>Lady Cecil had existed for some days in a state of frightful
delirium, and, during that time, her ravings had been so loud
and continued, that her present repose was elysium to those
who loved her. Constance bent her knees, and prayed in
silence, long and fervently, for support. Sir Robert, leaning
back in the richly-cushioned chair, covered his face with his
hands, withdrawing them only when the sleeper groaned or
breathed more heavily. At length both felt as if death had
indeed entered the chamber, so motionless lay the object of
their love: they continued gazing from each other to the
couch, until the misty light of morning streamed coldly through
the open shutters. Another hour of sad watching passed, and,
with a long and deeply drawn sigh, the sufferer opened her
eyes: they were no longer wild and wandering, but rested
with calm intelligence on her husband and her child.</p>

<p>"It is long since I have seen you, except in strange dreams,"
she said, or rather murmured; "and now I shall be with you
but for a very little time!"</p>

<p>Constance put to her lips a silver cup containing some refreshment,
while Sir Robert supported her head on his arm.</p>

<p>"Call no one in. Constance&mdash;Cecil&mdash;my moments now
are numbered:&mdash;draw back the curtains, that I may once
more look upon the light of morning!" Constance obeyed;
and the full beams of day entered the room. "How beautiful!
how glorious!" repeated the dying woman, as her sight
drank in the reviving light; "it heralds me to immortality&mdash;where
there is no darkness&mdash;no disappointment&mdash;no evil!
How pale are the rays of that lamp, Cecil! How feeble
man's inventions, contrasted with the works of the Almighty!"
Constance rose to extinguish it. "Let it be," she continued,
feebly; "let it be, dearest; it has illumined my last night,
and we will expire together." The affectionate daughter
turned away to hide her tears; but when did the emotion of
a beloved child escape a mother's notice?&mdash;"Alas! my noble
Constance weeping! I thought she, at all events, could have
spared me this trial:&mdash;leave us for a few moments; let me
not see you weep, Constance&mdash;let me not see it&mdash;tears
enough have fallen in these halls;&mdash;do not mourn, my child,
that your mother will find rest at last."</p>

<p>How often did Constantia remember these words! How
often, when the heart that dictated such gentle chiding, had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
ceased to beat, did Constantia Cecil, gazing into the depths of
the blue and mysterious sky, think upon her mother in
heaven!</p>

<p>Lady Cecil had much to say to her husband during the
remaining moments of her existence; but her breathing became
so feeble, that he was obliged to lean over the couch to
catch her words.</p>

<p>"We part, my own, and only beloved husband, for ever in
this world;&mdash;fain would I linger yet a little, to recount how
much I have loved you&mdash;in our more humble state&mdash;in this&mdash;oh!
how falsely termed our prosperity. My heart has
shared your feelings. In our late bitter trials, more than half
my grief was, that you should suffer. Oh, Robert! Robert!
now, when I am about to leave you and all, for ever&mdash;how
my heart clings&mdash;I fear, sinfully clings&mdash;to the remembrance
of our earlier and purer happiness! My father's house! The
noble oak, where the ring-doves built, and under whose shadow
we first met! The stream&mdash;where you and Herbert&mdash;wild,
but affectionate brother!&mdash;Oh! Robert, do not blame me,
nor start so at his name;&mdash;his only fault was his devotion to
a most kind master!&mdash;but who, that lived under the gentle
influence of Charles Stuart's virtues, could have been aught
but devoted?&mdash;And yet what deadly feuds came forth from
this affection! Alas! his rich heritage has brought no blessing
with it. I never could look upon these broad lands as
ours&mdash;Would that his child had lived&mdash;and then&mdash;But
they are all gone now&mdash;all gone!&mdash;Alas! what had we to do
with courts, or courts with us?&mdash;Our domestic comforts have
been blighted&mdash;our hearth left desolate&mdash;the children for
whom you toiled, and hoped, and planned, have been removed
from us&mdash;nipped in the bud, or the first blossoming!&mdash;And
oh, Cecil! take the words of a dying woman to heart, when she
tells you, that you will go down childless to your grave, if you
do not absolve our beloved Constance from her promise to him
whom she can neither respect nor love. She will complete
the contract, though it should be her death-warrant, rather
than let it be said a daughter of the house of Cecil acted dishonourably&mdash;she
will complete it, Robert&mdash;she will complete
it&mdash;and then die!"</p>

<p>Lady Cecil, overcome by emotion and exertion, fell back
fainting and exhausted on her pillow. Recovering herself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
however, after a brief pause she added, in a broken whispering
voice, "Forgive me, my dear, dear husband;&mdash;my mind is
wandering&mdash;my thoughts are unconnected&mdash;but my affection
for you&mdash;for Constance&mdash;is strong in death. I mean not
to pain you, but to warn&mdash;for the sake of our only child&mdash;of
the only thing that remains to tell you of your wife. My
breath trembles on my lips&mdash;there is a mist before mine eyes&mdash;call
her in, that my spirit may depart&mdash;may ascend heavenward
on the wings of prayer!&mdash;"</p>

<p>Sir Robert was moving towards the door, when her hand
motioned him back.</p>

<p>"Promise&mdash;promise that you will never force her to wed
that man!&mdash;more&mdash;that you yourself will break the contract!"</p>

<p>"Truly, and solemnly do I swear, that I will never force
her to fulfil&mdash;nay, that I will never even urge her to its fulfilment."</p>

<p>The dying lady looked unsatisfied, and some unpronounced
words agitated her lips, as Constance entered unbidden, but
most welcome. She knelt by her mother's side, and took the
hand so feebly but affectionately extended towards her. The
fearful change that had occurred during her short absence was
but too visible. The breath that touched her cheek was cold
as the morning mist. The sufferer would have folded her
hands in prayer, but the strength had departed before the
spirit was gone. Constance, seeing that the fine expression of
life with which her upturned eyes had glittered was gradually
passing away, clasped her mother's hands within her own:
suddenly they struggled for freedom, and as her eye followed
the pointing of her parent's finger, she saw the lamp's last
beam flicker for a moment, and then expire!&mdash;Her mother,
too, was dead!</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>It is ill to break upon the solitude of the dying, though it
is good to enter into the solemn temple of death; it is a sad
but a useful lesson to lift the pall; to raise the coffin-lid; to
gaze upon all we loved, upon all that was bright, and pure,
and beautiful, changing with a slow but certain change to decay
and corruption. The most careless cannot move along the
chamber of death without being affected by the awful presence
of the King of Terrors. The holy quiet that ought to cha<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>racterise
a funeral procession is too frequently destroyed by
the empty pomp and heartlessness which attend it; but in the
death-chamber there is nothing of this; the very atmosphere
seems impregnated with the stillness of the time when there
was no life in the broad earth, and when only "God moved
on the face of the waters." Our breath comes slowly and
heavily to our lips, and we murmur forth our words as if the
spirit watched to record them in the unchanging book of immortality.</p>

<p>In due time, the funeral train of Lady Cecil prepared to
escort the corpse to its final home. Sir Robert was too ill, and
too deeply afflicted to be present at the ceremony; and as he
had no near relative, Sir Willmott Burrell of Burrell, the
knight to whom his daughter's hand was plighted, was expected
to take his station as chief mourner. The people
waited for some hours with untiring patience; the old steward
paced backwards and forwards from the great gate, and at last
took his stand there, looking out from between its bars, hoping
that, wild and reckless as Burrell really was, he would not put
so great an affront upon the Cecil family, as to suffer its late
mistress to go thus unhonoured to the grave.</p>

<p>The day advanced, and as neither the gentleman, nor any
one to show cause for his absence, appeared, strange whisperings
and surmises arose amongst the crowd, which had assembled
from all the villages on the island, as to the probable
motive of this most ill-advised delay. More than one messenger
was despatched to the top of Minster Church to look out and
see if any person like Sir Willmott was crossing the King's
Ferry, the only outlet in general use from the island to the
main land: but though the passage-boat, conducted (as it was
termed) by Jabez Tippet, was evidently employed as much as
usual, there was no token to justify farther waiting. The
Rev. Jonas Fleetword, one of the soundest of Puritan divines,
stood like a statue of cast iron in the doorway, his arms folded
on his breast, and his brow contracting into a narrow and
fretted arch, as the minute-hand moved round and round the
dial of the old clock. At length assuming to himself the
command, which in those times was as willingly ceded to the
Reformed minister as it had formerly been to the not more
arbitrary Catholic priest, he ordered the procession "to tarry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
no longer the coming of him whose feet were shod with
heaviness, but to depart forthwith in the name of the Lord."</p>

<p>The place of interment was at East Church, a distance of
about four miles from Cecil Place; and as they paced it
but slowly, the increasing chill of the gathering clouds gave
intimation that the prime of day was sinking into the eventide
before the spire was in sight. As they at length ascended
the hill, upon the summit of which was the vault of the Cecils,
a young gentleman, mounted on a grey and noble charger, met
the funeral train so suddenly, that those who preceded halted,
and for a moment it was rumoured, that Sir Willmott Burrell,
though late and last, had taken the lower road from King's
Ferry, and so arrived in time to behold the remains of her who
was to have been his mother, deposited in the tomb.</p>

<p>When the people observed, however, that the salutation of
respect made by the youth to the Rev. Jonas Fleetword was
followed by no sign of recognition, they moved silently onward,
marvelling amongst themselves at the young gentleman's keeping
a little in advance of the clergyman, so as to take the
exact station which belonged to the chief mourner. He was
habited in a suit of the deepest black; and though the cloak
which fell in ample folds from his throat concealed his figure,
yet his movements indicated that it was slight and graceful.
His broad hat completely shaded his face, but the luxuriant
curls of light air, which, moistened by the misty atmosphere,
fell negligently beneath its brim, intimated that he was more
akin to the Cavalier than the Roundhead.</p>

<p>By the time the ceremony was concluded, and the divine
had finished one of those energetic and powerful appeals to the
feelings which so effectually roused or subdued, as it pleased
him to desire, darkness had nearly shrouded the surrounding
landscape; and the multitude, whom respect or curiosity had
assembled, retired from the churchyard, and wended to their
homes. The year was in its third month, and the weather,
which, when Hugh Dalton landed, had been clear and fine,
was now foggy and cold:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The dewy night had with her frosty shade<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Immantled all the world, and the stiff ground<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sparkled in ice&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Yet the steed of the youth, who had so unceremoniously joined
Lady Cecil's funeral, was cropping the withered grass from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
churchyard graves, while his master, apparently unconscious of
the deepening night, leaned against one of the richly ornamented
stone slabs that marked the entrance to the vault.</p>

<p>Suddenly the clatter of horses' hoofs sounded on the crisp
road, the cavalier involuntarily placed his hand on his sword,
and his horse lifted his head from the earth, bent back his
ears, and whinnied in the low and peculiar tone that serves to
intimate the approach of strangers. The travellers (for there
were two) halted at the churchyard gate.</p>

<p>"What ho there!" exclaimed the foremost&mdash;"you, sir, who
are pondering in graveyards at this hour, canst tell me if Lady
Cecil's funeral took place this morning?"</p>

<p>"Her ladyship was buried this evening," replied the other,
at the same time fairly drawing his sword out of its scabbard,
though the movement was concealed by his cloak.</p>

<p>"They waited then?"</p>

<p>"They did, for one whose presence was not needed."</p>

<p>"And pray, how know you that? or knowing, think you it
wisdom, Sir Dolorous, to give forth such knowledge, when it
might be him they tarried for who questioneth?"</p>

<p>"It is because I know you, Sir Willmott Burrell, that I am
so free of speech," replied the youth, vaulting into his saddle;
"and I repeat it, your presence was not needed. The lady,
as you truly know, loved you not while living; it was well,
therefore, that you profaned not her burial by a show of false
grief."</p>

<p>"Here's a ruffler!" exclaimed the other, turning to his
follower. "And pray who are you?"</p>

<p>"You shall know that, good sir, when you least desire it,"
answered he of the black cloak, reining up his horse, that
pawed and pranced impatiently: he then loosened the bridle,
and would have crossed Burrell to pass into the highway;
but the other shouted to his associate, "Hold, stop him,
Robin! stop him in the name of the Lord! 'tis doubtless one
of the fellows who have assailed his Highness's life&mdash;a leveller&mdash;a
leveller! a friend of Miles Syndercomb, or some such
ruffian, who is tarrying in this remote part of the island for
some opportunity of escape. If you are an innocent man, you
will remain; if guilty, this shall be my warrant."</p>

<p>He attempted to pull forth a pistol from his belt, but, before
his purpose could be accomplished, the point of his adversary's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
rapier rested on his throat, which, at the same instant, was
grasped with more strength than so slight a person could be
supposed to possess. Burrell cried to his comrade for help, but
he was already out of hearing, having set spurs to his horse the
moment he had seen the assault; he then entreated for quarter
in an altered and humbled tone.</p>

<p>"I am neither a robber nor a murderer," replied the youth;
"but, not having pistols, I hold my own safety of too much
value to relax my grasp, till you pledge your honour not to
attack me but with the same weapon I can use in my defence."</p>

<p>Burrell pledged his word "as a Christian and a soldier:"
the stranger withdrew his sword.</p>

<p>"And now," said he, fixing himself firmly in his seat, and
rolling his cloak around his left arm, "if you wish for honourable
combat, I am at your service; if not, sir, I take my way,
and you can proceed on yours." He drew up to his full
height, and awaited Burrell's answer, who sat as if undetermined
what course to pursue. He did not long hesitate;
the villain's ready friend&mdash;treachery&mdash;was at his elbow; in
an instant the pistol was presented to the head of his confiding
antagonist, who, though unprepared for such an act, bent forward
previous to the effort of raising himself in the saddle to
give more strength to his good steel. At the very instant that
he bowed himself the ruffian fired! The ball passed over
him&mdash;he swayed in his saddle; the next moment, reining up
his horse, he prepared to punish such dastardly conduct as it
deserved; but, as worthless purposes are sometimes accomplished
by worthy instruments, the fleet steed that Burrell
rode was far on its way towards Minster, its track marked by
fire-sparks, which glittered in the thickening darkness.</p>

<p>The youth remained on the same spot until the sound of the
horse's hoofs were lost in the distance, and then, setting spurs
to his own gallant grey, proceeded on his course.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Now is the time when rakes their revels keep;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Kindlers of riot, enemies of sleep."</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Gay.</span><br />
</div></div></div>


<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"A brewer may be like a fox or a cub,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And teach a lecture out of a tub,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And give the wicked world a rub,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Which nobody can deny.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A brewer may be as bold as Hector,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When he had drunk his cup of nectar;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a brewer may be a Lord Protector,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Which nobody can deny.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But here remains the strangest thing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How this brewer about his liquor did bring<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be an Emperor or King,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Which nobody can deny.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then push the brewer's liquor about,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And loudly let each true man shout&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shout&mdash;"</span>
</div></div>

<p>"Shout not, I pray you, but rather keep silence," exclaimed
an old woman, cautiously opening the door of a room in which
the revellers were assembled, and thus interrupting their rude,
but animated harmony; "shout not: you may hear a horse's
tramp without; and Crisp grumbles so hard, that sure I am 'tis
no friend's footstep."</p>

<p>"Why, mother," cried one of the company, winking on the
rest, "you say it was a horse you heard?"</p>

<p>"Well! and I say so still, good Master Roupall."</p>

<p>"Sure you do not make friends of horses?"</p>

<p>"Better make them of horses than of asses," replied the
crone, bitterly; and the laugh was raised against Roupall,
who, as with all jesters, could ill brook the jest that was at his
own expense.</p>

<p>"I hear no tramp, and see no reason why you should interrupt
us thus with your hooting, you ill-favoured owl," he
exclaimed fiercely.</p>

<p>"Hush!" she replied, placing her finger on her lip, while
the little terrier that stood at her feet, as if comprehending the
signal, crept stealthily to the door, and laying his nose on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
floor, drew in his breath; and then erecting his ears, and
stiffening his short tail, uttered a low determined growl.</p>

<p>"There are strangers, and near us too," observed an older
man, who had hitherto remained silent; "there is little doubt
of their being unfriendly: we had therefore better, seeing it
would be imprudent to fight, retreat."</p>

<p>"Retreat! and why, I wonder?" inquired Roupall, the
most reckless and daring of the set; and whose efforts were
invariably directed towards meriting the soubriquet of "Jack
the Rover," by which he was usually designated among his
associates; "what care we, whether they be friends or foes!
let them enter. Old Noll has too much to do abroad, to heed
a few noisy troopers in an obscure hostelry in the Isle of
Shepey."</p>

<p>"You are always heedless," observed the other; "and
would sell your soul for an hour's mirth."</p>

<p>"My soul thanks you for the compliment, truly, Master
Grimstone, and my body would repay you for it, if there was
time, which, I take it, there lacks just now, for it is past
eleven. Observe, gentlemen, Jack Roupall retreats not&mdash;he
only retires." As he spoke, he pushed from a corner of the
apartment, a huge settle of black oak, that apparently required
the strength of six men to displace, but which the trooper
handled as easily as if it had been a child's cradle. He then
slid aside a panel, that fitted most accurately into the wall, of
which it appeared a part; and in a few moments the party,
consisting of some five or six, had entered the aperture, carrying
with them the remnants of their feast, at the particular
request of the old woman, who exhibited great alarm lest any
symptom of revelling should remain. The last had hardly
made good his retreat, when a loud knock at the door confirmed
the dame in her apprehensions.</p>

<p>"In the devil's name!" she growled, "how am I to shove
this mountain into its place? One of you must remain here;
I might as well attempt to throw Blackburn cliff into the sea."</p>

<p>"I'll stay then, if you'll wait a minute," replied Roupall;
"I defy the devil and all his works; and old Noll himself, the
worst of them:&mdash;so here goes."</p>

<p>Another and a louder noise testified the traveller's impatience;
but the summons was repeated a third time before
the settle was replaced, and the room restored to its usually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
desolate and inhospitable appearance. Roupall ascended a
narrow ladder, that led to the loft of the cottage-like dwelling,
carrying with him a pack resembling those used by itinerant
venders of goods; and Mother Hays (for such was her cognomen)
holding the flickering candle in one hand, unfastened
the door with the other, while Crisp crouched and snarled at
her feet.</p>

<p>"You could not have been all asleep, dame," said the
stranger, as he threw off his horseman's cloak, and hung his
rapier on the back of the nearest seat, "for I distinctly saw
lights. Is your son within?"</p>

<p>"No, marry, good sir; he is far away, in London, with
his master, Sir Willmott Burrell, who was looked for home to-day,
but came not, as I hear from some neighbours, belonging
to East Church and Warden, who were at Lady Cecil's
funeral."</p>

<p>"Do you expect me to believe there is no one in the house
but yourself?"</p>

<p>"One other kind gentleman, a pedlar-man, a simple body,
who lies above; he's weary travelling, and sleeps soundly."</p>

<p>The stranger took off his hat; and as he shook his head,
throwing completely back the hair that had in some degree
overshadowed his face, the old woman started, and an undefined
expression of astonishment and doubt burst from her lips.
The gentleman either did not, or appeared not to notice the
effect he produced; but carefully drew from his bosom a small
book or tablet, and read in it for some minutes with much attention,
turning over and over the one or two leaves upon
which his eyes were fixed.</p>

<p>"And are you sure, good woman, that no other persons are
in your house save this same pedlar?" he inquired, now
fixing his gaze steadily on the withered countenance of Mother
Hays.</p>

<p>"Alack! yes, sir, few travellers come to the lone widow's
door, and it's an out o' the way place: wouldn't your honour
like some supper, or a stoop of wine, or, mayhap, a glass of
brandy?&mdash;it is useful these raw nights; or a rasher and
eggs?"</p>

<p>"Are you quite certain there is no other in the house, and
that your son is really not returned?" he again inquired,
heedless of her invitation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>

<p>"Why should I deceive your honour?&mdash;am I not old, and
would you that I should so sin against the Lord?"</p>

<p>"You were not always thus piously given," replied the
youth, smiling. "Know you aught of this token?" and he
united his hands after a particular fashion: "heard you never
the words&mdash;&mdash;" and he whispered a short sentence into her ear:
upon which she dropped a reverential courtesy, and, without
reply, ascended, as quickly as her age and infirmities permitted,
the ladder that led to Roupall's place of retreat. Ere
she returned, however, accompanied by the trooper, another
person had entered the dwelling. It was no other than her
son Robin, for whom the gentleman had first inquired, and
they were both engaged in such deep and earnest conversation,
that neither noticed the addition to the party, until the old
woman had thrown her arms around her son's neck, so as
almost to stifle him with her caresses, seeming to lose all sense
of the stranger's presence in the fulness of joy at the youth's
return.</p>

<p>"There, mother, that will do; why, you forget I have been
in London lately, and 'tis not the court fashion to rejoice and
be glad. Besides, I have seen his Highness, and his Highness's
daughters, and his Highness's sons, and drank, in moderation,
with his Highness's servants: so, stand off, good
mother, stand off!&mdash;'honour to whom honour.'" And Robin
laid his finger on his nose, while a remarkable expression of
cunning and shrewdness passed along his sharp and peculiar
features.</p>

<p>As he busied himself with preparations for the guest's supper,
it was impossible to avoid observing his quick and energetic
movements, spare body, dwarfish stature, and long apish arms,
that appeared in greater disproportion when viewed beside the
now sedate and elevated carriage, the muscular and finely-developed
form of the bulky trooper. And, in good sooth, it
seemed that Roupall little relished the extraordinary civility
shown to the new comer, both by mother and son. Had the
stranger been disposed to hold any converse with him, matters
might have been different; but he neither asked nor required
information&mdash;sitting, after his return from the shed in which
he had seen his horse sheltered, with his legs stretched out in
front of the warm fire, his arms folded on his bosom, and his
eyes fixed on the blazing wood that lent a brilliant light to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
surrounding objects&mdash;giving a simple, though not uncourteous
reply of "Yea," or "Nay," to the leading questions occasionally
put to him by his rough, yet inquisitive companion. At
length, when the rashers were dressed and deposited on the
table, flanked on either side with a flagon of Canary and of
Gascoigne, and the traveller had done ample justice to his
cheer, he, with a conciliating smile and bow, wished the widow
and Roupall "Good night," and followed Robin up the ladder,
observing that his rest must be very brief, as he had occasion to
start early next morning, and begging the good widow and her
friend to finish the draught of her own excellent wine, to which
he feared to render farther justice. Some time elapsed ere
Robin returned; and when he did, he perceived that Roupall
was in no gentle humour.</p>

<p>"Have you warmed the chicken's nest, and taken good and
tender care of the gentle bird, according to orders, Robin?
Gadzooks! I see so many cocks with hens' feathers now-a-days&mdash;sweet-scented
Cavaliers, who could no more draw a
trigger than they could mount the moon, that I think Hugh
Dalton must line the Fire-fly with miniver to bring them safely
over. A murrain take such fellows! say I&mdash;close-mouthed,
long-eared scoundrels. D&mdash;n it! I love a frank heart&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And a bloody hand, Master Roupall."</p>

<p>"Stuff! stuff! Robin; few of either party can show clean
hands these times; but does yon gallant come from over sea?"</p>

<p>"It might be that he dropped from the sky, for that is over
the sea, you know."</p>

<p>"Faugh! you are as snappish as a cur whelp. I mean,
what is he about?"</p>

<p>"Sleeping. Zooks! I'm sure he sleeps."</p>

<p>"Is he of good credit?"</p>

<p>"Faith, Roupall, I know not his banker."</p>

<p>"Good again, Master Robin; upon what grinding-stone
were your wits sharpened?"</p>

<p>"Right loyally, good trooper; even upon King Log," replied
Robin, grinning maliciously; and then, as if fearful that
the gathering storm would forthwith burst, he continued:
"Come, let's have a carouse, and wake the sleepers in that
snug nest between walls; let's welcome in the morning, like
gay gallants, while I tell you the court news, and exhibit the
last court fashion, as it graces my own beautiful form!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>

<p>The man looked at him and smiled, soothed into something
resembling good-nature by the odd humour and appearance of
his old companion, who was tricked out, with much precision,
in a blue doublet and yellow hose, while a large bow of sad-coloured
riband, with fringed ends, dangled from either knee.
He then glanced a look of complacency on his own proper
person, and replied,&mdash;</p>

<p>"No, let them sleep, Robin; they are better off than I.
That maidenlike friend of yours has taken possession of my
bed, after your mother's routing me up as if I had been a
stoat or a dormouse. Of course he is a Cavalier: I suppose
he has a name; but is that, too, a secret?"</p>

<p>"Master Roupall," replied the other, with a look of great
sagacity, "as to the person, it's hard to say who's who, these
times; and as to the name, why, as you say, I suppose he has
a name, and doubtless a good one, though I cannot exactly
now call to mind what it is; for at court&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"D&mdash;n court!" interrupted the other&mdash;"you're all court-smitten,
I'm thinking. In plain English, I want to know who
this youngster is? When Hugh is in one of his romances, he
cares not who or what he sends us, either here, or, what is of
more consequence, on the main-land&mdash;and we are to receive
them and 'tend them, and all the time, mayhap, are hazarding
our own heads; for I'd bet an even wager that one of the
ferrymen is a spy in the pay of old red-nose; and it's little
we get for such hazards&mdash;it's many a day since even a keg of
brandy has been run ashore."</p>

<p>"You have sworn an oath, for which I should exact, I
think, the sum of three shillings and four-pence, Jack the Rover;
but, I fear me, thou hast not wherewithal to satisfy the law,
even in a small thing, until thou offerest thy neck unto the
halter as a sacrifice. But did Hugh Dalton ever bring you, or
any man, into trouble yet?" continued Robin, composing his
comic features into a grave and quiet character.</p>

<p>"I can't say that he did."</p>

<p>"I am sure he has had opportunities enough."</p>

<p>"I'm not going to deny that Hugh's a fine fellow, Robin;
but I remember, long ago, ay, thirteen or fourteen years past,
before he entered on the regular buccaneering trade, there
wasn't a firmer Cavalier amongst the whole of us Kentish men.
Blazes! how he fought at Marston! But a few years' sunning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
off the hot Havannah either scorches the spirit out of a man,
or burns it in."</p>

<p>"And what reason have you to think that Hugh is not now
a good Cavalier?"</p>

<p>"Pshaw! he grows old, and it's no good trying to pull
Oliver down. He's charmed. Ay, you may laugh; but no
one of us could have escaped the bullet of Miles Syndercomb,
to say nothing of dark John Talbot:&mdash;I tell ye, he is spell-guarded.
Hugh is a knowing one, and has some plan a-foot,
or he wouldn't keep beating about this coast as he does, after
being so long from it, and using every county but Sussex and
Kent. I wonder, too, what placed you, Master Robin, in
Burrell of Burrell's service: I thought you were a man of
taste till then."</p>

<p>Robin again grinned; and, as his wide mouth literally extended
from ear to ear, his face looked, as it were, divided by
some accident; so separate did the chin appear from the upper
portion of the countenance.</p>

<p>"If you wo'n't talk," growled out the trooper, "I hope you
will pay those who do so for your amusement."</p>

<p>"Thou wouldst have me believe, then, thou art no genuine
disinterested talker. Ah! Roupall, Roupall! acquaintance with
courts has taught me, that nature in the first place, and society
in the second, have imposed upon us mortals two most disagreeable
necessities: the one is that of eating; the other, that
of talking. Now nature is a tyrant, and society is a tyrant;
and I, being a tyrant-hater&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"'Slife, man&mdash;or mongrel&mdash;or whatever you choose to
call your twisted carcass," interrupted Roupall, angrily, "hold
your jibber. I wonder Joan Cromwell did not seize upon
you, and keep you as her chief ape, while you were making
your courtly acquaintance. A pretty figure for courts, truly!&mdash;ah!
ah! ah!" As he laughed, he pointed his finger
scornfully towards Robin Hays, who, however little he might
care to jest upon his own deformity, was but ill inclined to
tolerate those who even hinted at his defects. As the trooper
persevered, his victim grew pale and trembled with suppressed
rage. The man perceived the effect his cruel mockery produced,
and continued to revile and take to pieces the mis-shapen
portions of his body with most merciless anatomy. Robin
offered, in return, neither observation nor reproach;&mdash;at first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
trembling and change of colour were the only indications of
his feelings&mdash;then he moved restlessly on his seat, and his
bright and deeply sunken eyes gleamed with untamable malignity;
but, as Roupall followed one jeer more brutal than
the rest, with a still more boisterous laugh, and, in the very
rapture of his success, threw himself back in his chair, the
tiger spirit of Robin burst forth to its full extent: he sprang
upon the trooper so suddenly, that the Goliath was perfectly
conquered, and lay upon the floor helpless as an overgrown and
overfed Newfoundland dog, upon whose throat a sharp and
bitter terrier has fastened. At length, after much exertion, he
succeeded in standing erect against the wall of the apartment,
though still unable to disengage Robin's long arms and bony
fingers from his throat, where he hung like a mill-stone: it
was some minutes ere the gigantic man had power to throw
from him the attenuated being whom, on ordinary occasions,
he could have lifted between his finger and thumb.</p>

<p>Robin gathered himself up on the spot to which Roupall
had flung him; his chin resting on his knees, round which
his arms were clasped; his narrow chest and shoulders heaving
with the exertion of the conflict; his eyes wild and glittering,
yet fixed upon his adversary, like those of some fierce animal
eager to dart upon its prey. The trooper shook himself, and
passed his hand once or twice over his throat, as if to ascertain
whether or not he were really strangled; then returning
Robin's gaze as steadily, though with a far different expression,
he said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Upon my soul, you are as strong a hand at a grapple as I
would care to meet; nor would I believe, did I not know
it, that Roupall the Rover, who has borne more blows upon
his thick head than there are days in February, and rises six
feet two without boots, could be half choked by little Robin
the Ranger, who stands forty inches in his shoes;&mdash;but I
beg pardon for offending a man of your mettle. I warrant
you safe from any future jests of mine; I like not quarrelling
with old friends&mdash;when there is nothing to be got by it.
Tut, man! leave off your moping, and shake hands, like a
Christian. You wo'n't! why you are not going to convert
your body into a nursery for bad blood, are you? What
would pretty Barbara Iverk say to that?"</p>

<p>Robin laughed a laugh so loud, so shrill, so unearthly, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
it echoed like a death-howl along the walls; then stretched
out and looked on his ill-formed limbs, extended his long and
grappling fingers, and muttered bitterly, "Curse!&mdash;curse!&mdash;curses
on myself! I am a dainty morsel for a fair girl's
love! Ah! ah! ah! a dainty morsel!" he repeated, and
covered his face with his broad palms. Thus, shutting out
the sight of his own deformities, and rocking himself backwards
and forwards, moaning and jibbering like one distraught,
he remained for several minutes. At length poor
Crisp, who had been a most anxious spectator of the scene,
ran timidly to his master, and, standing on his hind legs,
began licking his fingers with an affectionate earnestness,
more soothing to his agitated feelings than all the sincere
apologies of the trooper, whose rough good-nature was really
moved at what had taken place. Slowly uncovering his face,
Robin pressed the little animal to his bosom, bending his head
over it, and muttering in a tone the dog seemed fully to understand,
by the low whine with which he returned the caress.
After a time his eyes met those of Roupall's, but their meaning
was totally changed: they no longer sparkled with fury, but
were as quiet and subdued as if nothing had occurred.</p>

<p>"You'll shake hands now," exclaimed the trooper, "and
make the child's bargain."</p>

<p>Robin, rising, extended his hand; and it was cordially
taken by his adversary, who soon after removed the settle,
and entered the concealed room to join his slumbering companions.</p>

<p>Whatever were Robin's plans, reflections, or feelings, time
alone can develope; for, laying himself before the yet burning
embers of the fire, he appropriated the stranger's cloak as a
coverlet, in which to enshroud himself and Crisp; and, if
oral demonstrations are to be credited, was soon in a profound
sleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">Yet not the more<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smit with the love of sacred song.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Great things, and full of wonder, in our ears,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Far differing from the world, thou hast revealed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Divine Interpreter.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Milton.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The morning that followed was rife with the sweet and
balmy air and the gay sunshine, so duly prized in our variable
climate, because of the rarity of their occurrence; more especially
when the year is yet too young to assist with vigour
the energies of all-industrious nature. The trees, in their
faint greenery, looked cheerful as the face of childhood: the
merry birds were busied after their own gentle fashion forming
their dwellings in the covert and solitude of the wooded slopes
which effectually sheltered Cecil Place from the chill blast of
the neighbouring sea. The freshened breeze came so kindly
through the thick underwood, as to be scarcely felt by the
early wanderers of the upland hill or valley green. Even the
rough trooper, Roupall, yielded to the salutary influence of
the morn; and as he toiled in his pedlar's guise across the
downs, which were mottled with many hundred sheep, and
pointed the pathway to King's Ferry, his heart softened
within him. Visions of his once happy home in Cumberland&mdash;of
the aged parents who fostered his infancy&mdash;of the
companions of his youth, before he had lived in sin, or dwelt
with sorrow&mdash;of the innocent girl, who had loved, though
she had forsaken him&mdash;all passed before him; the retrospect
became the present; and his heart swelled painfully
within him; for he thought on what he had been, and on
what he was, until, drawing his coarse hand across his brows,
he gave forth a dissolute song, seeking, like many who ought
to be wiser, to stifle conscience by tumultuous noise.</p>

<p>About the same hour, our friend Robin Hays was more
than usually active in his mother's house, which we have already
described, and which was known by the name of the
"Gull's Nest." The old woman had experienced continued
kindness from the few families of rank and wealth who at that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
time resided in Shepey. With a good deal of tact, she managed
outwardly to steer clear of all party feuds; though people
said she was by no means so simple as she pretended; but
the universal sympathy of her neighbours was excited by her
widowed and almost childless state&mdash;three fine sons having
been slain during the civil wars&mdash;and the fourth, our acquaintance
Robin, being singularly undervalued, on the ordinary
principle, we may presume, that "a prophet hath no
honour in his own country." This feeling of depreciation
Robin certainly returned with interest, indulging a most bitter,
and, occasionally, biting contempt for all the high and low in
his vicinity, the family at Cecil Place forming the only exception.
Despite his defects natural and acquired, he had, however,
managed to gain the good opinion of Burrell of Burrell,
who, though, frequently on the island, possessed only a small
portion of land within its boundary. Into his service he entered
for the purpose of accompanying the knight to London
as travelling-groom; and he had rendered himself so useful
while sojourning in the metropolis, that Burrell would fain
have retained him in his employ&mdash;a project, however, to
which Robin strenuously objected, the moment it was communicated
to him. "Nature," he said, "had doubtless made him
a bond-slave; but he liked her fetters so little, that he never
would be slave to any one or any thing beside." He therefore
returned to the "Gull's Nest" on the night his late master arrived
at Cecil Place, from which his mother's home was distant
about three miles.</p>

<p>Never was there a dwelling more appropriately named than
the cottage of Mother Hays. It stood on either a real or artificial eminence
between Sheerness and Warden, facing what
is called "The Cant," and very near the small village of East
Church. The clay and shingle of which it was composed
would have ill encountered the whirlwind that in tempestuous
weather fiercely yelled around the cliffs, had it not been for the
firm support afforded to it by the remains of an ancient watchtower,
against which the "Gull's Nest" leaned. Perched on
this remarkable spot, and nestling close to the mouldering but
still sturdy walls, the very stones of which disputed with the
blast, the hut formed no inappropriate dwelling for withered
age, and, if we may be allowed the term, picturesque deformity.
Robin could run up and down every cliff in the neigh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>bourhood
like a monkey&mdash;could lie on the waters, and sport
amid the breakers, with the activity of a cub-seal&mdash;dive like
an otter; and, as nature generally makes up in some way or
other for defects similar to those so conspicuous in the widow's
son, she had gifted him with so sweet a voice, that the fishermen
frequently rested on their oars beneath "Gull's Nest" crag,
to listen to Robin's wild and mournful ballads, which full often
mingled with the murmur of the small waves as they rippled
on the strand. But the manikin, Robin, had higher and better
qualities than those we have endeavoured to describe&mdash;qualities
which Hugh Dalton, with the ready wisdom that discovers
at once what is excellent, and then moulds that excellence to its
own purpose, had assiduously cultivated. Many years before
the period of which we treat, Robin had accompanied the Buccaneer
on one or two piratical cruises; and though it cannot
be denied that Hugh was a better sailor than scholar, yet he
generously sought to secure for little Robin the advantages he
did not himself possess; Robin, accordingly, received daily
instruction in penmanship from a run-away merchant's clerk,
the clerk and bookkeeper, the lubber and idler of the crew.</p>

<p>Robin laboured to reward this kindness by unshaken fidelity,
unceasing watchfulness, and a wild enthusiasm which endeared
him to the rude captain, as if he were something that belonged
exclusively to himself. The Buccaneer knew that secrets,
where life and property were at stake, were safe in his keeping;
and as the renowned Dalton had often worked in the service of
both Cavaliers and Roundheads, a person of ready wit and true
heart was most invaluable as an auxiliary on the coast.</p>

<p>If the Buccaneer entertained any political creed, it was certainly
in favour of the exiled Charles: a bold and intrepid
spirit like his felt something most galling and repulsive in the
stern and unyielding government of the Protector. A ruler
who not only framed acts, but saw those acts enforced, whether
they regarded a "Declaration for a day of Publique Thanksgiving,"
or "A Licence for transporting Fish in Foreign
Bottoms," was not likely to be much after the taste of one who
had the essence of lawgiving only within himself, and who perceived
clearly enough that the royal but thoughtless Stuarts
would be more easily managed&mdash;more prone, if not from feeling,
at all events from indolence, to overlook the peccadilloes
of such as Dalton, than the unflinching Oliver, who felt that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
every evil he redressed was a fresh jewel in his sceptre.
Nevertheless, as we have seen, the Buccaneer had decided on
offering his services to the Commonwealth: he believed that
Cromwell knew his talents and valued his courage; but he also
knew that the Protector piqued himself upon consistency, and
that, consequently, there would be vast difficulties to overcome,
as a price had more than once been set upon his head.</p>

<p>We must, however, conduct our readers back into the fresh
morning we have instanced as one of the favourites of spring.
Leaving Robin to his preparations for the stranger's breakfast,
and premising that he had previously dismissed the midnight
revellers on their respective errands, we will roam for a while
amid the sheltered walks of Cecil Place.</p>

<p>It was situated on the slope of the hill, leading to the old
monastery of Minster. Although nothing now exists except the
church, a few broken walls, and a modernised house, formed
out of one of the principal entrances to what was once an extensive
range of monastic buildings; yet at the time of which
we treat, the ruins of the nunnery, founded by Sexburga, the
widow of Ercombert, King of Kent, extended down the rising
ground, presenting many picturesque points of view from the
small but highly-cultivated pleasure grounds of Cecil Place.
Nothing could be more beautiful than the prospect from a
rude terrace which had been the favourite walk of Lady Cecil.
The small luxuriant hills, folding one over the other, and
terminating in the most exquisite valleys and bosky glades the
imagination can conceive&mdash;the rich mixture of pasture and
meadow land&mdash;the Downs, stretching to King's Ferry,
whitened by thousands of sheep, whose bleatings and whose
bells made the isle musical&mdash;while, beyond, the narrow
Swale, widening into the open sea, shone like a silver girdle in
the rays of the glorious sun&mdash;were objects, indeed, delicious
to gaze upon.</p>

<p>Although, during the Protectorate, some pains had been
taken to render Sheerness, then a very inconsiderable village, a
place of strength and safety, and the ancient castle of Queenborough
had been pulled down by the Parliamentarians, as
deficient in strength and utility, no one visiting only the southern
and western parts of the island could for a moment imagine
that the interior contained spots of such positive and cultivated
beauty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>

<p>It was yet early, when Constantia Cecil, accompanied by a
female friend, entered her favourite flower-garden by a private
door, and strolled towards a small Gothic temple overshadowed
by wide-spreading oaks, which, sheltered by the surrounding hills,
had numbered more than a century of unscathed and undiminished
beauty, and had as yet escaped the rude pruning of the
woodman's axe. The morning habit of the noble Constance
fitted tightly to the throat, where it was terminated by a full
ruff of starched muslin, and the waist was encircled by a wide
band of black crape, from which the drapery descended in
massive folds to her feet. She pressed the soft green turf with
a more measured step than was her wont, as if the body shared
the mind's sad heaviness. Her head was uncovered, save that,
as she passed into the garden, she had carelessly thrown on a
veil of black muslin, through which her bright hair shone with
the lustre and richness of the finest satin: her throat and forehead
appeared most dazzlingly white in contrast with her
sable dress.</p>

<p>The lady by whom she was accompanied was not so tall,
and of a much slighter form; her limbs delicately moulded,
and her features more attractive than beautiful. There was
that about her whole demeanour which is expressively termed
coquetry, not the coquetry of action, but of feeling: her eyes
were dark and brilliant, her mouth full and pouting; and
the nose was only saved from vulgarity by that turn, to
describe which we are compelled to use a foreign term&mdash;it
was <i>un peu retrouss?</i>: her complexion was of a clear olive,
through which the blood glowed warmly whenever called to her
cheek by any particular emotion. The dress she wore, without being
gay, was costly: the full skirt of crimson grogram descended
not so low as to prevent her small and beautifully-turned ankle
from being distinctly seen, and the cardinal of wrought purple
velvet, which had been hastily flung over her shoulders, was
lined and bordered with the finest ermine. Nor did the contrast
between the ladies end here: the full and rich-toned
voice of Constance Cecil was the perfection of harmony, while
the light and gay speech of her companion might be called
melody&mdash;the sweet playful melody of an untaught bird.</p>

<p>"You must not mourn so unceasingly, my dear Constance,"
she said, looking kindly into the sorrowing face of her friend:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
"I could give you counsel&mdash;but counsel to the distressed is
like chains thrown upon troubled waters."</p>

<p>"Say not so, Frances; rather like oil upon a stormy sea is
the sweet counsel of a friend; and truly none but a friend
would have turned from the crowded and joyous court to sojourn
in this lonely isle; and, above all, in the house of
mourning."</p>

<p>"I do not deny to you, Constance, that I love the gaiety,
the pomp, and the homage of our courts; that both Hampton
and Whitehall have many charms for me; but there are some
things&mdash;some things I love far more. I loved your mother,"
she continued, in a tone of deeper feeling than was usual with
so gay a spirit; "and I love the friend who, while she reproves
my follies, can estimate my virtues: for even my sombre
sister Elizabeth, your grave god-mother, admits that I
have virtues, though she denies them to be of an exalted
nature."</p>

<p>"Were the Lady Claypole to judge of others according to
the standard of her own exceeding excellence, Frances, we
should, indeed, fall far below what we are disposed to believe
is our real value; but, like the rose, instead of robbing less
worthy flowers of their fragrance, she imparts to them a portion
of her own."</p>

<p>"Now should I like to call that a most courtly compliment,
but for my life I cannot&mdash;it is so true."</p>

<p>"You pronounce a severe satire on your father's court, my
friend; and one that I hope it merits not."</p>

<p>"Merits! Perhaps not&mdash;for, though the youngest and least
rational of my father's children, I can perceive there are some
about him who hit upon truth occasionally, either by chance
or intention. There's that rugged bear, Sir Thomas Pride,
whom, I have heard say, my father knighted with a mopstick&mdash;he,
I do believe, speaks truth, and of a truth follows one
scriptural virtue, being no respecter of persons. As to General
George Monk, my father trusts him&mdash;and so&mdash;yet have I
observed, at any mention of Charles Stuart's name, a cunning
twinkling of the eye that may yet kindle into loyalty.&mdash;I
would as soon believe in his honesty as in his lady's gentleness.
Did you hear, by the way, what Jerry, my poor disgraced
beau, Jerry White, said of her? Why, that if her husband
could raise and command a regiment endowed with his wife's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
spirit, he might storm the stronghold of sin, and make Satan
a state prisoner. Then our Irish Lord Chancellor&mdash;we call
him the true Steele; and, indeed, any one who ventures to tell
my father he errs, deserves credit. Yes, Sir William Steele
may certainly be called a truth-teller. Not so our last court
novelty, Griffeth Williams of Carnarvon, Esq., who though he
affects to despise all modern titles, and boasts of his blood-ties
with the Princes of Wales, Kings of France, Arragon, Castile,
and Man, with the sovereigns of Englefield and Provence to
boot, yet moves every secret engine he can find to gain a paltry
baronetcy! Even you, dear Constance, would have smiled to
see the grave and courtly salutations that passed between him
and the Earl of Warwick&mdash;the haughty Earl, who refused to
sit in the same house with Pride and Hewson&mdash;a circumstance,
by the way, that caused Jerry White to say, 'he had
too much <i>Pride</i> to attend to the mending of his <i>soul</i>.' The
jest is lost unless you remember that Hewson had been a
cobbler. As to John Milton&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Touch him not," interrupted Constance; "let not your
thoughtless mirth light upon John Milton; there is that about
the poet, which made me feel the very first time I saw him,
that&mdash;</p>

<p class="center">'Something holy lodges in that breast.'</p>

<p>I remember the day well, now more than three years ago,
while staying at Hampton Court, (whither your gracious
mother had commanded me,) and reading to the Lady Claypole,
near the small window of her dressing-room, which
opened into the conservatory, one sultry July evening, when
the last rays of the golden sun disturbed the sober and
to me more touching beauty of the silver night&mdash;at last I
could no longer see, and closed the volume; your sister, in
sweet and gentle voice, stayed me to repeat some passages
from the 'Masque of Comus.' How accurately I can call to
mind her every tone, as it mingled with the perfume of the
myrtle and orange trees, impregnating the air at once with harmony
and fragrance.</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That, when a soul is found sincerely so,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand liveried angels lackey her,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in clear dream and solemn vision<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till oft converse with heavenly habitants<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The unpolluted temple of the mind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till all be made immortal.'<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>I was so absorbed by the beauty of the poetry, and the exquisite
grace and feeling with which it was repeated, that my eyes
were riveted on your sister; nor could I withdraw them, even
when she ceased to speak. Thus abstracted, I was perfectly
unconscious that a gentleman was standing close to the great
orange-tree, so that the rays of the full moon rested on his
uncovered head: his hair was parted in the centre, and fell on
his shoulders at either side, and his deportment was of mingled
dignity and sweetness. 'John Milton!' exclaimed Lady
Claypole, rising; 'I knew not,' she continued, 'that you had
been so near us.'&mdash;'The temptation was great, indeed,
madam: a poet never feels that he has true fame, until lips
such as yours give utterance to his lines.' He bowed low, and
I thought coldly, over Lady Claypole's extended hand. She
walked into the conservatory, and called on me to follow. How
my heart throbbed! how I trembled! I felt in the almost
divine presence of one whose genius I had worshipped with a
devotion which, enthusiastic as it was, I am not even now
ashamed of. I longed to fall at his feet, and implore his
blessing; to kiss the hem of his garment; and thought, in
my foolishness, that inspiration might be communicated by his
touch. I pushed back my hair, so that I might not lose a
word he uttered, or the least look he gave. 'His sight was so
impaired,' he said, 'that the light of day occasioned him much
pain; and of late he had been so useless to his Highness, that
he feared to intrude too often into his presence.' Lady Claypole
made some remark, which in truth I little heeded, for I
longed again to hear the poet speak; nor did I remain ungratified.
In answer to some observation, he stated, 'he was well
aware that much of what he had written would not meet with
the indulgence she had graciously bestowed upon his verse;
for, though they both valued freedom, they widely differed as
to the mode of its attainment.' To this the Lady Claypole
made no reply; and presently we had issued from the conservatory,
and stood for a few moments on the terrace. 'How
beautiful!' said your sister, as she raised her eyes to the
glorious heavens, sparkling with countless stars, whose brilliancy
was showered on the now sleeping earth&mdash;'Yes, beau<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>tiful!'
repeated Milton; and his voice, so musical, yet melancholy,
thrilled to my inmost soul: 'Beautiful!' he said again,
as if the word was pleasant in his ears; 'and yet the time is
coming fast when I shall behold that beauty no more&mdash;when
I shall be more humbled than the poor insects upon which I
may now heedlessly tread&mdash;they creep, but see; I shall be a
thing of darkness in the midst of light&mdash;irrevocably dark!&mdash;total
eclipse!&mdash;without the hope of day! Your pardon,
Lady; but is it not strange, that life's chiefest blessing should
be enthroned in such a tender ball, when feeling is diffused all
over us?'&mdash;'The Maker must be the best judge,' replied your
sister.&mdash;''Tis true,' he said; 'and the same hand that wounds
can heal. I will not sorrow, if I can refrain from grief, though
it is hard to bear; yet often, when I look upon my daughters,
I think how sad 'twill be when I no more can trace their
change of form and feature. And this deep affliction comes
upon me in my manhood's prime:&mdash;life in captivity&mdash;all
around me grows darker each fair day I live. A bunch
of violets was given me this morning; their <a name="Page_41t" id="Page_41t"></a><a href="#Page_41tn">fragrance</a> was
delicious, yet I could not discern the little yellow germ that I
knew dwelt within their dark blue petals, and I put them from
me because I could not see as well as smell:&mdash;'twas foolish,
but 'twas natural. The moon at this very moment looks so
sallow&mdash;pale&mdash;and you,' he bowed to us as he spoke, 'and
you, even you, ladies, appear both dim and cold!' I thought
he laid more emphasis on the word <i>cold</i> than on the other
words, perhaps in allusion to the political differences between
Lady Claypole and himself: your sister thought so too.&mdash;'You
do us wrong,' she observed warmly; 'never, never cold
to John Milton! never, indeed never! This sad affliction, if
it should continue, (which the Almighty in his mercy forbid!)
will create for you new worlds; when all its treasures are destroyed,
you will but close your eyes on earth that you may
look through heaven.' What would I not have given for such
a rewarding smile as played upon without disturbing his features!
Your sister, surprised into an enthusiasm that was not
in keeping with her usually subdued deportment, turned aside,
and taking me by the hand, presented me to him, saying,
'Here, sir, is a little girl, who, though she has only numbered
sixteen summers, has learned to value Milton!' What do you
think I said, Frances? Nothing:&mdash;that might have passed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>&mdash;but
what do you think I did? I fell on my knees, and
kissed his hand! I am almost ashamed to repeat such frowardness,
though done in all the purity of truth;&mdash;not that
I think he was displeased."</p>

<p>"Displeased!" interrupted the Lady Frances, who had kept
silence marvellously long; "oh! no, it is not in man to be
displeased with the devotedness, the love of woman&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I prithee, peace," interrupted Constance in her turn: for
the word 'love' had called the flush into her pale cheek;
"thou art ever placing earth on a level with heaven."</p>

<p>"And thou, my saintly friend, wouldst bring heaven down
to earth. I remember my sister Claypole treating of this before,
saying that Milton laid his fingers on thy forehead, and
that thou didst clip off the particular ringlet pressed by them,
and enshrine it in a jewelled cross."</p>

<p>"I confess&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"To the folly of despoiling thy tresses?"</p>

<p>"Dearest Frances, you are cruel in your gaiety. How I
watched his retreating footsteps as he passed under the archway,
after bidding us good night! His gait was measured,
but, though his sight was so impaired, I observed that his head
was thrown upward, and that he walked as one having no
fear."</p>

<p>"Well, give me Milton in the morn, but the gay Lovelace
when the twilight shades come down. I know a fair gentleman
who sings his ballads most sweetly. You, too, had you
heard him, would have listened a second tune:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'True, a new mistress now I chase,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The first foe in the field,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with a stronger faith embrace<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A sword&mdash;a horse&mdash;a shield.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Yet this inconstancy is such<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As you, too, shall adore&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I could not love thee, dear, so much,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Loved I not honour more!'<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>But I forget, the theme is a forbidden one; and I see, Constance,
you do not like my poet, and I have a mind not to admire
yours! Ah! poor Lovelace! he might have been my
laureate."</p>

<p>"I thought the Lady Frances sighed no longer for a thorny
crown."</p>

<p>"I may surely love the poetry of a Cavalier without wishing
to be the bride of Prince Charlie. My father's fiat has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
gone forth against my royal lover's offer, and so I shall be the
wife of some staid sober Covenanter, I suppose; that is, if I
follow my father's wishes, and marry Will Dulton."</p>

<p>"Better than be the wedded mistress of a dissolute man,"
said Constance, firmly. "Believe me, Charles Stuart has all
his father's weakness without his father's virtues."</p>

<p>"Well, be it so," replied Frances Cromwell: "I did not
care; but methinks I should have liked the garniture of a
crown and the grasp of a sceptre. You should have been my
first maid of honour.&mdash;But your pardon, lady fair&mdash;you will
be the first married, if I can judge from Sir Willmott Burrell's
earnestness of late." As she spoke, Constance Cecil grew
deadly pale; and, to conceal her emotion, sat upon the step of
the Gothic temple before which they had been standing for
some minutes. Frances did not observe the change, but heedlessly
continued:&mdash;"Ah! it is happy for those who can
marry as they will, and him they love; to whom the odious
Sound of 'state necessity' is utterly unknown."</p>

<p>"And think you," said Constance, in a voice struggling for
composure, "think you so poorly of me, that I can <i>will</i> to
marry such as Burrell, of my own free choice! Oh! Frances,
Frances! would to Heaven the same grave had closed over me
that closed over my mother!" She clasped her hands with an
earnestness amounting to agony, and there came an expression
over her features which forbade all trifling. Frances Cromwell
was a warm, cheerful, and affectionate girl; but to her it was
not given to understand the depth or the refinement of minds
such as that of her friend. Her own home was not a peaceful
one, for party spirit, that hydra of disunion, raged and ravaged
there, without regard to years or sex. The Protector's most
beloved child was known to be faithfully attached to the Stuart
cause; while his eldest daughter was so staunch a republican,
that she only blamed her father for accepting power bordering
so closely upon royalty. This difference occasioned sad and
terrible domestic trouble; and the man, feared, honoured,
courted by the whole world, ruling the dynasties of kingdoms,
could not insure an hour's tranquillity within his own palace
walls! Frances, the youngest, interfered the least in their
most grievous feuds. She had so many flirtations, both romantic
and anti-romantic, to attend to, that, like all women
who flirt much, she thought little. The perfect misery so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
fearfully, yet so strongly painted upon the countenance of
Constance, was to her utterly incomprehensible. Had it been
the overboiling of passion, the suppressed but determined rage,
or the murmuring of discontent, Frances could have understood
it, because it would have resembled what she had full
often witnessed; but she had never before beheld the struggles
of a firm and elevated mind against a cruel and oppressive destiny.
Frances Cromwell looked upon her friend for some
moments, uncertain what course to pursue. She knelt down
and took her hands within her own; they were cold as death,
rigid as marble. She bent over her!&mdash;</p>

<p>"Constance! Constance! speak! Merciful Providence!"
she exclaimed aloud, "What can I do? what shall I do?
Barbara! Alas! alas! she hears me not&mdash;Dear Constance!
This is worse than faintness," she continued, as exertions to
restore her proved ineffectual; for Constantia, exhausted by
her efforts to appear tranquil, and to chime in with the temper
of her guest, until tortured at the very mention of Burrell's
name, remained still insensible.</p>

<p>"I must leave her and seek assistance from within," repeated
Frances, rapidly unclasping her jewelled mantle, throwing
it over her friend, and flying, rather than running, along
the shaven path they had so recently paced in gentle converse.
No very long time elapsed before the lady returned, followed
by Barbara Iverk and another faithful attendant.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" exclaimed Frances, "she must be recovered,
for her position is changed." And so it was&mdash;the veil
of black had entirely fallen off, and her unconfined hair
reposed in rich shadowy masses on her bosom and shoulders:
one arm rested on her knee, while the extended hand supported
her head; the other was open on her lap, and upon its small
and transparent palm lay a large locket of peculiar workmanship,
set round with brilliants. On this her eyes were fixed;
and when her bower-maid, Barbara, endeavoured to rouse her
mistress's attention, the first symptom of returning consciousness
she gave, was to hide the jewel within her bosom. She
appeared like one waking from a long dream. Frances spoke
to her in a tone of gentle cheerfulness,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Come, dearest, it is cold; we will in: you must be better
presently. One moment; let me bind up this hair; it keeps
back the cloak from covering your throat, and you shiver like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
an aspen." Frances was gathering the large tresses eagerly in
her hand, when she stopped, and letting them suddenly fall,
exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"What's here to do! One of the finest of your lady's
braids severed more than mid-way, and by no scissors, truly;
absolutely butchered! Do but look, Barbara; I am sure 'twas
not so this morning!"</p>

<p>The young tire-woman lifted up her hands in horror and
amazement; for she very properly regarded her mistress's
beautiful hair as under her own especial control, and was about
to make some inquiry touching the mysterious incident, when
Constance drew the cardinal completely over her head, and,
leaning her arm on Barbara's shoulder, proceeded towards the
house.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the great anxiety of Lady Frances on the
score of her friend's indisposition, and it is but justice to admit
she loved her with all the constancy of which her volatile
nature was capable, her affection was nearly overpowered by
her curiosity&mdash;curiosity to discover how Constance obtained
the locket, and how she lost her most admired tress. Yet, to
neither of these perplexities had she the slightest clue. Intimate
as they had been from childhood; superior as was her
rank to that of Sir Robert Cecil's daughter; yet was there no
one of her acquaintance with whom she would not sooner have
taken a liberty than with Constance Cecil. In the course of
the day she tried every little art that female ingenuity could
devise, short of saying, "How came you by that locket?" to
induce her to talk on the subject&mdash;and in vain. Constance
made no assertion&mdash;offered no explanation; but, when Frances
appeared to come too near the subject, she silenced all farther
approach to confidential communication, simply by raising her
clear, calm, and holy eye, letting it fall upon the animated,
restless face of her companion, and then shading its glory by
the long silken lashes that almost rested on the exquisitely
moulded cheek. It was this peculiar look that made her lively
friend usually designate her "the awful beauty."</p>

<p>Still curiosity, that most busy and feminine sprite, tortured
the Lady Frances with extraordinary perseverance; and, in
the end, it suddenly occurred to her that Barbara might know
or conjecture something about the matter: accordingly, at night,
she dismissed her own women, under some pretext or other, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
their chambers, and summoned the pretty Puritan to wait at
her toilet. Poor Barbara was as neat and as docile a maid as
any country gentlewoman could desire; but, as she had never
accompanied her ladies to court, to which, because of Lady
Cecil's illness, they had been rare visiters of late, she felt
somewhat nervous on being called into active duty by so great
a personage as the Lady Frances Cromwell. With trembling
hands she unlaced the velvet bodice, released the tiny feet from
their thraldom, set loose the diamond clasps of the sparkling
stomacher; and, after arraying the lady in a wrapping robe of
fringed linen, with point-lace collar, commenced the disentangling
of her raven hair: this was a task that required skill
and patience. Nature had been so bountiful to her own fair
mistress, that her hair needed no art to increase either its
quality or quantity: the simple Barbara consequently stood
aghast when a vast portion of the fabric fell to the ground the
moment a little dark band had been separated from the pretty
head of the more courtly maiden. Frances laughed as the
girl's astonished features were reflected in the polished mirror
before which she sat: so evident was her dismay, as she held
it forth, exclaiming, "I did not pull it off, my lady&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah, wicked wench! so you would rob <i>my</i> head as well as
your lady's. Now, Barbara, tell me truly, what didst do with
that same lock I missed this morning?"</p>

<p>"I, my lady?"</p>

<p>"Yes, you. No one else, I suppose, dresses your lady's
hair."</p>

<p>"That may be; but I assure your ladyship I never cut off
that curl:&mdash;it is quite wonderful!"</p>

<p>"So it is, as you say, like a very sensible girl, 'quite wonderful;'
but, Barbara, do you think you could find out who
did cut it off?"</p>

<p>"Not unless my lady would tell me."</p>

<p>"But is there no way?"</p>

<p>"Only by asking my lady, and that I could not presume
to do."</p>

<p>"Nor I either," thought Lady Frances: "but, <a name="Page_46t" id="Page_46t"></a><a href="#Page_46tn">Barbara</a>,
you might think&mdash;or&mdash;or&mdash;see perhaps&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Please you, my lady, I do think a great deal, and the
Rev. Mr. Fleetword said to me only this morning, that I grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
in grace as much as in stature. And, as to seeing, please your
ladyship&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Pshaw, child! it is not that I mean. Could you not discover?
Besides&mdash;the locket! did you ever see that locket in
your lady's possession till this morning?"</p>

<p>"No, madam."</p>

<p>"Perhaps," continued Frances, blushing and stammering at
her curiosity, "it might be well to ascertain something about
both mysteries, for your lady's good."</p>

<p>"I am sure, my lady, I can't tell; but my mistress is very
wise, and if she wished me to know any thing of such like,
would direct me herself. Shall I put any of this ambergris in
your ladyship's hair, or do you better like the musk-rose?"&mdash;How
perplexing to the cunning is straightforward simplicity!
"Now," thought Lady Frances, "one of the court waiting-maids
would have comprehended my meaning in a moment;
and this wench, with ten times their zeal and real sense, thinks
it downright wicked to pry into her lady's secrets. I wonder
my women have not taught her the court fashions.&mdash;You may
go to bed, Barbara; light my night lamp, and give me a book;
I do not feel at all sleepy."</p>

<p>Barbara, with great <i>na?vet?</i>, presented to Lady Frances a
small Bible that lay on the dressing-table:&mdash;something resembling
a smile passed over the lady's face as she took the
volume, but she only observed, "Give me also that book with
the golden clasps; I would fain peruse my cousin Waller's
last hymn.&mdash;What an utterly useless thing is that which is
called simplicity!" she said, half aloud, as Barbara closed the
door. "And yet I would sooner trust my life in the hands
of that country damsel, than with the fine ones, who, though
arrayed in plain gowns, flatter corrupt fancies at Whitehall or
Hampton!"</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By holy Mary! Butts, there's knavery.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br /></span>
</div></div></div>


<p>Having consigned the Lady Frances Cromwell to her perfumed
couch, and the companionship of Waller's sweet and
sonorous strains, we leave her to determine whether the high<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
and mighty Lady Dorothea Sidney, the Poet's Saccharissa, or
the gentle Lady Sophia Murray, the beauteous Amoret of his
idolatry, were most worthy the affection he so generously
bestowed on both. Waller, the most specious flatterer of
flattering courts&mdash;the early worshipper of Charles the First&mdash;the
pusillanimous betrayer of his friends&mdash;the adulator of
Cromwell&mdash;the wit and the jester of the second Charles&mdash;the
devotional whiner of the bigot James&mdash;had not, however,
sufficient power to keep the lady from her slumbers
long. She was soon in the refreshing sleep, known only to the
light-hearted.</p>

<p>Constance Cecil was more wakeful. After Barbara's dismissal
from the presence of Lady Frances, she crept with slow
and stealthy space to the chamber of her dear mistress, and
softly turning the bolt, displaced the curtains of silver damask
with so light a touch, that her entrance was unnoticed. The
girl perceived at once that her lady was not asleep. She had
evidently been reading, for the holy volume was still open, and
one hand rested amid its leaves: but even Barbara was astonished
when she saw that her attention was spell-bound to the
mysterious locket she held in the other hand. The excellent
servant, with that true honesty of mind which no education
can teach, knowing that her lady had not heard her enter, and
feeling, rather than reasoning upon, the indelicacy of prying
into what she believed was secret, purposely let fall a chalice,
which effectually roused Constance, who, placing the trinket
under the pillow, called upon her attendant for her night drink,
and then pointed out a particular psalm she wished her to read
aloud. It was a holy and a beautiful sight in that quiet
chamber: the young and high born maiden, her head resting
on pillows of the finest cambric; her arms crossed meekly on
her bosom, whose gentle breathings moved, without disturbing
the folds of her night-tire; her eyes elevated; her lips sufficiently
apart to show the small, pearly teeth, glittering in
whiteness within their coral nest;&mdash;then, as promises of hope
and happiness beyond the control of mortality, found voice
from Barbara's mouth, a tear would steal down her cheek, unbidden
and unnoticed, but not unregistered by that God who
knows our griefs, and whose balm is ever for the heavy at
heart.</p>

<p>Barbara sat on a writing stool by the bed-side, supporting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
the Bible on her knees, while the beams of a golden lamp,
placed on a lofty tripod near the foot of the bed, fell directly
on the book: the light, however, was not sufficiently powerful
to illume the farthermore parts of the chamber, whose walls
were hung with figured tapestry, the gloom of which contrasted
strongly with the bright blue and silver that canopied
Constantia's bed.</p>

<p>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&mdash;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&mdash;his cheek
blanched&mdash;his knees smote one against the other&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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:&mdash;at both courts, in fact, for he had
been a partisan of the unhappy Charles, and afterwards, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
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&mdash;one for public, one for private life. His manners
to his superiors, and generally to his equals, were bland and
insinuating; to his inferiors he was overbearing, haughty, and
severe, except when he had some particular point to carry, and
then he could cringe to and fawn upon the vilest. He had a
peculiar method of entering into men's hearts, and worming
from each whatever best suited his purpose; but the principle
upon which he invariably acted, was, to extract the honey from
the rose, and then scatter its leaves to the whirlwind and the
blast. Devoid of every thing like moral or religious feeling,
he used Puritanism as a cloak for selfishness and sin; and
though he had often cursed his good character when it stood
in the way of his pleasures, yet it was too needful to be cast
off as a worthless garment. A plotting mind united to a
graceful exterior, is as dangerous to the interests of society as
a secret mine to a besieged city, inasmuch as it is impossible to
calculate upon the evils that may suddenly arise either from
the one or the other.</p>

<p>Sir Willmott Burrell, of Burrell, had managed to make
himself acquainted with many of Sir Robert Cecil's secrets;
and even those he had not heard, he guessed at, with that naturally
acute knowledge which is rarely in the wrong. He
was too great a sensualist to be indifferent to the beauty of
Constance, which, like all sensualists, he considered the sole
excellence of woman; but he arraigned the wisdom of Nature
in endowing aught so fair with mind, or enriching it with
soul; and the dignity and purity of his destined bride, instead
of making him proud, made him angry and abashed.</p>

<p>Constance heard of Burrell's grace, of Burrell's wit, and
sometimes&mdash;though even amongst ladies it was a disputed
point&mdash;of his beauty, without ever being able to discover any
thing approaching to these qualities in her future husband;
and certainly he never appeared to so little advantage as when
in her presence: her eye kept him under a subjection, the
force of which he was ashamed to acknowledge; and although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
there could be no question that his chief desire for the approaching
alliance proceeded from a cherished affection for the
broad acres and dark woods of the heiress of Cecil, yet he bitterly
regretted that the only feeling the lady manifested towards
him was one of decided coldness&mdash;he almost feared of
contempt. The day after her mother's funeral, she had refused
to see him, although he knew that she had been abroad with
Lady Frances in the gardens of the Place; and though Sir
Robert urged indisposition as the cause, yet his pride was
deeply mortified. A weighty communication from France,
where he had been a resident for some months, as an <i>attach?</i>
to the English embassy, appeared to have increased the discontent
of his already ruffled temper. He retired early to his
chamber, and his moody and disturbed countenance looked
angered and mysterious by the light of an untrimmed lamp, as
he inspected various documents and papers that lay scattered
before him on a table of carved oak, inlaid with silver. One
letter, which he read and re-read with much attention, seemed
to excite him more than all the rest: he turned it over and
over&mdash;examined the seal&mdash;laid it down&mdash;took it up&mdash;put
it aside again&mdash;folded his arms over his chest, and, with his
eyes fixed on the ceiling, appeared for a time absorbed in the
remembrance of past events. Finally, he committed the letter
to the flames, and then paced up and down the room with unequal
steps, his head bent forward, and his arms folded, as
before, over his bosom. He was evidently ill at ease with
himself, and there gleamed "a lurking devil in his eye," that
augured peril to some one, and bespoke a man who was neither
"infirm of purpose," nor slow in the execution of whatever
mischief was designed. He did not retire to his bed until the
lamp gave token that its oil was expended, when, flinging
himself on the coverlet without removing any portion of his
dress, he sought rest.</p>

<p>Nor were Sir Willmott's slumbers of long duration; before
the sun had risen, he was up and a-foot. Having let himself
down from his window and out at the postern-gate, he took
the path that led in the direction of Gull's Nest Crag.</p>

<p>The night had been wild and stormy; the freshness and
freedom of the air now compensated for the turmoil that had
passed; but the ocean's wrathfulness was still unappeased, and
Burrell listened to its roarings while it lashed the beach with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
its receding waves, like a war-horse pawing and foaming when
the battle din has sunk into the silence that succeeds the shout
of victory, as if eager again to meet the shock of death.</p>

<p>Suddenly he struck out of the usual track, across a portion
of waste land, the utmost verge of which skirted the toppling
cliffs; and making for himself a way through tangled
fern, long grass, and prickly furze, he strode on in a more direct
line towards the dwelling of Robin Hays, pursuing his course,
heedless of the petty annoyances he encountered, although his
feet were frequently entangled among the stunts and stubs
that opposed his progress, with the air of one whose mind was
evidently bent on the fulfilment of some hazardous but important
purpose. It was so early that not a shepherd had
unpenned his fold, nor a girl gone forth to the milking: such
cattle as remained at liberty during the night, still slumbered
on the sward; and the wily fox roamed with less caution than
was his wont, under the knowledge that no enemy was by
to watch his progress.</p>

<p>"I may reach Gull's Nest, and return," thought Burrell,
"and that before any in the house are astir." But, at the
moment, a tall, lank figure, moving with measured pace, yet
nevertheless approaching rapidly, from the very point towards
which his steps were bent, arrested his attention; and as it
came nearer and nearer, he was much disconcerted at the
discovery that no other than the Reverend Jonas Fleetword,
from whom he anticipated a sharp rebuke for his absence from
Lady Cecil's funeral, was about to cross his path. He would
have gladly hailed the approach of Birnam wood, so it could
have settled down between him and the reverend Jonas; but
as no place of refuge was at hand, he bethought himself of the
shield of patience, drew his cloak as closely as if he were about
to encounter a fierce north wind, and finally returned with much
courtesy the salutation of the preacher, whose apt and ready
eloquence had obtained for him the significant appellation of
Fleetword. The locks of the divine, according to the approved
fashion, had been cropped closely round his head, and
his thin sharp visage looked of most vinegar-like tinge and
character, peering, as it now did, from beneath a steeple-crowned
hat of formal cut. He wore a black cloth cloak and
doublet, his Flemish breeches and hose were of the same
sombre hue, and his square-toed shoes were surmounted by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
large crape roses. Contrary, as it would seem, to the custom
of a disciple of the peace-loving Saviour, he also wore a
basket-handled sword, girded round his loins by a broad strap
of black leather. In truth, face, figure, and all included, he
was as harsh and ill-favoured a person as could have been
encountered even at that day,&mdash;one whose lips would have
seemed to taint the blessing to which he might have given
utterance; and graceless as Burrell undoubtedly was, there
was excuse for the impatience he felt at such an unlucky
rencontre.</p>

<p>"It augurs well to see one whom the Lord hath blessed
with all the creature-comforts of life, thus early aroused from
sluggish sloth, and abroad, doubtless, on business of the faithful-minded?"</p>

<p>Burrell made the best reply he could, without confirming or
denying the inference drawn from his early rising.</p>

<p>"Why tarried ye from the gathering of God's people on
account of the Lady Cecil's funeral? I pray that the fleshpots
of Egypt may not lure ye to perdition; or fine gold from
Ophir, or the vain glories of sinful men, pilot ye unto destruction!"</p>

<p>"It was business connected with the state&mdash;commands
from his Highness's own lips, that detained me."</p>

<p>"All praise to the Providence that has given his chosen
people into such keeping as the Lord Oliver's! Truly may he
be likened to the chariots and horsemen of Israel&mdash;to the
blessed Zerubbabel, who restored the true worship, which the
Jews in their blindness had cast from them; to Joshua,
whom the Lord appointed as a scourge to the wicked Canaanites;
to Moses, who gave both spiritual help and carnal
food to those that needed; to Gideon; to Elijah; to David;
to Hezekiah; to the most wise Solomon; to all the holy of
the earth!" and, exhausted by the rapidity with which he
had uttered the names of the kings and prophets of old, the
worthy Jonas made a full stop; not with any intention of
concluding his harangue, but to take breath for its continuation.
As time, however, was exceedingly precious to Burrell,
he endeavoured to give such a turn to the conversation, as
would enable him to escape from the preacher's companionship;
and therefore expressed a very deep regret that he had
not been edified by the discourse which Mr. Fleetword so ably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
delivered, and inquired when and where it was likely he would
next give his holy lessons, so that he might be comforted by
the oil and honey that flowed from his lips.</p>

<p>"Thou sayest truly," replied the energetic preacher;
"truly sayest thou: oil and honey for the faithful, the holy,
the just, in our New Jerusalem! But what, what for the
unbelievers?&mdash;what for the wise in their own conceit?&mdash;what
for the dwellers in Kedar? Even this&mdash;to them, my
words signify bitterness, a scourge, a pestilence, an uprooting,
and a scattering by the four winds of heaven! on them shall
the seventh phial be poured out; for verily the Lord is weary
of showing mercy to the backsliders from the congregation:
they shall all perish&mdash;their limbs shall be broken asunder&mdash;yea,
I will smite the uncircumcised Philistines&mdash;yea, I will
smite&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Even as did Sampson of old," interrupted Burrell&mdash;"even
as Sampson of old smote them&mdash;with the jawbone of
an ass."</p>

<p>"Even so," replied Jonas, who, with all his bitterness,
was nothing worse than a simple-minded enthusiast, and never
imagined that Sir Willmott's words could convey aught than
approbation of his zeal, and the right spirit that dwelt within
him;&mdash;"even so; and it rejoiceth me to find thee apt and
prompt in scriptural passages. Verily, I am glad of thy company;
and as thou regrettest that the world's business prevented
thy attendance on the lamented dead, I care not if I
bestow this my present leisure unto thy edification, and repeat,
nay, even enlarge upon, the words I then delivered; which
exercise will be finished before mid-day&mdash;it is right that we
labour unceasingly in the vineyard." So saying he drew
from his bosom a clasped Bible, and, to Burrell's dismay,
actually gave out the text, before he could resolve upon any
plan to rid himself of the intruder, whom he heartily wished
at Tophet, if not farther.</p>

<p>"My worthy friend, I would postpone the instruction you
would give until a more convenient season; I have urgent
business to attend, and must hasten its performance."</p>

<p>"Then will I gird up my loins, and accompany thee unto
the very threshold of the house where thou wouldst enter;
and as we walk, I can still convey the precious ointment of
grace unto thy soul."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>

<p>"The merciless old scoundrel!" muttered Burrell between
his teeth; then adding aloud, "Not so; your words are too
costly to be given unto the winds; and I cannot tarry so as
to drink in the full draught of satisfaction; let be, I pray you,
and come down to Cecil Place to-night, or on the morrow,
and then many can worship with thee."</p>

<p>Fleetword paused, still holding the volume in his hand:&mdash;"Besides,"
continued Burrell, "what I have to accomplish
is the Lord's work."</p>

<p>"The Lord's work&mdash;the Lord's work!" repeated Fleetword,&mdash;"then
go forth; why didst thou not confirm me
that before? and I would have hastened, not retarded thee;
for, of a verity, my outward man warreth with the inward,
and these supporters of the flesh," pointing with his forefinger
to the thin and meagre limbs that scarcely merited the
compliment, "grow weary in well doing."</p>

<p>Burrell needed not a second hint to hasten, but proceeded
on his way, after receiving Fleetword's benediction with all
due humility.</p>

<p>The preacher remained some time on the spot, and his
thin upright figure, seen from a distance, its outline so
strongly marked against the cold grey morning sky, had a
singular effect. Burrell had plunged into a dell or hollow, so
that he was no longer visible.</p>

<p>The bleak and unclothed landscape, from which the mist
was slowly rolling; the few giant trees, that dwelling by the
sea-side, and grown wise by experience, ventured not to put
forth their leaves till the sun had chased the north wind to his
caves; but, above all, the booming of the untranquillised
ocean, might have chilled a heart within the warmest bosom;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With dauntless words and high,"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>and looked as if he deemed the rolling clouds his listeners.
It was by no means unusual for the preachers in those days to
exercise their voices over the hills and heaths of their native
land: valuing, as they did, power and strength far more than
melody and grace, they endeavoured to acquire them by every
possible means&mdash;nor were they without hope that, (to use
their own language,) "the Almighty might bless the seed thus
sown, seeing that it was hard to know who might not be within
hearing of the precious word."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>

<p>Burrell soon gained the sea-shore, though he was still a considerable
distance from Gull's Nest Crag. On arriving at a
point that commanded an unbroken prospect of the far-spread
sea, he shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked long and
earnestly along the waste of waters. Apparently the scrutiny
was unsuccessful, for he drew a telescope from beneath his
cloak and gazed through it for some minutes, directing it
towards several points. At length, with an impatience of
manner in which, when with his inferiors or alone, he frequently
indulged, he descended the cliff and pursued his way
along the beach. As he drew near the little public-house, his
ears were greeted by the sound of one of Waller's most
popular songs, warbled in a voice so sweet, so pipe-like, that
he paused, and looked round to ascertain from whence it
proceeded. It ceased. Not even his keen eye could rest on
aught resembling human form. He hallooed, but received no
answer: yet had he not continued three steps on his way
when the song was renewed, as he thought, directly over his
head; notwithstanding the roaring of the waves, he even
heard the words distinctly&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Small is the worth<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of beauty from the light retired."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Again he shouted, and a loud and elfin laugh, that danced
with the echoes from crag to crag and billow to billow, was
sent forth in reply.</p>

<p>"Mermaid&mdash;Merman&mdash;or Demon! where be ye!" cried
Burrell, loudly.</p>

<p>"Even here, master mine," answered Robin Hays, shaking
his large head, over a midway and partly detached portion of
the cliff.</p>

<p>"Come down, do, you will-o'-the-wisp! In Heaven's name
what takes you into such breakneck places?"</p>

<p>"The same matter that brings you here, sir," replied
Robin, skipping and crawling alternately, suiting his motions
to the inequality of the place: "the very same matter that
brings you here&mdash;a woman."</p>

<p>"How know you that, master prate-a-pace? At all events,
you have no woman there."</p>

<p>"Why, master, seeing you were born under the planet
Venus, your whole trouble must be of her making; and, as
to there being no woman up here, that matters nothing, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
woman's fancy mounts higher than e'er a cliff in England;
and to gain their favours we must humour their fancy. A
certain damsel that I know, had a curiosity to see a peewit's
eggs; so I thought I'd find her some, and here they are."
From a pouch made of untanned leather, which hung in front
like an apron, he took two small eggs of a greenish hue,
spotted with black.</p>

<p>"What a fool you are," exclaimed Burrell, "to risk your
neck for such trumpery! It would be long ere you would
risk it for your master."</p>

<p>"I have known many hazard theirs for a less cause&mdash;and,
to say the truth, there's a deal to be learned from the wild sea-birds,"
replied Robin, as if he had not heard the latter portion
of the sentence; "I have a regard for the creeturs, which are
like kings in the air. Many an hour have I sat up yonder,
listening to the noises of earth and the noises of heaven,
while the shrill note of the gull, the chatter of the guillemot,
the heron's bitter scream, the hoarse croaking of the cormorant,
have been all around me: and, indeed, the birds know
me well enough. There's a pair of old gulls&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><a name="Page_57t" id="Page_57t"></a><a href="#Page_57tn">"Robin!</a> I came not here to talk of cormorants and
gulls; I want to ask you a question, and I expect an honest
answer."</p>

<p>Robin made the nearest approach to a bow he was ever
guilty of.</p>

<p>"Honesty, Robin, is a most valuable quality."</p>

<p>"So it is, sir&mdash;and, like all valuables, ought to fetch a good
price."</p>

<p>"You should be a disciple of Manasseh Ben Israel! Why,
you have hardly left my service two days, and then I had a
right to your honesty. You are as bad as a Jew."</p>

<p>"If so, I have surely a right to extort money from a Christian."</p>

<p>"A truce to your jests, you ill-favoured loon: I want no
man's labour for nothing&mdash;there are some broad pieces to stop
your mouth; and now, when saw you Hugh Dalton?"</p>

<p>"Not since I had the honour to wait upon you, sir, to
London."</p>

<p>"But he is off the coast."</p>

<p>"Under favour, sir, that accounts for my not seeing him
on it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>

<p>"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Burrell fiercely; "no such mummery
with me, or I'll soon put you upon salt-water rations.
Dalton, I say, is off the coast; I would speak with him, I
<i>must</i> speak with him; and as I have good reason to know you
telegraph each other, manage so that he meet me under the
cavern:&mdash;do you understand, you sprat-spawn? Under the
cavern; to-morrow night, at eleven; we can serve each other."
Burrell, when he had retraced his steps about five yards,
turned round and added, "You owe me amends for your
base desertion the night before last, which I have not forgotten."</p>

<p>Robin, cap in hand, watched his receding footsteps with an
underlook; and then, attended by his faithful Crisp, repaired
to the cottage, where a cannikin of porridge, seasoned by the
hand of his mother with good spicery, and more than half
composed of double-dub, awaited his arrival.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By the pricking of my thumbs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Something wicked this way comes.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>There is nothing in England so variable as its climate. Before
the succeeding night, the very remembrance of the storm
seemed to have passed away from the placid waters, which now
slept in the moonbeams as tranquilly as a cradled child; the
sea-bird's scream no longer whistled through the air, and the
small waves murmured their gentle music along the strand.
Nature was hushed and happy; but the tranquillity of external
objects had little effect upon the mind of Burrell, as he strode
to his trysting with the bold Buccaneer. Yet were there no
outward tokens that he apprehended aught from the meeting;
for, excepting the sword, usually borne by persons of all ranks
and professions during the dynasty of Oliver, he was completely
unarmed. The place appointed was appropriately described as
"Under the Cavern." It was known to Dalton's more intimate
associates, and the Cavaliers, who had from time to time
obtained security therein; but, if its bare, bleak walls had been
gifted with speech, they might have rehearsed such tales of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
rapine and plunder as few writers would venture to record.
The cavern appeared, to those who might wander along the
sea-shore, to be but a deep and natural excavation into a huge
rock, the western extremity of which ran out into the ocean,
and therefore compelled the traveller to ascend a kind of artificial
steps, in order to pass to the other side: the beach was,
consequently, but little frequented, as leading to no necessary
point, and as the inhabitants of the adjoining cottage, with
which our readers are already familiar, had taken especial care
to form several paths in various directions from its door, but
none leading down to this part of the neighbouring cliffs, it was
but rarely that the whiteness of the rocks was defaced by any
foot save that of the daring bird from whom it received its
name, and by whom it was regarded as his own natural and
undisputed property.</p>

<p>Whether the cavern into which we are about to enter was
originally framed by some freak of Nature, or was the invention
and subsequent accomplishment of art, we are unable to determine.
Like many a structure better formed to endure for
ages, it has been long swept away by the encroachments of the
sea, which, since the period we write of, has been gradually
gaining upon the land. Even at the present moment, there
are old men dwelling in the neighbourhood who can remember
houses and corn-fields where now a proud ship may
ride at anchor. From time to time, without the slightest warning,
some immense rock falls, and mingles with the ocean,
which soon dashes aside every trace of its existence, leaving
merely a new surface, to vanish in its turn under the influence
of a power, silent and patient, but inevitable and unconquerable.</p>

<p>Immediately as the moonlight was left behind, the cavern
became high and arched, as if either Nature, or some skilful
workman under her superintendence, had foreseen to what important
purposes it might be applied. Huge masses of flint,
and still larger fragments of granite, were scattered about as if
by giant hands, yet without any seeming attention to order or
regularity. The initiated, however, well knew that such was
not the case. Burrell, immediately on entering, proceeded to
the farther extremity, and kneeling, placed his mouth to the
ground, and gave a loud sharp whistle: he then stood erect, at
a little distance from the spot on which he had knelt. Presently
what appeared a lump of grey stone, moved upwards, then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
aside, and the head and shoulders of a man from beneath sprang
into its place so suddenly as to have appeared the work of magic.
He leaned a little on one side, to permit Burrell to descend;
and the next minute the cavern seemed as if no human
step had ever disturbed its solitude. Six or eight rugged stairs
brought the knight into a low but spacious apartment, from
which there was no apparent exit except by an arched doorway,
where the commencement of a spiral ascent was visible,
leading almost perpendicularly into the secret room of the
widow Hays' small hostelry, in which our acquaintance Jack
Roupall and his friends had been concealed, and which, it may
be here stated, served other purposes than to afford comfort
and entertainment to the wayfarer.</p>

<p>It may also be observed, that, if at any time the widow's
house was suspected of harbouring dangerous or outlawed persons,
and consequent search was made under its roof, those to
whom concealment was either convenient or necessary had a
ready sanctuary in the cavern beneath, where they might either
tarry until assured of safety, or whence they could easily escape
on board one of the free traders which rarely passed a week
without a call of inquiry at some point along the coast. The
cavern was, therefore, known to many, for many were they to
whom it had been a shelter and a safeguard. Not so the inner
temple (if we may so apply the term), to which Burrell now
sought admission through a door with the nature of which only
some half a dozen were acquainted. To them the secret had
necessarily been confided, but under the most awful oaths of
secrecy, and a terrible pledge that the life of him who might reveal
it, was to be at all times, and in all places, at the disposal
of any one of those who shared with him a knowledge so
fearful.</p>

<p>The door before which Burrell paused, was, in its way, a
masterpiece of art: it consisted of a mass of clay and flint, so
skilfully put together that the most acute searcher, even though
he possessed the certainty of its existence somewhere, must
have failed to discover it from among the natural lining of the
rude but extensive cave. A low and gentle whistle was answered
by a like signal, and the door was drawn gradually inwards,
until sufficient space was afforded to permit Burrell to
pass into a large space, but less raw and wild than that from
which he had just entered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>

<p>In one corner of this singular hall, rose a motley pile of
musketry, rifles, hand-grenades, basket and cross-hilted swords,
steel cuirasses, which, from their rude and sullied condition,
appeared to have suffered much and hard service; buff and
other coloured doublets, breast-plates, shoulder-belts with gilt
and plain buckles; manacles, some rusty, others of glittering
brightness: the muzzle of a small brass swivel projected from
beneath a number of flags and emblems of various nations,
rolled together with a degree of amity to which their former
owners had long been strangers. Over these again were heaped
cloaks, caps, feathers, and trappings, enough to form the stock
wardrobe of a theatre. Nor were there wanting thumb-screws
and other instruments of torture, often unsparingly exercised
upon those who hid their treasure or retained secrets they were
desired to betray. Near to this miscellaneous assemblage rose
another heap, the base of which appeared to consist of some
half score of elephants' teeth, rough hemp, fragments of huge
cable, cable-yarn, and all manner of cordage; rolls of lewxerns',
martrons', and leopard-skins; wolf-skins, "tawed and untawed;"
girdles of silk, velvet, and leather; and on pegs, immediately
over, hung half a dozen mantles of miniver, and some wide
robings of the pure spotted ermine. Upon a huge sea-chest
were heaped bales of costly Brabant, Overyssels, and other rare
linens, mingled with French and Italian lawns of the finest
texture; Turkish camlets, satins of China and Luca, plain and
wrought, and many other expensive and highly-taxed articles.
Delicious odours were diffused through the chamber from various
cases of perfume, musk, ambergris, and the costly attar;
while along the north wall were ranged different sized casks of
Nantz brandy, Hollands, and Jamaica rum; giving to the
whole the appearance of a vast storehouse. An enormous chafing-dish,
filled with burning charcoal, stood near the centre,
and in a deep iron pan was placed a keg of oil, a hole having
been driven into its head, through which a sort of hempen wick
had been introduced; it flared and blazed like an overgrown
flambeau, throwing a warm and glowing light over the entire
of the wild yet well-filled apartment.</p>

<p>But the most singular portion of the garniture of this most
singular cave consisted of a number of "Oliver's Acts," pinned
or nailed against the walls. If Dalton had been Lord Chief
Justice, he could not have displayed a more minute attention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
to the products of legal sittings than distinguished his private
chamber: here was set forth on goodly parchment, "An Act
for the Security of his Highness the Lord Protector, his Person,
and Continuance of the Nation in Peace and Safety;" there,
"An Act for Renouncing and Disannulling the pretended Title
of Charles Stuart, &amp;c. at the Parliament begun at Westminster
the 17th day of September, anno Domini 1656," with the
names "Henry Hills" and "John Field, Printers to his Highness
the Lord Protector," in large letters at the bottom, together
with divers others, chiefly however relating to the excise.</p>

<p>Hugh Dalton rose from his seat, and laid his enormous pipe
on a pile of ebony logs that answered the purpose of a table,
when Sir Willmott Burrell saluted him with more civility than
he usually bestowed upon inferiors: but, despite his outlawry,
and the wild course his life had taken, there was a firm, bold,
and manly bearing about the Buccaneer which might have
overawed far stouter hearts than the heart of the master of
Burrell. His vest was open, and his shirt-collar thrown back,
so as to display to advantage the fine proportions of his chest
and neck. His strongly-marked features had at all times an
expression of fierceness which was barely redeemed from utter
ferocity by a pleasant smile that usually played around a well-formed
mouth; but when anger was uppermost, or passion
was subdued by contempt, those who came within reach of his
influence, more dreaded the rapid motion or the sarcastic curl
of his lip, than the terrible flashing of eyes that were proverbial,
even among the reckless and desperate men of whom he was
the chief, in name, in courage, and in skill. His forehead was
unusually broad: thick and bushy brows overhung the long
lashes of his deeply-set eyes, around which there was a dark
line, apparently less the effect of nature than of climate. The
swarthy hue of his countenance was relieved by a red tinge on
either cheek; but a second glance might have served to convince
the gazer that it was the consequence of unchecked dissipation,
not a token of ruddy health. Indeed, notwithstanding
the fine and manly character of his form and countenance, both
conveyed an idea of a mind ill at ease, of a conscience smitten
by the past and apprehensive of the future, yet seeking consolation
in the knowledge of good that had been effected, and
of more that remained to be done. Years of crime had not
altogether obliterated a natural kindness of heart; he appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
as one who had outraged society and its customs in a thousand
forms, yet who knew there was that within him by which he
was entitled to ask and expect a shelter within her sanctuary;
and when a deep flush would pass over his features, and his
blood grow chill at the recollection of atrocities at which the
sufferers in a score of lands had shuddered as they talked, he
endeavoured to still the voice that reproached him, by placing
to the credit of his fearful account some matters to which we
may hereafter more distinctly refer.</p>

<p>It was before such a man that Burrell of Burrell now stood,
and by whom he was addressed.</p>

<p>"My piping-bird, good sir, told me you wanted me; and
though somewhat inconvenient at this present time, here I am.
Won't you sit? This is no lady's lounging-room; yet we can
find seats, and costly ones too," he added, pushing a chest of
spices towards his visitor.</p>

<p>"Then, you were not at sea, Captain?" observed Burrell,
seating himself, and unclasping his cloak.</p>

<p>"I did not say so," replied the other, bringing his bushy
brows more closely over his eyes, and glancing suspiciously
upon the questioner.</p>

<p>"Oh, no; I only imagined it."</p>

<p>"Well, sir, I was not at sea, and I care not who knows it."</p>

<p>"But, my worthy friend, we have been acquainted too long
for you to fear my 'peaching aught concerning you or your
doings."</p>

<p>"And did I talk of fear?" inquired the Buccaneer, with a
droll and yet bitter expression. "Well, if I did, I only follow,
as Robin would say, the example of my betters, by talking
about what I don't understand."</p>

<p>"Vastly good, and true!&mdash;true as the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Needle to the pole; the finest simile in nature, Sir Willmott
Burrell: you were fishing for a holy one, I saw, which
is what these walls don't often hear, for we've no laggers nor
warpes among us."</p>

<p>"You've enlarged this room, and improved it much, Captain,
since I last saw it."</p>

<p>"Humph! ay, that was, I remember, when his Highness&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush!" interrupted Burrell, changing colour, and looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
round the room cautiously; "you must be very careful, Dalton,
how you say any thing about&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! ha! So you look for a troop of old Noll's
Ironsides to bounce from under these packages in this good
Isle of Shepey; or, mayhap, expect to see him start forth
from behind his own Acts, which you perceive garnish my
walls&mdash;the walls of my secret palace, so splendidly; but I
may talk about his Highness, ay, and about the prisoners you
escorted here, despite the loyal men of Kent, for me to ship to
the Colonies&mdash;and&mdash;. But no matter, no matter; Noll knew
I did it, for he knows every thing. Well, sir, you seem so
alarmed, that I'm dumb as a sand-bank; only this, his Highness
is far enough off to-night, and you need fear no other Olivers,
for England will never see but one."</p>

<p>"True, true&mdash;good Dalton!&mdash;but tell me, are you often
on the French coast now?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I'm grown old, and, though my little Fire-fly is
still bright and beautiful, and her ivories as biting, her guns,
sir, as musical as ever, yet I'm done with the Colonies; they
ruin a man's morals and his health; but I do a little, just by
way of amusement, or practice, with Flanders and France, and
a run now and then to Lisbon."</p>

<p>"How long is it since you've been to St. Vallery?"</p>

<p>"Some time now; I was at Dieppe last month, and that is
very near."</p>

<p>"Dalton, you must make St. Vallery before this moon is
out, and execute a little commission for me."</p>

<p>"Very good, sir; we have never disputed about terms.
What is it? any thing in the way of silks, or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"It is flesh, human flesh, Dalton."</p>

<p>"Ah!" exclaimed the Buccaneer, rising and recoiling from
the knight. "I've had enough of that, and I'll have no more.
Sir Willmott Burrell, you must seek out another man."</p>

<p>"Now, Dalton," said Burrell, in his most insinuating tone,
"you have not yet heard me, and I take it very unhandsome
of an old friend like you to start off in such a manner without
knowing why or wherefore. The matter is simply this&mdash;a
girl, a silly girl, somehow or other got attached to me while I
was in France. I have received letter upon letter, talking of
her situation, and so forth, and threatening various things;
amongst others, to come over here, unless&mdash;the idiot!&mdash;I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
acknowledge her as my wife. Now, you know, or perhaps
you do not know, that I am betrothed to the daughter of Sir
Robert Cecil; and, if I must enter into the holy state, why
she is a maiden to be proud of. I have arranged it thus&mdash;written
to my fair Zillah to get to St. Vallery by a particular
day, the date of which I will give you, and told her that a
vessel waits to convey her to England. You, Dalton, must
guide that vessel, and&mdash;&mdash;but you understand me; words
between friends are needless."</p>

<p>"The cargo for exportation; Barbadoes perhaps&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Or&mdash;&mdash;" And Burrell pointed with his finger downwards,
though, when he raised his eye to encounter that of the Buccaneer,
it was quickly withdrawn.</p>

<p>"God, Burrell!" exclaimed Dalton, in a tone of abhorrence,
"you are a greater villain than I took you for! Why can't
you pay off the girl&mdash;send her somewhere&mdash;gild the crime?"</p>

<p>"Gold is no object with her; she desires honour."</p>

<p>The sympathetic chord of the Buccaneer's heart was touched,
for the sentiment echoed his own.</p>

<p>"Then who is she?" he demanded; "I'll not stir in it <a name="Page_65t" id="Page_65t"></a><a href="#Page_65tn">unless</a>
I know all."</p>

<p>Burrell paused for a moment, and then said&mdash;</p>

<p>"You have heard of Manasseh Ben Israel, a rabbi, whom
it hath pleased a great personage to distinguish with much
kindness: nay, his mercy has gone so far as to contemplate
receiving that unholy people into commune with us, giving
them the right-hand of fellowship, and suffering them to taste
of the waters&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Spritsail and rigging!" interrupted the Buccaneer, whose
enraged spirit sought some outlet, "No conventicle lingo here&mdash;you
forget your company, Sir Willmott. What of the
Jew?"</p>

<p>"You know his highness has strangely favoured this man,
and that he is much thought of. It is now more than six
months since I was entrusted with a commission to Paris, and
Ben Israel requested I would take charge of some packages he
desired to forward to his daughter. She resided with a family
whom I knew to be Polish Jews, but who conformed to the
Catholic faith, and quieted the conscience of a certain cardinal
by liberal offerings of silver and of gold. I discharged the
commission in person, and must confess that the little black-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>eyed
maid, seated as I first saw her, on crimson cushions of
rich Genoa velvet, and nearly enveloped in a veil starred with
precious gems, looked more like a houri than a woman. She
pleased me mightily; and, as I had a good deal of time on my
hands, I trifled it with her. This might have done well; we
might have gone on pleasantly enough; but the creature was as
jealous as a she-tiger, and as revengeful too. I made acquaintance
with a blue-eyed Dane at the court, and&mdash;can you
believe it?&mdash;she tracked my footsteps in disguise, and would
have stabbed me to the heart, had I not wrenched the dagger
from her little hand. She pretended to be sorry for it; and,
though I never trusted her, our intimacy was renewed, until I
was recalled. Particular necessities for money pressing upon
me, I saw that no time was to be lost in fulfilling my contract
with Sir Robert Cecil's daughter. My Jewess, however,
thinks otherwise; declares she will follow me here; that if I
do her not justice she will brave her father's anger, avow her
intimacy with a Christian (which I believe they invariably
punish by death), and forward, what she calls, proofs of my
guilt to the Lord Protector. You perceive, Dalton, the creature
is dangerous."</p>

<p>"But what <i>can</i> she forward to Oliver?"</p>

<p>"Why, she was starch, and&mdash;you comprehend me&mdash;I
was obliged to submit to a species of marriage ceremony; and
there was a certificate and some letters. In short, Captain,
knowing his highness's strictness&mdash;knowing his wish to conciliate
this Ben Israel, and feeling the expediency of my immediate
marriage&mdash;I tell you it would be certain destruction
to suffer her to appear now."</p>

<p>"Then I must ship her off, so that she may never return,"
observed the Buccaneer, with a fierce knitting of his
brows.</p>

<p>"Dalton, you know not what a devil she is: were she gentle,
or a fond idiot, she could be managed; but she has the
spirit, the foresight of a thousand women. Besides, I swore,
when her hand was lifted against my life, that I would be revenged,
and I never yet swore in vain."</p>

<p>Dalton looked upon Burrell's really handsome features,
contracted and withered by the pestilence of a demoniac spirit,
and loathed him from his very soul.</p>

<p>"I can't, Sir Willmott, I can't; flesh and blood must rise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
against the destruction of a loving woman. I won't, so help
me God! and that's enough."</p>

<p>"Very well&mdash;very well&mdash;but I'll have blood for blood,
breach for breach, master; the Ironsides, Cromwell's tender
pets, would have nice picking here. The Protector has already
a scent of your whereabouts; he is one who neither slumbers
nor sleeps. Let the bold Buccaneer look to it, and I'll straight
seek some less <i>honest</i> man to do my bidding."</p>

<p>"Heave over such jargon," replied Dalton, upon whom
Burrell's threats seemed to have made no impression. "Suppose
you did betray me, how many days' purchase would your life
be worth? Think ye there are no true hearts and brave, who
would sacrifice their own lives to avenge the loss of mine?
Avast, Master of Burrell! you are old enough to know better."</p>

<p>"And you ought to know better than to sail against the
wind. Why, man, the little Jewess is freighted with jewels;
a very queen of diamonds. And I care not for them: you
may keep them all&mdash;so&mdash;&mdash;" The villain's lip faltered; he
feared to speak of the deed his heart had planned. Dalton
made no reply, but covered his face with his hand, leaning his
elbow on the table. Burrell took advantage of his silence to
urge the riches of the rabbi's daughter, the presents he himself
would give, and wound up the discourse with protests loud
and earnest of everlasting gratitude. Dalton let him speak on,
but still maintained an inflexible silence.</p>

<p>"'Sdeath, man!" exclaimed Burrell, hastily, after a pause
of some minutes; "art asleep, or stupid?"</p>

<p>"Neither," replied the Buccaneer. "But I will do your
bidding. Now, write your directions,&mdash;here are pens, ink,
paper, all that you require,&mdash;and my reward; write, sir, and
then good night." Burrell did so, while Dalton paced up and
down his den, as if meditating and arranging some action of
importance. All matters being agreed upon, apparently to the
satisfaction of both, they were about to separate, when Burrell
inquired&mdash;</p>

<p>"Did you land any Cavaliers lately?"</p>

<p>"Not I; they are but a bad freight; broad pieces are a
scarce commodity with Charlie's friends."</p>

<p>"Very strange. I met a braggart the other night, but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
dare say he was one of the Syndercomb gang. His highness
imagines you conveyed some of them to their head-quarters."</p>

<p>"Does he?"</p>

<p>"Master Dalton, you are close."</p>

<p>"Master Burrell, I have agreed to do your business."</p>

<p>"Well!"</p>

<p>"I mean it to be well. Consequently, I have not agreed to
tell you mine."</p>

<p>Burrell looked daggers for a moment, and then turned off
with a hasty step and a forced laugh.</p>

<p>"Blasted be my hand for touching his in the way of amity!"
exclaimed the Buccaneer, striking the table with a violence
that echoed through the room. "The cold-blooded, remorseless
villain! She is too good for such a sacrifice&mdash;I must be
at work. And so, one infamy at a time is not enough for the
sin-dealing land lubber; he wanted to worm out of me&mdash;&mdash;Robin!
ahoy! Robin!"</p>

<p>Dalton stepped to the outside of the still open door; and on
the instant descended from the communicating stair leading to
the Gull's Nest, not Robin, but him of the grey steed and
black cloak, who was so near falling a victim to Burrell's
treachery on a recent occasion.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For guilty states do ever bear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The plagues about them which they have deserved;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, till those plagues do get above<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mountain of our faults, and there do sit,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We see them not. Thus, still we love<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The evil we do, until we suffer it.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The Buccaneer welcomed the young man with greater warmth
than is usually displayed, except to near and dear connections.
It must be remembered, also, he had arrived at that period of
life when feelings of affection and friendship stagnate somewhat
in the veins, and curdle into apathy. Few are there
who have numbered fifty winters without wondering what
could have set their blood boiling and their hearts beating so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
warmly some few years before. A benison upon a smiling lip,
a kindly eye, and a cheerful voice!&mdash;whether they belong to
the young or to the old&mdash;may all such true graces be long
preserved from the blight called "knowledge of the world!"
which, while bestowing information with the one hand, takes
away innocence and hope with the other.&mdash;But to the story.</p>

<p>The young Cavalier greeted his associate more as a friend
than a companion: there was evidently between them that
good understanding which, arising from acquaintance with the
better points of character, produces mutual esteem; and although
there was a degree of deference paid to Hugh Dalton
by the youth, it seemed a compliment to his age and experience,
gracefully and naturally rendered, and kindly and
thankfully received. It was obvious that Dalton so considered
it; receiving attention far less as his due, than as a voluntary
offering for which he desired to show his gratitude.</p>

<p>There was, nevertheless, something of pity mingled with
regard, which the youth manifested towards his chafed companion,
as he took the seat that had been occupied by Burrell,
and, laying his hand upon the powerful arm of the Buccaneer,
inquired, in a touching and anxious tone, if aught had particularly
disturbed him.</p>

<p>"Walter, no&mdash;nothing very particular; for knavery and
villany are seldom rare, and I have been long accustomed to
treat with both; only it's too bad to have more unclean spirits
than one's own harpying and haunting a man! God! I can
breathe better now that fellow's gone. Ah, Master Walter!
there be two sorts of villains in the world: one with a broad,
bronzed face, a bold loud voice, a drinking look, and an unsheathed
dagger&mdash;and him men avoid and point at, and
children cling to their mother's skirts as he passes by:&mdash;the
other is masked from top to toe;&mdash;his step is slow, his voice
harmonised, his eye vigilant, but well-trained; he wears his
dagger in his bosom, and crosses his hands thereon as if in
piety, but it is, in truth, that his hold may be firm and his
stab sure; yet the world know not that, and they trust him,
and he is singled out as a pattern-man for youth to follow; and
so&mdash;but we all play parts&mdash;all, all! And now for a stave
of a song: Hurrah for the free trade!&mdash;a shout for the brave
Buccaneers!&mdash;a pottle of sack!&mdash;and now, sir, I am myself
again! The brimstone smell of that dark ruffian nearly over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>powered
me!" So saying, he passed his hand frequently over
his brows, attempting at the same time to laugh away his
visible emotion.</p>

<p>"It will not do!" said the young man, whom Dalton had
addressed by the name of Walter; "something has disturbed
you: surely, Captain, I may ask what it is?"</p>

<p>"Some forty years ago I had a father," replied the Buccaneer,
looking earnestly in the youth's face; "he was an aged man
then, for he did not marry until he was old, and my mother
was beautiful, and quitted his side: but that does not matter;
only it shows how, as my poor father had nothing else to love,
he loved me with the full tenderness of a most affectionate
nature. He was a clergyman too, and a firm royalist; one of
those devoted royalists, as regarded both God and king, who
would submit, for their sakes, to the stake or the block with
rapture at being thought worthy to make the sacrifice. Well,
I was wild and wilful, and even then would rather steal a thing
than gain it by lawful means: not that I would have stolen
aught to keep it, for I was generous enough; but I loved the
danger and excitement of theft, and, on the occasion I speak
of, I had taken some apples from a neighbouring tree belonging
to a poor woman. It was evening when I took this
unlucky fruit; and not knowing a safe place in which to
deposit it, I was restless and disturbed all night. The next
day, from a cause I could not guess at, my father would not
suffer me to go out, and was perpetually, on some pretext or
other, going to and from the cupboard where my treasure had
been placed. I was in agony; and as night again closed in, the
agitation and anxiety I had suffered made me ill and pale.
My dear father drew near him the little oak table that was set
apart for the Bible, and, opening it, said that he had that day
composed a sermon for my especial case. I dreaded that my
apple-stealing had been discovered; and I was right, though he
did not say so. He enlarged in sweet and simple language
upon his text: it was this&mdash;'There is no peace, saith my
God, to the wicked.' Walter! Walter! the old man has been
many years in his grave, and I have been as many a reckless
wanderer over the face of the wild earth and still wilder sea;
but I have never done a deed of blood and plunder, that those
words have not echoed&mdash;echoed in my ears, struck upon my
heart like the fiend's curse. Yet," he added in a subdued ac<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>cent,
"it was no cursing lips pronounced them: I have been the
curse to the holy words, not they to me."</p>

<p>"I never before heard you speak of your father," observed
the youth.</p>

<p>"I do not like to speak of him; I ran off to sea when I
was about ten years old, and when I came back he was dead.
There was war enough in England at that time to occupy my
active nature: I first joined the King's party, and had my
share of wounds and glory at Gainsborough, where I fought
with and saw poor Cavendish killed by that devil Cromwell.
It was at that same battle his successes began: he had a brave
horse-regiment there of his countrymen, most of them freeholders
and freeholders' sons, who upon matter of conscience
engaged in this quarrel under him. It was there he ousted
us with his canting. Gadsooks! they went as regularly to
their psalm-singing as they had been in a conventicle; and
thus, d'ye see, being armed after their own fanatical fashion
within, and without by the best iron armour, they stood as
one man, firmly, and charged as one man, desperately.&mdash;But
we have other things to talk of than him or me; so sit down,
young gentleman, and let's hear the news;&mdash;or, stay, Robin
must first bring us some wine&mdash;my warehouse is full of it;
I must wash down the poison that fellow has crammed into
my throat. Ah! ah! ah! what chafes me is, that, from my
cursed reputation, greater villains than myself thrust me forward
to do their work, and think they have a right to storm
and stare if I have conscience in any thing. But I'll be even
with them all yet&mdash;with one in particular. That villain!&mdash;shall
that far greater villain have peace? 'There is no peace,
saith my God, to the wicked.'"</p>

<p>He summoned Robin, who placed on the table some meat
and wine, and other matters that supplied a pretty substantial
supper: a ceremony, the rendering justice to which affords us
sufficient leisure to examine the form and features of the young
Cavalier, who, having laid aside his enormous cloak, reclined
on some piles of foreign cloths with an ease and grace that belongs
only to those of gentle blood. Amid the bustle and
occupation of life, it is a simple matter for people of ordinary
rank to assume the bearing of the well-bred; but repose is the
true criterion of a gentleman or lady, inasmuch as there is
then no motion to take off from an ungraceful attitude or an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
awkward mien. The features of the Cavalier were almost too
high for beauty; and had it not been for a playful smile that
frequently flitted across his countenance, elongating his moustache,
softening and blending the hard lines that even at four-and-twenty
had deepened into furrows, he would have been
pronounced of severe aspect. Bright golden hair clustered in
rich curls over his forehead, and fell a little on either cheek,
giving a picturesque character to the form of the head. His
eyes appeared of a dark grey; but they were so much sunk, so
overshadowed by his forehead, as to leave one in doubt as to
their exact colour. His figure was unusually tall and well-formed,
and his whole bearing was more that of an accomplished
gentleman than of a cut-and-slash cavalier: his manner
was neither reckless nor daring, but it was firm and collected.
His dress was composed of the finest black cloth, with a black
velvet doublet; and his sword-hilt glittered with diamonds.</p>

<p>Robin did not attempt to place himself at the same table,
but sat back on a lower seat and at a little distance, sharing
his repast with Crisp, who had scrambled down the stairs after
his master, and looked ugly enough to be, what he certainly
was, an extraordinary canine genius.</p>

<p>Dalton and Walter laboured under no restraint because of
the presence of Robin; on the contrary, he occasionally shared
in the conversation, and his opinion upon various topics was
frequently asked; indeed, he was fond of bestowing it gratuitously,
and seemed highly pleased when called upon to
express it.</p>

<p>"Didst hear, Robin, when Blake was expected off Sheerness
with the Spanish prizes?"</p>

<p>"In a few days, it is said, he will either bring or send
them; but my own thought is, that it will be about a week,
neither more nor less, before any ship arrives."</p>

<p>"I must get off for the French coast in a day or two," said
Dalton; "and I do not care to return until Blake with his
train go up the river a bit; for it's foul sailing athwart
the brave old boy: he's the only man living I'd strike
flag to."</p>

<p>"And who has the care of the Firefly now you're ashore?"
inquired the Cavalier.</p>

<p>"Why, Jeromio."</p>

<p>"I don't like him," said Robin bluntly: "foreigners are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
good slaves, but bad masters to us English: I'd rather trust
the ship to little Spring."</p>

<p>"He is a mere boy, and too bad a sailor; besides, he is
grown so superstitious, swears the devil came to him one night
I placed him a watch on yon cliff. I must leave him ashore
with you, Robin, and tell you what to do with the scapegrace,
if I am not back by a particular day. I must also give you a
letter to take to Sir Robert Cecil, postponing an appointment I
had made with him."</p>

<p>"You had better give the letter to that gentleman," exclaimed
Robin, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to
where the Cavalier sat; "he would do an errand to Cecil
Place, especially if it were to the Lady Constance, right
gladly."</p>

<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Dalton, fixing his quick eye on the
youth's countenance, that betrayed uneasiness but not displeasure.
"Sits the wind in that quarter? But tell us,
Robin, how was it?"</p>

<p>"There is nothing to tell, Captain," interrupted Walter,
"except that Robin accompanied me to the Place, as it is
called, to show me some alterations, and point out the excellent
order in which the trees are kept; and in the grounds we
encountered Mistress Cecil, and, as I am informed, the Lady
Cromwell."</p>

<p>"I wish you would keep close here though," muttered
Dalton; "you'll be meeting the villain Burrell before&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I would fain encounter Sir Willmott Burrell once again,
and make him pay the traitor's forfeit."</p>

<p>"Peace&mdash;peace! give Burrell rope enough to hang himself.
He'll swing as high as Haman ere long. Robin told me
of the coward's treachery."</p>

<p>"I wish Robin had not accompanied him to London," exclaimed
Walter; "I hate people to carry two faces. But my
wonder is that Burrell would trust him."</p>

<p>"Just because he could not help himself," retorted Robin.
"He wanted a clever lad who had understanding. His own
valet was in France on some business or another mighty
mysterious; and a gentleman like him, who has a good character
and a foul conscience, a good head and a bad heart, has
need of a man of talent, not a loon, about his person. To do
full justice, however, to his discretion, he treated me to as few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
of his secrets as he could, and I endeavoured to save him
trouble by finding them all out."</p>

<p>The Buccaneer laughed aloud, but the high-souled Cavalier
looked serious.</p>

<p>"Ah! ah!" said Dalton, "you never did relish machinations,
and it is well you are not left to yourself in this
plan of mine: honour is not the coin to take to a villain's
market."</p>

<p>"'Tis the only coin I will ever deal in, Captain; and I
told you before I left Cologne, that on no other condition
would I accompany you to England, except that of being held
clear of every act unbefitting a gentleman or a soldier."</p>

<p>"Young sir," replied Dalton, "when you were indeed
young, and long before you took your degree in morality at
the rambling court of the second Charles, did I ever counsel
you to do aught that your&mdash;that, in short, you might not do
with perfect honour? I know too well what it is to sacrifice
honour to interest ever to wish you to make the trial. As for
me, I am low enough in character&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My kind preserver! my brave friend!" interrupted
Walter, touched at his change of manner. "Forgive such
unworthy, such unmerited suspicion. This is not the first
time I have had to learn your kindly care for me. But for
you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well, there, there boy&mdash;I love to call you boy still; I
can bear my own shame, but I could never bear yours."</p>

<p>Dalton paused, apparently with a view to change the subject:
the Cavalier observed&mdash;</p>

<p>"You quarrel with our young king's morality?"</p>

<p>"I'faith, I do!&mdash;though you will say it's ill coming from
me to fault any man's conduct; but I hate your little vices as
much as your little virtues: sickly, puny goods and evils, that
are too weak for sun to ripen, too low for blast to break, but
which endure, the same withered, sapless things, to the death-day&mdash;Augh!
a bold villain, or a real downright good man,
for my money. How the devil can Charles Stuart do any
thing great, or think of any thing great, with his mistresses
and his dogs, his gaming and&mdash;&mdash;Why, it is hardly a year
since I took off from Dover that poor Lucy Barton and her
brat, after the poor thing suffering imprisonment in the Tower
for his sake!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>

<p>"The child's a noble child," said Walter; "but the mother's
a sad reprobate, swears and drinks like a trooper."</p>

<p>"My mother is a woman," exclaimed little Robin, with
great gravity, poising a mutton-bone between his fingers, to
arrive at which Crisp was making extraordinary efforts,&mdash;"and
I can't deny that I've a sort of love, though it be a love
without hope, for a very pretty girl, a woman also: now this
being the case, I'm not fond of hearing women reflected on;
for when they're young, they're the delight of our eyes; and
when they're old, they're useful, though a trifle crabbed, but
still useful; and a house without a woman would be like&mdash;like&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Robin at fault!" said Dalton: "you've given me many
a comparison, and now I'll lend you one&mdash;a bell without a
clapper; won't that do, Robin?" Robin shook his head.&mdash;"Ay,
Robin! Robin! you're right, after all. If it were
not for a woman, I'd never set foot on shore again: but I'm
proud of my little Barbara; and all the fine things you tell
me of her, Robin, make me still prouder;&mdash;her mother all
over. I often think how happy I shall be to call her daughter,
when she won't be ashamed to own me: God help me!"&mdash;and
be it noted that Dalton crossed himself as he spoke&mdash;"God
help me! I often think that if ever I gain salvation,
it will be through the prayers of that girl. Would that she
had been brought up in her mother's way!"</p>

<p>"What would old Noll say to that papistical sign, master?"
inquired Robin.</p>

<p>"A plague on you and old Noll too! I never get a bit up
towards heaven, that something doesn't pull me back again."</p>

<p>"I'll send you up in a moment," said Robin, in a kind
voice. "Your daughter, Barbara&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ay, that it is, that it is," muttered the Buccaneer; "my
own, own child!&mdash;the child of one who, I bless God, never
lived to know that she wedded (for I wedded her in holy
church, at Dominica) a wild and wicked rover. Our love
was sudden and hot, as the sun under which we lived; and I
never left her but once from the time we became one. I had
arranged all, given up my ship and cargo,&mdash;and it was indeed
a cargo of crimes&mdash;at least, I thought so then. It was before
the civil wars; or I had again returned to England, or
traded, no matter how. I flew to her dwelling, with a light<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
heart and a light step. What there? My wife,&mdash;she who
had hung so fondly round my neck and implored me not to
leave her,&mdash;was stretched on a low bamboo bed&mdash;dead, sir&mdash;dead!
I might have known it before I entered, had I but
remembered that she knew my step on the smooth walk, fell it
ever so lightly, and would have met me&mdash;but for death!
And there too sat a black she-devil, stuffing my infant's mouth
with their vile food. I believe the hag thought I was mad;
for I caught the child in my arms, held it to my heart while I
bent over my wife's body, and kissed her cold, unreturning&mdash;for
the first time unreturning&mdash;lips; then flung myself out
of the accursed place,&mdash;ran with my burden to the shipowners,
who had parted with me most grudgingly,&mdash;and was scudding
before the wind in less than twelve hours, more at war with
my own species than ever, and panting for something to wreak
my hatred on. At first I wished the infant dead, for I saw
her pining away; but at last, when she came to know me, and
lift up her innocent hands to my face&mdash;I may confess it here&mdash;many
and many a night have I sat in my cabin looking on
that sleeping child, till my eyes swam in a more bitter brine
than was ever brewed in the Atlantic. Particular circumstances
obliged me to part with her, and I have never regretted
her being with poor Lady Cecil&mdash;only I should have liked
her to pray as her mother did. Not that I suppose it will
make any difference at the wind-up,&mdash;if," he added, doubtingly,
"there be indeed any wind-up. Hugh Dalton will
never be really himself till he can look that angel girl straight
in the face, and ask her to pray for him, as her mother used."
Dalton was too much affected to continue, and both his auditors
respected his feelings too much to speak. At length he
said, "But this gloom will never do. Come, Robin, give us
a song, and let it not be one of your sad ones."</p>

<p>Robin sung,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Now, while the night-wind loud and chill<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Unheeded raves around the door,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let us the wine-cup drain and fill,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And welcome social joys once more&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The joys that still remain to cheer<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The gloomiest month of all the year,<br /></span>
<span class="i10">By our own fire side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What need we care for frost and snow?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thus meeting&mdash;what have we to fear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From frost and snow, or winds that blow?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Such guests can find no entrance here.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">No coldness of the heart or air&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Our little world of twelve feet square,<br /></span>
<span class="i10">And our own fire-side.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I drink this pledge to thee and thine&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I fill this cup to thine and thee&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How long the summer sun might shine,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Nor fill our souls with half the glee<br /></span>
<span class="i4">A merry winter's night can bring,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">To warm our hearts, while thus we sing<br /></span>
<span class="i10">By our own fire-side."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>The song, however, produced a contrary effect to that the
Ranger had intended. It pictured a fancied scene&mdash;one to
which both Walter and the Buccaneer had long been strangers;
and a lengthened and painful pause succeeded to the brief
moment of forced merriment. It was broken by the Cavalier,
who inquired&mdash;</p>

<p>"How long will it be before you return from this new trip?
for remember, my good friend, that suspense is a&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hell!" interrupted Dalton, in his usual intemperate manner:
"but I cannot help it. It is not wise to pluck unripe
fruit&mdash;do you understand me?"</p>

<p>"Perfectly&mdash;and I dare say you are right; but tell me,
Dalton, how is it that, till lately, you so completely abandoned
this island, and kept to the Devon and Cornwall coasts? I
should have thought this the most convenient; your storehouse
here is so well arranged."</p>

<p>"Ay, ay, sir; but this is over-near London, though it
used to be a safe place enough; but now that Sir Michael
<a name="Page_77t" id="Page_77t"></a><a href="#Page_77tn">Livesey</a>&mdash;regicide that he is!&mdash;abides so continually at Little
Shurland, what chance is there for any good to such as I? I
tell ye, Cromwell's nose is ever on the scent."</p>

<p>"A great advantage to him, and a disadvantage to his foes,"
said Robin: "he has only to put the said nose to the touch-hole
of the biggest cannon, and off it goes; it never costs the
army a farthing for matches when he's with it."</p>

<p>"Pshaw, Robin! but is he indeed so <a name="Page_77at" id="Page_77at"></a><a href="#Page_77atn">red-nosed?</a> You
have often seen him, Captain."</p>

<p>"Ay, dressed in a plain cloth suit, made by an ill country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
tailor; his linen coarse and unclean; his band unfashionable,
and often spotted with blood; his hat without a band; his
sword close to his side; his countenance swollen and reddish;
and, as to his nose, it looked to me more purple than aught
else. But, sir, to see Cromwell, see him in battle&mdash;he is a
right noble horseman; and the beast (a black one especially he
was once so fond of) seemed to have been tutored by the evil
one: its eye was as vigilant as its rider's. Cromwell sits his
saddle not gracefully, but firmly, just as if he were part and
portion of the animal; then, with a sword in his right hand,
and a pistol in his left&mdash;&mdash;Sir, it was unlike any thing I
ever saw! He must have managed the horse by the pressure
of his heel; for I never could make out, such was the decision
yet rapidity of his movements, whether he held reins or not:
now here, now there&mdash;firing&mdash;preaching&mdash;shouting&mdash;praying&mdash;conquering&mdash;yet
everything done in its right place and
time, never suffering the excitement of the moment to bear
down one of his resolves. Had he been born a king&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"He would never have been what he is," said the Cavalier;
"for contention is the school of greatness."</p>

<p>"It's mighty fine to see you two sit there," exclaimed
Robin, "praising up that man in the high place: pretty Cavaliers
indeed! Well, my opinion is, that&mdash;but indeed it is
rude to give an opinion unasked, so I'll keep mine to myself.
You were talking of the conveniences of this place; why,
bless you, sir, it's nothing to fifty others along St. George's
Channel. 'Twould do your heart good to see those our captain
has among the Cornish rocks; such comfortable dwellings,
where you could stow away twenty people, never to
chirrup to the sun again; such hiding-holes, with neat little
trains of gunpowder, winding like snakes in summer, so that,
to prevent discovery, one crack of a good flint would send the
caverns and the cliffs high into the air, to tell stories to the
stars of the power of man's skill to destroy the most sublime
as well as the most beautiful works of nature."</p>

<p>"Robin, you ought to have been a preacher."</p>

<p>"No," said Robin mournfully, and shaking his head, as was
his custom, "for I know nothing of your book-holiness; only
I can't bear anything moulded and made by the hand of God
to be ruined by that of man."</p>

<p>"What ails ye, lad?" inquired the Buccaneer; "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
thought ye had got over all your shadows, as ye used to call
them."</p>

<p>"Not all of them; only they do not come upon me as
often as they used," he replied gravely; for poor Robin had
one time been subject to periodical fits that bordered on insanity,
and during such afflictions wandered about the country,
without seeking repose or speaking word to any one. Constance
Cecil, with her usual kindness, had him frequently
taken care of at Cecil Place; and Barbara's kind attention to
him during such fearful trials was the source of as strong, as
unvarying, and devoted an attachment as ever human being
manifested towards another.</p>

<p>By degrees the conversation sunk into low confidential
whispers, as if caution, even there, was necessary. It was
near four o'clock in the morning before the Buccaneer departed
for his ship, and then Robin escorted the Cavalier to
his usual chamber in the Gull's Nest.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When thirsty grief in wine we steep,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">When healths and draughts go free,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fishes that tipple in the deep<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Know no such liberty.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Lovelace.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"A blessing and a salutation, reverend sir! and may the
sun, moon, and stars be sanctified unto you!"</p>

<p>"Ah! Solomon Grundy, would that the Lord had given
thee sense to understand, as he hath bestowed upon thee
talent to speak according to thy understanding! As it is,
Solomon, I lament that thou art a fool, Solomon, a very fool,
except in what regardeth the creature-comforts; and, of a
verity, thou art worthy to send up a dinner even unto Hugh
Peters, after he hath delivered a soul-converting oration before
the chosen from among God's people."</p>

<p>"Which refection he would in nowise condemn," observed
the cook of Cecil Place, whose closely-cropped head of
foxy hair seemed to throw a proportionate quantity of glowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
colour upon his rubicund countenance. He had all the outward
marks that indicate a <i>bon vivant</i>, and words of piety came
as awkwardly from his lips as sighs from the mouth of a seal or
a salmon. His little grey eyes twinkled with affection for the
said "creature-comforts;" and the leathern pouch he now
carried over his shoulder was stocked with sundry good things
appropriated from the larder for his own especial diet. He
had received permission from Mistress Cecil to accompany
some of his neighbours to see the grand company from London
visit a first-rate man-of-war that had just arrived off
Sheerness, bringing in a train of prizes which the veteran
Blake had taken and sent home, himself proceeding to Vera
Cruz, and which it was rumoured the Lord Oliver was about
to inspect in person. This intelligence set the country in a
ferment, and persons of all classes hastened to the island to
witness the sight. For the English <i>were</i>, as they now <i>are</i>, a
sight-loving people, who find pleasure in pageants; and then,
as at present, they demanded economy; but when economy
came, they designated it meanness.</p>

<p>The staunch Roundheads exulted at the idea of Cromwell's
exhibiting himself thus openly after the upsetting of the
Syndercomb plot; and the Royalists, depressed and disappointed,
were content to let matters take their course, at least
until they saw some prospect of a change; while the Levellers,
the party most dreaded by the Protector, and which had
been most fatal to the Stuarts, remained in that dangerous
state of repose that is but the preparative for renewed activity.</p>

<p>The Reverend Jonas <a name="Page_80t" id="Page_80t"></a><a href="#Page_80tn">Fleetword</a> had set forth from the sole
desire of "beholding him who was anointed with the oil of
the Spirit, and whose name among the nations was wonderful."
Solomon Grundy, and such other of the servants of
Cecil Place as could be spared, were impelled forward by the
wish of hearing or of seeing something new; intelligence not
travelling upon wings of steam in the seventeenth century, and
newspapers being but rare visiters at Shepey. Occasionally,
indeed, there did descend from the breakfast-room of Sir
Robert, unto the servants' hall, a stray number or two of
the "Mercurius Politicus," the "Perfect Diurnal," or the
"Parliament Scout;" the contents of which were eagerly devoured
by the several auditors, while one, more gifted than
his fellows, drawled forth, amid ejaculations and thanks unto<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
the Lord, the doings of the Commonwealth, and especially of
him who was a master in the new Israel. But the information
of the underlings of the house was generally gathered
from the pious pedlars, who sought entrance at the gate, well
stocked with wares of every possible description, and with
"gifts" of which they were always abundantly lavish to those
who hungered or were athirst.</p>

<p>The ladies of the family remained at home; the Lady
Frances feeling assured that her father would not be present,
as she had received no intimation to such effect from Whitehall.
Constance, however, had heard too many tales of Oliver's
sudden movements to feel satisfied as to the certainty of any
matter in which he was concerned. It was no secret either
that he had been displeased with his daughter for her obstinate
attachment to Mr. Rich; and that he desired her, for the
present, to remain in retirement and away from court.</p>

<p>We have said that Solomon Grundy had received permission
to view the sight; and for a time he proceeded on his
way, accompanied by the other domestics; but, under some
sly pretext, he lingered behind them. The worthy preacher
had not left Cecil Place so early, but, notwithstanding the
ambling pace of his favourite jennet, he soon came up to
Solomon, who, seated under a spreading elm by the wayside,
was rapidly demolishing the contents of his wallet, freshened
by frequent draughts from a black bottle of vast rotundity.</p>

<p>"Master Solomon Grundy," he observed, reining up his
steed, "could not your stomach tarry, even for a short while?
Ah! worthy cook, you have a most professional longing after
the flesh-pots."</p>

<p>Solomon grinned, and applied himself with renewed diligence
to his viands when the preacher had passed. He was
now surrounded by a motley party, who had crossed from the
main land, all bearing towards the same point. Puritans,
whose cloaks were of the most formal cut, and whose hats
emulated the steeple of St. Paul's; Levellers, with firm steps,
wrinkled and over-hanging brows, and hard unchanging
features, all denoting inflexibility of purpose and decision of
character; Cavaliers, whose jaunty gait was sobered, and
whose fashionable attire was curtailed in consideration that
such bravery would be noticed and reproved by the powers
that were; women attired in dark hoods and sad-coloured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
kirtles; some of demure aspect, others with laughing eyes and
dimpled cheeks, who exchanged glances, and sometimes words,
with youths of serious apparel but joyous countenances; while
here and there might be recognised divines, whose iron physiognomies
disdained to be affected by any of the usual feelings
that flesh is heir to; and ladies on horseback, or in the lumbering
heavy carriages, progressing from the horse ferry, "with
stealthy pace and slow," towards the centre of attraction.</p>

<p>The English even now make a business of enjoyment; but
in those days, what we designate pleasure, was known by no
such unholy term; it was called "recreation," "the refreshment
of the creature," "the repose of the flesh,"&mdash;by any
name, in fact, except the true one. But in the particular instance
to which we refer, it was considered a sacred duty to
uphold and applaud the Lord Protector whenever there occurred
an opportunity for so doing; and sound-hearted Puritans
would make a pilgrimage for the purpose with as much
zeal as ever Roman Catholics evinced in visiting the shrine of
some holy saint. The ships rode proudly in the harbour, and
groups of the gentry were occasionally conveyed on board by
boats, that waited for the purpose both at Queenborough and
Sheerness. It was an animated scene, but the soul of all was
wanting, for neither Cromwell, nor any portion of the court,
made their appearance. When it was noon, the people hoped
he would arrive ere evening; but, as the evening advanced,
and he failed to enter upon the scene, there was a general
manifestation of disappointment throughout the crowd, although
some few rejoiced at the occurrence, holding it a sign
of fear on his part, as if he dreaded to be seen among them.</p>

<p>A party, consisting of ten or twelve persons, at Queenborough,
had gathered round the trunk of a withered and
hollow oak, growing in front of a public-house, that displayed
the head of the Lord Protector&mdash;a political lure, that was
certain to attract all Commonwealth people to the receipt of
custom. The noble tree had been one of magnificent growth,
but age or accident had severed the trunk, and within its heart
decay had long been revelling. It was now perfectly hollow,
and afforded a free passage; two enormous props had been
found necessary, to prevent its making a last resting-place of
the earth it had for ages triumphantly protected. The cavity
that time had created was sufficiently extensive to afford<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
shelter during a storm to three or four persons; and it was
not unfrequently resorted to by the people of the inn, as a
storehouse for fuel, or farming utensils, when a plentiful harvest
rewarded the toil of the husbandman. Its branches, which
had so often sheltered the wayfarer alike from the tempest and
the hot summer's sun, had been hewn away, to serve the purposes
of strife in the shape of spear-handles, or to the doom of
the winter fire; one solitary arm of the blighted tree alone
remained, extending its scraggy and shattered remnants to a
considerable distance over the greensward which had been,
from time immemorial, trodden by the merry morrice dancers,
and broken by the curvetting of the hobby-horse and the
Dragon of Wantley, sports it was now deemed sinful but to
name. From a fragment of this dilapidated branch, hung the
sign of mine host of the Oliver's Head; and right glad would
he have been, if rumour had lied with each returning morn, so
that the lie could but fill his dwelling with so many profitable
guests. Thrice had the party, by whom had been appropriated
the seat beneath the oak, emptied the black jack of its double-dub
ale; and the call for a fourth replenishing was speedily
answered, as the sun was setting over the ocean, and tinging
the sails and masts of the distant vessels with hues that might
have shamed the ruby and the sapphire.</p>

<p>"To have our day go for nothing, after a trudge of some
twenty miles, to this out-of-the-way place,&mdash;Adad, sirs, it's
no joke!" exclaimed a sturdy, bluff-looking man, to our friend
little Robin Hays, who sat upon the corner of the bench, one
leg tucked under (doubtless for the purpose of enabling him
to sit higher than nature had intended,) while the other swung
methodically backward and forward: "Adad, sir, it's no joke!"
he repeated.</p>

<p>"No more it isn't, Master Grimstone; I never heard you
joke yet," said Robin.</p>

<p>"And I aver it is an open and avowed doubting of God's
providence," chimed in the cook.</p>

<p>"What! what!" exclaimed six or eight voices: "what do
you mean by such blasphemy, Solomon Grundy? A forfeit
and a fine!"</p>

<p>"Peace, silly brawlers!" returned he of the kitchen, who
had discussed the good things thereof, until he had no room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
for more, and who had also quaffed largely of the forbidden
beverage called 'strong waters;'&mdash;"I say peace, silly brawlers!
I repeat it <i>is</i> an open and avowed doubting of Providence,
that we should come thus far, and see nothing but a parcel of
people&mdash;parcel of sky&mdash;parcel of water&mdash;parcel of ships&mdash;parcel&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Of fools!" grinned little Robin, pointing at the same time
towards the oratorical cook, who so little relished the compliment,
as to elevate the polished remnant of a mutton shoulder-blade,
and aim a well-directed blow at the manikin, which he
avoided only by springing with great agility through the aperture
in the tree, so as to alight at some distance on the other
side of the hollow trunk. This harlequinade excited much
boisterous laughter among the crowd; and no one joined in it
more mirthfully than young Springall, who, for some reason
known best to Hugh Dalton, yet sanctioned by Sir Robert
Cecil, had spent the last few days in the kitchens and buttery
of Cecil Place. There was another youth of the same party,
who perchance enjoyed the merriment, but who looked as if
he could have still more enjoyed melancholy. He was seated
next to Springall, on the rude bench; and the boy-sailor treated
him with such marks of attention, as manifested that he regarded
him more in the light of a superior, than as an equal.
The stranger, however, remained with his hat so much
slouched over his face, that his features were in complete
shadow, while his cloak was muffled over the lower part of his
countenance.</p>

<p>"I say, Robin," exclaimed Springall, "come out of your
shell; you have remained there long enough to tell over a
dozen creeds or paters, were they in fashion&mdash;Come out, are
you bewitched? Robin the Ranger, I say, come forth, and
give us a taste of your calling&mdash;a melody&mdash;a melody! But
you should hear our Jeromio sing his lingo songs some night
astern: and though I do hate that cunning rascal, yet, my
eyes! how he does sing!"</p>

<p>"Singing," observed Solomon Grundy, whose potations had
wonderfully increased his piety, "singing is an invention of the
beast's, yea, of the horned beast's, of him who knoweth not a
turtle from a turtle-dove, but would incontinently stew them
in the same caldron, over brimstone and pitch; therefore
shall my voice bubble and boil over against such iniquities<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>&mdash;yea,
and my tongue shall be uplifted against them, even in the
land of Ham!"</p>

<p>"Go to sleep, Solomon, and you, youngster, give us a song
yourself," growled Grimstone, who had all the outward bearing
of a savage; "the evening is nigh closing, and the birds are
gone to their nests. Nevertheless, the song must be right
proper: so tune up, tune up, my boy!"</p>

<p>Springall, with due modesty, replied, "I could sing you sea
songs, and land songs, but these I leave to Robin Hays, who
beats me hollow. The clerk of our ship has translated one of
Jeromio's lilts, so I'll tip you a bit of sentiment.</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O'er the clear quiet waters<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My gondola glides,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gently it wakens<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The slumbering tides.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All nature is smiling,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath and above;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While earth and while heaven<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are breathing of love!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"In vain are they breathing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Earth, heaven&mdash;to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though their beauty and calmness<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are whispers of thee:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the bright sky must darken,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The earth must be grey,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ere the deep gloom that saddens<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My soul, pass away.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"But see, the last day-beam<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grows pale, ere it die;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the dark clouds are passing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All over the sky.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hear thy light footstep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thy fair form I see;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! the twilight has told thee<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who watches for thee."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Towards the latter part of the ditty, which was but little
relished by the company, it was evident that Solomon had
followed Grimstone's advice, for his snoring formed a loud and
most inharmonious bass to the sweet boy-like melody of Springall's
ballad.</p>

<p>Robin had rejoined the party, but his face and lips were of
a livid paleness, and he seemed labouring under evident distress.</p>

<p>"Art hurt, Robin?" inquired the stranger, who is known
to us by the name of Walter, now speaking for the first time.
Robin shook his matted head in reply.</p>

<p>"Something ails thee, man; something must ail thee&mdash;speak,
good Robin."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>

<p>"I'm neither sick, sad, nor sorry," he answered, affecting
his usual easy manner; "so here's a long pull, a strong pull,
and a pull altogether at the black jack, to the health&mdash;But
pardon, I had forgotten the wickedness of such profane customs."
Yet Robin evidently did not hold it profane to "swill
the brown bowl" so eagerly, that but the lees remained at the
bottom, as he laid it down, refreshed and strengthened.</p>

<p>"So you won't give us a toast, Master Robin," said Springall;
"well, I'll not only give ye a toast, but I'll stand the
price of a fresh jack of double-dub for you all to drink it in;
and I'll fight any man that says it nay, besides."</p>

<p>"Hold your profaneness!" exclaimed Robin, with a solemnity
so opposed to his actual character as to be absolutely ludicrous:
"Springall, thou hast had too much already; let us
depart in peace."</p>

<p>"A curse on me if I do&mdash;peace me no peace."</p>

<p>"I tell you what," interrupted Robin, with resolute spitefulness,
"if you swear, I'll lodge information against you."</p>

<p>"Ah! ah! ah!" shouted several of the party, "Robin
Hays turned preacher! Old Noll has sent the breath of holiness
before him to supply his place, and made a sudden convert
of the Ranger!"</p>

<p>"I entreat you most meekly to be silent; if not for my
sake, for your own. My brethren, you know not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That here comes the black jack," interrupted Springall;
"and here's to the health&mdash;But Cavaliers&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"We are <i>not</i> Cavaliers," interrupted Robin, in his turn;
"as I hope for mercy, we are not Cavaliers:&mdash;hard&mdash;honest&mdash;pains-taking
Commonwealth citizens are we; but not, I say
not," and he elevated his voice to its highest pitch, "not
Cavaliers."</p>

<p>"The devil's in the cards, and knaves are trumps," exclaimed
Springall; "nevertheless I'll have my toast, and here
it is.&mdash;Come, up standing,&mdash;'The fairest maid in Shepey,
Barbara Iverk! and may she soon be a wife'&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"To whom?" inquired Robin bitterly.</p>

<p>"To whoever can win and wear her," replied Springall.
"Come, come, Master Bob, you're mazed by some devilry or
other; the wind's in your teeth; you've been sailing against a
norwester, or have met with a witch on a broomstick the other
side of this old oak: Serves an oak right to wither up&mdash;why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
wasn't it made into a ship? But here's to Barbara Iverk, the
fair maid of Shepey!"</p>

<p>"The fair maid of Shepey!" repeated Grimstone, after
drinking the toast. "That title ought to be given to the mistress,
not the maid; and I care not if I wind up the evening
with a cup of Canary to the health of Lady Constance&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Peace, sir!" exclaimed the stranger, who had heretofore
taken no note of their rioting: "I shall offer chastisement to
any man who profanes that Lady's name at a vulgar revel."</p>

<p>"Adad! and adad, young sir, ye're a game one! What's
in any woman, that a man can't name her? Flesh is flesh! and
as to distinctions&mdash;we are all members of a Commonwealth!
so I say a stoup of Canary to the Lady&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"By holy Paul! if that Lady's name passes your unworthy
lips, my good rapier shall pass straight through your unhallowed
carcase!" exclaimed the Cavalier fiercely, at the same time
throwing back his cloak, and drawing his sword more than half
out of his scabbard.</p>

<p>"Hey ho! two can play at that: I never eat my words;
so, the sword in one hand, and the Canary in the other&mdash;to
the health of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>His mouth was stopped by the application of the palm of
Robin's broad hand to his unclosed lips; while he whispered
some words into his ear, that had the magical effect of restoring
the weapon to its sheath, and of inducing the braggart to resume
the seat he had so hastily abandoned, grumbling, in an
under tone, words that fell indistinctly upon the ear of his opposer.</p>

<p>"Let us home; it is a long and a dreary road to Cecil
Place, and the night is upon us already! so up, good Solomon.
Here, landlord! this fatted calf is unable to move: give him
house-room till to-morrow; and mind you put him on his way
in time for the dinner-hour," was Robin's parting speech. He
then exchanged rough, but kindly salutations, with his boon
companions; and soon the trio&mdash;Walter, Springall, and Robin
had taken a by-path, leading to the part of the island in which
Cecil Place was situated.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His rude assault, and rugged hand?ling<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Straunge seemed to the knight, that aye with foe<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In faire defence, and goodly menaging<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of arms, was wont to fight.&mdash;<i>The Faerie Queene.</i><br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>The three young men pursued their way; at first laughing
and chatting merrily upon the events of the morning; but
gradually becoming more and more silent, as persons usually
do when the first flush of revelling is over. The taller of the
three, who has of course been recognised as the mysterious
visiter at Lady Cecil's funeral and in the cave of the Buccaneer,
although he bore himself towards them with all the courtesy
of a true-born gentleman, received the deference of his
more humble associates only as his due, and in a manner that
showed he had been accustomed to more than merely respectful
treatment. After traversing much low and marshy ground,
they suddenly reached a spot where the road divided, the one
path leading to Cecil Place, the other to Gull's Nest crag.</p>

<p>"Come with me, Robin; unless, indeed, the master wishes
your company. I ask his pardon for not thinking of that
afore," said Springall.</p>

<p>"Not I, good Springall," replied the gentleman. "I
think you need a guide, for you walk the quarter-deck better
than the dry land; and, if I mistake not, there are sundry
pit-falls in the way to your present home. I know my path;
and, besides, am a regular land-lubber."</p>

<p>"Save and bless your honour!" exclaimed the young sailor,
holding all land-lubbers in thorough contempt: "that ye're
not: land-lubber, indeed! I'll be at the Nest to-morrow
early&mdash;if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush!" said the more careful Robin, "never speak words
of secret, openly&mdash;See ye yonder?"</p>

<p>"Yes," replied Springall, "two horsemen on the other
road; too far off to hear my words, unless they had the ears
of a hare."</p>

<p>"I had better go with you, sir," observed Robin earnestly:
"I will go with you, that's the truth of it. Good night,
Spring&mdash;steer to the left till you come to the red gap; after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
that, along the stone fence, on the right; it will lead you to
the orchard, then you know your way."</p>

<p>"Why did you not go with him?" inquired the Cavalier,
kindly; "it is a dark night, poor boy, he has small skill in
land-steering."</p>

<p>"He must learn, sir, as I do," answered Robin; "and my
duty calls me to attend on you, particularly when strange
people are a-stir."</p>

<p>"You are to be my champion, Robin?"</p>

<p>"Your servant, sir. A servant who learned his duty before
it was the fashion for servants to forget what they owe their
masters. Alack! alack! service now, like liberty, is but a
name, and servants do as they please."</p>

<p>"Did you so with the Master of Burrell?"</p>

<p>"But indifferently, sir; I fled, in a very servant-like manner,
as you know, when he was in danger. But I had my
reasons for it, as well as for going with him to London; only
I'd rather not talk of that to-night, sir. It is a mortal pity
that such a sweet lady as Mistress Constance should be forced
to marry such a brute; for my part, I never could discover
any wisdom in those contracts, as they call them. Ah, little
Barbara is a discreet girl. But I have heard some one say,
that, for all her fine lands, poor lady, her heart is breaking,
and chipping away bit by bit. 'Tis very fine to be rich, but,
being rich, very hard to be happy, because the troubles we
make ourselves are less easy to be borne, than those that come
upon us in the course of nature. If I had my wish, it is not
gold I'd ask for."</p>

<p>"Indeed! What then, Robin?"</p>

<p>"Just enough of beauty to win one woman's heart; I think
I have wit enough to keep it."</p>

<p>"Pshaw, Robin! though you may not be very comely,
there are many worse."</p>

<p>"Ay, sir, apes and baboons; but they are like their kind&mdash;while
I am a poor withered creature, that Nature, in spite,
threw from her, coarse and unfinished."</p>

<p>"I wonder a person of your sense, Robin, should fret at
such trifles. Remember, beauty is as summer fruits, easy to
corrupt, and quick to perish."</p>

<p>"But for all that we look for them in summer, sir, just as
youth seeks out beauty."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>

<p>The stranger turned towards Robin, but made no reply; it
is sometimes given to the simple to disconcert the wise, and
that alone by their simplicity.</p>

<p>A long silence followed; each ruminating on his own prospects
and projects: it was at length broken by Walter, who
abruptly asked if Robin was sure he had taken the right path.</p>

<p>"Mercy, sir, am I sure of the sight of my eyes! Behind
that tree runs the road we must cross, and then on to Stony
Gap! Ah, many's the signal I've hung out for the Fire-fly
from that same spot; but, if perilous times are past, and we
live in days&mdash;as Master Fleetword hath it&mdash;of peace, poor
Hugh's trade will be soon over. I wish he were back&mdash;the
coast looks lonesome without him."</p>

<p>"So it does, Robin; but canst tell me what it was that
made you look so dull, and astonishingly religious after the
hop, step, and jump you took through the hollow oak?"</p>

<p>"Ah, master!"</p>

<p>"Well, Robin&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Why, you see, when I sprang through, 'thinking of nothing
at all,' as the song says, I found myself on the opposite
side of the tree, close&mdash;as close as I am to you, or nearly so&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;"
As Robin had proceeded thus far with his
recital, a sudden turn brought them to the high road, which
led into a kind of hollow, flanked on either side by close brushwood.
About a hundred yards from where they stood, three
men were engaged in violent feud. The scene, at such a moment,
and in such a place, seemed produced by the wave of a
magician's wand. The Cavalier rubbed his eyes, as if to be
assured of its reality; while Robin stood aghast, bewildered,
and uncertain how to act:&mdash;the moon was shining in all its
brightness, so that they could see as clearly as at noon-day.</p>

<p>"By heaven, 'tis two to one!" exclaimed the youth, casting
off his cloak, and unsheathing his rapier with the rapidity of
lightning.</p>

<p>"So it is!" gasped Robin; "but two to such a one! Save
us, sir! you're not going to draw sword for him&mdash;?" But
ere the sentence was concluded, his companion was in the thick
of the fray. "Oh!" exclaimed Robin, as in agony, "that I
should live to see true blood stirred in such a cause!&mdash;How
he lays about him! Poor boy, he little knows who's who!
What a noble thrust! hand to hand&mdash;how their swords<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
glitter!&mdash;A murrain on my shrivelled carcase! they would
but laugh to see me among them! O that I could be even
with Nature, and hate her as she has hated me! Yet, to be
thus without a weapon!&mdash;Ah! one murderer's down, and the
arch-fiend with him&mdash;now are they entwined as with the coil
of deadly serpents. Treacherous dog! the other would take
advantage; but, ah! well done, gallant young gentleman!&mdash;he
holds him back with most wonderful strength&mdash;And now&mdash;see,
see&mdash;the combatants are separated&mdash;one stands over
the other! Oh God! oh God! how he stabs!&mdash;hold! hold!
Now, could the moon show through those deadly wounds,
twenty at the least count; and only one such would let the life
from out Goliath, or the strongest man in Gath.&mdash;But see,
the other shows a fleet foot; and that silly boy flies after him!
Alack! that he will not learn discretion! There they go,
across the fields, and not towards the ferry."</p>

<p>When Robin arrived at this point in his comments, the man
whose life had most probably been saved by the young Cavalier's
interposition, called to him to come forward,&mdash;a summons
the manikin obeyed at first but slowly: a second call,
however, urged his alacrity; and he stood before one of whom
he was evidently in much dread, with a bent head and a tremulous
frame.</p>

<p>"Canst tell aught of that vile clay, whom the Lord hath
delivered into my hand?" he said, pointing to the lifeless
corpse, while his chest still heaved from the violence of the
exertion he had undergone, although in other respects he appeared
as composed as if he had gone forth only to enjoy the
sweet breath of evening, and a ruder breeze than he anticipated
had passed across his brow. Robin stooped to examine the
distorted features of the dead, smeared as they were by the
warm blood that issued from more than one mortal wound.</p>

<p>"He was one of thy party but three hours past," continued
the stranger, speaking with energy and rapidity, "and thou
knew'st him; heard I not his words beneath the oak? Ay,
and if it had been left unto thee, verily I might have been
given over to the destroyer, even as Hoshea was given unto
Shalmaneser. Speak, thou deformity, lest, finding thy mind
as base as its casket, I let it forth from its vile dwelling, even
as a thing of nought."</p>

<p>"'Tis poor Grimstone," exclaimed Robin, rising from his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
scrutiny, and evidently affected by the loss of his boon companion
on more occasions than one; "he was ever after some
devilry&mdash;but his attack upon such as you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Silence, sir. Did I not before intimate my wishes?"</p>

<p>"Well, then," muttered Robin, "his attack must have
been purely a matter of plunder. Grim. was never ambitious&mdash;never
looked beyond a purse of broad pieces;" adding in
a lower tone, "he was always a fool."</p>

<p>"The carrion hath fallen in a pleasant place&mdash;so let the
next comer look to it, and do thou fetch hither my horse.
Had it not been that my saddle-girth gave way, I could have
mastered twenty such footpads."</p>

<p>This was said in the tone of one who, however grateful for
assistance, would have been much better pleased to have
found it needless, and to have worked out the victory by his
own hands.</p>

<p>Robin hurried to secure the animal, a well-trained war-horse,
which had stood quietly in the centre of the road, calmly
awaiting the issue of the combat: he observed that the saddle
was turned completely round, and hung under the belly. The
horseman adjusted his cloak, wiped his sword with the square
cape, and had just replaced it in the scabbard, when the Cavalier
returned from his fruitless chase. As he advanced towards
the person to whom he had rendered such signal service, he
noted that he was a hale, stout man, probably past the meridian
of life, of a stern and awe-striking presence; and an involuntary
feeling of respect made him lift his hat from his head,
and even remain uncovered while expressing hopes "that he
had received no injury from the cowards who had thus beset his
path." The other gave no reply to the inquiry, but fixed a
shrewd and penetrating gaze upon the young man's countenance.
Apparently the scrutiny pleased him, for he extended
his hand, and seizing that of his preserver, held it firmly
within his palm for about the space of a minute, then pressed
it within his mailed grasp so strenuously, that the youth felt
the blood tingle to his finger-ends.</p>

<p>"I owe thanks and gratitude, and would fain know to
whom: your name, young sir?"</p>

<p>The Cavalier paused for a moment, and then said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"You may call me De Guerre&mdash;Walter De Guerre."</p>

<p>"Walter De Guerre!&mdash;an English <a name="Page_92t" id="Page_92t"></a><a href="#Page_92tn">Christian</a> wedded to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
French surname!&mdash;'tis strange, but let it pass, let it pass:
you have been an instrument in the gracious preserving of one
who, though unworthy, is of some account; and instruments
in the Lord's hand must be regarded. My companions had
business in this neighbourhood, and had left me but a little
time, when I was set upon by these cowards; but God is merciful,
and inspired you with valour. And now, sir, whither
wend ye? To Cecil Place?"</p>

<p>"No, sir," replied De Guerre, pondering what he should
answer, or how he should designate his present abode.</p>

<p>"To the worshipful sheriff, Sir Michael Livesey, at Little
Shurland? He must look to his ferry-warden and boatmen to
prevent such villainies as have now occurred."</p>

<p>"To none of these, sir," replied Walter; "in fact, I am
a humble traveller, lodging at a humble hostelry not far from
hence."</p>

<p>During this dialogue, Robin had adjusted the saddle-girth,
and led the horse to its master, who took the bridle from his
hand, and held it, examining the girth as he spoke. Robin
glided imperceptibly round to De Guerre's side, and standing
behind him, pulled his sleeve, and whispered,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Don't tell him where."</p>

<p>The intimation was, perhaps, not heard, certainly not heeded,
for the young man added,&mdash;</p>

<p>"At the widow Hays'."</p>

<p>"I bethink me; the house near East Church. It is called
Nest&mdash;Nest&mdash;Nest&mdash;ay, Gull's Nest. 'Tis but a poor
abode for one who bears a diamond-hilted sword, and bears it
bravely too. An every-day person, Master De Guerre, would
sell the diamonds and get a gayer lodging."</p>

<p>"Persons differ in this and all other matters, more or less,"
replied the young man somewhat haughtily: "I wish you
good night, sir."</p>

<p>"Hot!" said the stranger, at the same time laying his
hand upon the arm of De Guerre: "Hot and high! Well, it
is an ill tree that needs no pruning; but the preserver and the
preserved must not part thus. Come with me to Cecil Place,
and though I have it not to offer golden recompense, yet I can
assure to you a glad welcome; for my friends all love each
other."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>

<p>"Go with him, go with him; never say him nay: why
should you not go when he desires it?" whispered Robin.</p>

<p>"But you are mounted, and well too, and I a-foot, and cannot
pace it with you," replied De Guerre, hesitatingly.</p>

<p>"And your grey steed is too far away&mdash;even for that
nimble squire to bring in good time," retorted the other, a
kind of smile distending the rugged and untrimmed moustache
that garnished his upper lip.</p>

<p>"My grey steed!" repeated Walter in astonishment.</p>

<p>"Yes, and a stout beast it is. But I will rein in my
horse, and the Place is not so distant but we may keep
together."</p>

<p>"Thanks for your proffered hospitality," said De Guerre;
"but must we not do something with the fellow you have
slain? His companion was too swift o'foot for me."</p>

<p>"Let the tree lie even where it fell," replied the other,
looking on the body for an instant, and then mounting his
horse with the greatest composure; "some one will cover it
with decent earth in the morning: let us forward, my young
friend."</p>

<p>De Guerre signified his consent, and walked, closely followed
by Robin, at the stranger's side.</p>

<p>"And so," observed the horseman, turning to the Ranger,
"you are accompanying us, uninvited, on our way. Wert
thou ever engaged in any of the mummeries of Satan, denominated
stage plays? Of all the tricks learned at courts, that
of <i>tumbling</i> is the most dangerous; and as thy master, Sir
Willmott Burrell, has not practised it yet, I am at a loss to
understand how thou couldst be so perfect."</p>

<p>"I have served many masters, sir, and am now out of
employ," replied Robin, whose ready wit appeared to have
deserted him, and who kept as near as possible to De Guerre.</p>

<p>"Thou sayest truly; and lest one of them may have a
demand upon thee ere morning, what say ye to wending
onward to that unholy resort of cavaliers and smugglers, called
the Gull's Nest, and leaving us to pursue our course unattended
to Sir Robert Cecil?"</p>

<p>Robin bowed as respectfully as he could, and was about to
whisper some words to De Guerre, when the stranger added,
in a stern voice,&mdash;</p>

<p>"On, on! no whispering."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>

<p>Robin held up his hands, as if he would have said, "How
can I help it?" and sprang over the adjoining fence with his
usual agility.</p>

<p>They proceeded some little time without speaking, De
Guerre, discontented with himself at the power his extraordinary
companion so strangely possessed over him, yet
yielding to an influence against which he felt it impossible to
contend.</p>

<p>"And pray, sir," at length inquired the elder, "what news
may be now stirring in France? You have, I presume, but
recently arrived from thence?"</p>

<p>"I have been in France, but not lately."</p>

<p>"In the Netherlands, then? for I take it you are given to
the carnal follies of the times, and have been cherished in the
heresies, religious and political, propagated by a person or
persons assuming a particular rank, which the Almighty saw
fitting to wrest from them now many days past."</p>

<p>"I have not, as I think, been brought up in any heresy,"
replied the youth, gently but firmly, "and I should be sorry
so brave a gentleman and so expert a swordsman thought so:
though I do not feel myself bound to give you any information
touching my private opinions, which I hold to be as distinctly
my own property as my hat or sword&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And which," said the stranger, "is, perhaps, the only
property you are possessed of."</p>

<p>"Exactly so, sir; but persons of a lower estate than mine
have lately risen to high places,&mdash;ay, and carry themselves as
loftily as if they were born to lord it over not only empire, but
empires."</p>

<p>"Ah! true: then, I suppose, you would fain seek service;
and if so, I think my poor word would be of use. I am somewhat
esteemed by the Protector and other props of this great
Commonwealth, and would gladly tender my aid to you, to
whom I am already strongly bound."</p>

<p>"I thank you for your bounty, sir; but at present I feel
inclined to sheathe, not draw my <a name="Page_95t" id="Page_95t"></a><a href="#Page_95tn">sword</a>."</p>

<p>"But why? A youth like you, gifted with courage, skill,
and health,&mdash;the state demands some activity at your hands;
'tis ill to be a laggard."</p>

<p>"Nor am I one. Frankly, I like not innovation, and this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
state has been experimentalising lately:&mdash;in a word, I like
it not."</p>

<p>"That is a candid confession, more candid than your former
words would have led me to expect. But, young gentleman,
it is not safe to trust such sentiments into a stranger's keeping:
the Lord Protector has, it is said, his spies in every
house; nay, it is reported the highways grow them as rife as
blackberries."</p>

<p>"And you may be one, for aught I know or care," said the
youth bluntly. "But what of that?&mdash;they say Old Noll likes
in others what he hath not yet practised himself&mdash;a thing
called honesty; and at worst, he could but take my life, which,
after all, is little worth in comparison to those he has already
taken."</p>

<p>A long silence followed this intemperate speech, which at
last was broken by the mounted traveller.</p>

<p>"You spoke of innovations, and I also believe it is ill to try
experiments in states, unless the need be urgent, and unless it
be the reformation that draweth on the change, and not the
love of change that urgeth the reformation. Is not time the
greatest innovator?&mdash;is he not always changing? It hath
been said that, as in nature things move violently to their place,
and calmly <i>in</i> their place; so virtue in ambition is violent, in
authority settled and calm. Steel sharpens steel; so one glory
perfecteth another: and I am of belief, that they who are glorious,
must have been factious. Yet are there degrees in honour,
and amongst the first of them I should rank founders of commonwealths,
or even states, such as we read of in history&mdash;Romulus&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And you would, I suppose, include the name of Cromwell
in the list you were about to make?" interrupted De Guerre.</p>

<p>"And why not?" retorted the other proudly; "why not
Cromwell? Is the oak to be despised because it was once an
acorn? Remember what he suffers for his state; if, like the
stars above us, he is much venerated, even like them he hath
no rest."</p>

<p>"Nor doth he deserve it," said the youth.</p>

<p>"Ah! say'st so!" exclaimed the stranger, hastily, but instantly
adding in a settled voice&mdash;"Walter De Guerre, or
whatever be your name, beware, and use not such expressions
when you know not your company. You said but now, your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
opinions were your property; then give them not away unasked
where we are going. I know you to be brave, and generosity
follows bravery as truly as one star succeedeth another;
but discretion of speech is more valuable than eloquence.
And, as to Cromwell, the people's shepherd has need to keep
good count and careful watch; for wolves and foxes in sheep's
clothing break into the pinfolds, kill and devour. Did he not
act the part of Epimetheus (according to the profane but wise
fable), who, when griefs and evils flew abroad, at last shut
down the lid, and kept Hope in the bottom of the vessel, verily,
indeed, his lot would be severe. We can know but little how
hard it is to labour through evil report and good report. Charity
in judgment is befitting in all, but most of all in the
young."</p>

<p>They were now within sight of Cecil Place. De Guerre had to
contend with many painful feelings, and a provoking consciousness
of the strange ascendency his companion had acquired over
him, so that he dared hardly speak his own words, or think his
own thoughts. Nor could he trace this to any external influence:
the man was plain almost to vulgarity; his dress common;
and though his sword-blade was strong, the handle was perfectly
devoid of ornament. His horse was the only thing in
his appointments that indicated the station of a gentleman;
but the saddle appeared so old and battered, and withal so ill-made,
that De Guerre marvelled so noble an animal would
condescend to carry such a weight of old leather and damaged
flock. It is true, that towards the close of their conversation
he had uttered some sentiments that, for a moment, startled
the Cavalier; but then he had uttered them in so unskilled and
confused a manner, and with such an unmusical voice, that it
reminded him, not unaptly, of a blacksmith stringing pearls,
so coarse was the medium through which these fine things
came. He ventured to console himself, however, by the reflection,
that a man of such cool and determined bravery must
be, despite external appearances, a person of some consequence:
an opinion confirmed by his being a guest, and evidently a privileged
guest, of Sir Robert Cecil. He arrived at this conclusion
as they passed the postern-gate; and, as the night was
now far gone, the old porter lighted his flambeaux to escort
them to the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>

<p>As the old man walked some degree in advance, the elder
took the opportunity to inquire of his companion,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Have you ever seen Mistress Cecil?"</p>

<p>"Seen Mistress Cecil!" repeated De Guerre, in evident
embarrassment: "I have seen but few of the ladies of the
country&mdash;have had few opportunities of doing so."</p>

<p>"Yet you resented the profanation of her name this afternoon
under the oak&mdash;dost remember that?"</p>

<p>"I know not who you are, sir," retorted Walter, angrily,
and at length fully roused from the respectful silence he had so
long maintained, "that you should thus cross and question one
who sought not your acquaintance. By heavens, if I were a
friend (which, thank God, I am not) of him you call Protector,
or King, or whatever it be, I would advise him of such persons;
for it is the duty of every honest subject to watch
over his ruler, as over his father, with the care and the duty&mdash;the
tenderness and affection of a child. I should like to know
how you knew I had a grey steed?"</p>

<p>"Or how I discovered your ruffle with Sir Willmott Burrell
after the funeral," interrupted the other; "but be not afraid of
meeting him: he left Cecil Place some days ago, to arrange
some business. Nay, now, do not crow loudly your defiance,
because I mentioned the word <i>fear</i>. What a game-cock it is!
pity, that though there is no white feather, there should be no
right feather in so gallant a crest!&mdash;Methinks the old porter
is long in summoning the grooms, so I will enter in the name
of the Lord; and do thou mind, 'Old Thunder,'" he added, in
a gentle tone, at the same time patting the curved neck of the
noble creature, who turned round his head at the caress, as if in
appreciation of its value.</p>

<p>De Guerre took the bridle almost mechanically in his hand,
and at the same time muttered, "Left here, like a groom, to
hold his horse! By the Lord! I'll groom it for no man&mdash;yet,
'tis no disgrace, even to knighthood, to handle a good
steed; though I'd bet my poor Jubilee against him.&mdash;Ah!
here they come&mdash;" and he was preparing to resign his charge
right gladly to two servants, who advanced from a side-door
just as the stranger had mounted the last of a series of broad
and platform-like steps leading to the principal entrance. No
sooner, however, had the first of the attendants caught sight of
the horseman's cloak and broad-brimmed hat of the stranger,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
than he sprang up the steps, and seized the garment, as the
wearer was entering the hall. He turned fiercely round at the
assault; but the aggressor, whom De Guerre now recognised
as Springall, hung upon him too firmly to be easily shaken
off:&mdash;he drew his sword half out of its scabbard, and kept
his eye fixed upon the youth.</p>

<p>"I was sure of it! I was sure of it!" shouted Springall;
"the cloak, the hat&mdash;all! Now will I be even with thee for
hanging me over the cliff, like a poor fish in a heron's claw,
and all for nothing."</p>

<p>"Go to, Springall," said De Guerre, coming up, pleased at
observing that the wrathful glance of the stranger had changed
into a smiling good-humoured look at the boy's harmless impetuosity:
"Go to, Springall; the double-dub and the Canary
are in thine eyes, and in thy scatter-pate. What could you
know of this strange gentleman?"</p>

<p>"I vow by the compass," replied the boy, suffering his grasp
on the cloak to relax, as he gazed in no less amazement on the
Cavalier; "we are bewitched! all bewitched! I left you,
sir, on your way to Gull's Nest with wee Robin; and here you
are keeping company with this very hey-ho sort of&mdash;But by
the Law Harry! he's off again!" exclaimed Springall, whose
astonishment had got the better of his watchfulness, and who
perceived, on turning round, that the mysterious gentleman
had disappeared.</p>

<p>"You are not going to be mad enough to follow any one
into Sir Robert Cecil's hall!" argued De Guerre, at the same
time seizing Springall's arm.</p>

<p>"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! that I should ever live to see you,
sir, in league with a bogle! Why, I vow I had the mark of
that devil's hand on me in black lumps, just as if I was burnt
with what our scourer calls <i>ague-fortys</i>. As I am a living
man, he went from off the brow of the cliff, just like a foam-wreath."</p>

<p>"Pshaw! Spring; how can you or any one else tell 'who's
who,' on a dark night?"</p>

<p>"Could I be deceived in the cut of his jib or mainsail,
ye'r honour? to say nothing of the figure-head!&mdash;Am I a
fool?"</p>

<p>"You are not over wise, just now, my gay sailor; so off to
your hammock."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>

<p>"And must I see no more of that old gentleman?"</p>

<p>"Not to-night, Spring; perhaps to-morrow he may give
you satisfaction," added Walter, smiling at his own conceit.</p>

<p>The youth went off, not very steadily, to the little gate by
which he entered; and a servant immediately announced to
De Guerre, that Sir Robert Cecil waited for him in the supper-hall.</p>

<p>He followed the domestic through the great vestibule, which
bore a more cheerful aspect than on the sad but memorable
night of Hugh Dalton's most unwelcome visit. Although the
spring was considerably advanced, the fagot blazed up the huge
chimney, and illumined every corner of the overgrown apartment.
The grim portraits which graced the walls looked
more repugnant than usual in the red light that was thrown
upon them by the glowing fire; while beneath hung the very
suits of armour in which, if their most approved chroniclers are
to be believed, they had performed feats of valour. Upon the
table of massive marble were strewed sundry hawk's hoods,
bells and jesses; some fishing-tackle, and a silver-mounted
fowling-piece also appeared amid the m?lange; while a little
black spaniel, of the breed that was afterwards distinguished by
a royal name, was busily engaged in pulling the ears of a magnificent
hound of the wolf kind, who, shaggy and sleepy,
seemed little disposed to be roused from his lair by the caprioles
of the diminutive creature that hardly reached to the first
joint of his fore-leg. The lesser animal, in accordance with
the general custom of his kind, ran yelping and barking at the
stranger as he advanced up the hall; while the more sagacious
and dangerous dog raised his head, shook his ears, stretched
forth his paws, and elevated his broad chest, then sniffed the
air so as to be able to remember De Guerre if ever he needed
to do so; seeing that he was escorted by the servant, and
therefore, doubtless, a person of respectability, he composed
himself again to rest as De Guerre entered the presence of Sir
Robert Cecil.</p>

<p>A few weeks had wrought a fearful change upon his countenance
and form: the eyes were more hollow, the cheeks more
pale, the hair ribanded with white, where but a little before
there had been few grey hairs, and the shoulders were much
rounded since his interview with the Buccaneer. He proceeded
courteously to meet his guest, bowing, and expressing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
honour he felt in being introduced (through the Lord's mercy)
to the preserver of his friend. The baronet had approached
slowly towards De Guerre during this salutation, but either his
dim sight, or the obscurity of the further end of the room,
prevented his being at first struck with his appearance. As
the young man advanced, Sir Robert Cecil's gaze was fastened
on his countenance with a gasping earnestness, that shook
every fibre of his frame; his lips trembled, and remained
apart, and he seemed for a few moments unable to move to
the seat he had quitted.</p>

<p>The "friend" he had alluded to was seated in a carved chair
near the fire, his foot placed upon a cushioned stool, and his
arms folded over his bosom, his head rested on his chest, but
his eyes were fixed on the beautiful face of Constance Cecil,
who had risen on the stranger's entrance; nor did it escape the
notice of so keen an observer, that the lady's cheek was suddenly
suffused by a deep hue of crimson, as suddenly succeeded
by a pallor and trembling, that made her cling to the arm of
Lady Frances Cromwell for support.</p>

<p>"I beg to present," he rose, and said, "to my worthy
friend Sir Robert Cecil, and to you, Lady Frances Cromwell,
and to you also, Mistress Cecil, this young gentleman, by the
name of Walter de Guerre, who, though of French extraction,
hath doubtless had an English godfather, who hath favoured
him with an English Christian name. And now, most worthy
baronet, as master of this mansion, I pray you to present me
to him who hath a swift arm and a ready hand for the defence
of an attacked soldier."</p>

<p>"Major Wellmore, young gentleman; a tried and trusty
friend to the English Commonwealth and its Protector!" said
Sir Robert at last; adding, as if in apology for his emotion&mdash;"Constance!
this strange megrim in my head!" And Constance,
with the watchful care of an affectionate child, led him
to his seat, presented him a glass of cordial; and not till
he had declared himself quite recovered, did she return to her
station on the low <a name="Page_101t" id="Page_101t"></a><a href="#Page_101tn">sofa</a>, beside her friend Lady Frances
Cromwell.</p>

<p>De Guerre was particularly struck, during the brief repast
that followed, by the extraordinary change in the manner of
his companion, who, from being an animated and sensible
speaker, upon matters connected with the state, had become<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
more like a mystified and mystifying preacher than a soldier,
but whose out-pourings were listened to with reverence and
attention by the company. The Cavalier felt himself ill at
ease in his presence, and but for a governing motive, hereafter
to be explained, would have withdrawn from the house when
the supper was concluded, despite the specious invitation, and
much pressing to remain; he, however, accepted the apartment
provided for him by Sir Robert Cecil. The ladies, attended
by their women, withdrew immediately afterwards, and, as
Lady Frances kissed her friend's cheek, she whispered,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Didst see how Major&mdash;plague upon me to forget his
name&mdash;eyed both you and the handsome stranger?" And
then she whispered so as to be quite inaudible, ending by
saying&mdash;while Constantia affectionately pressed her hand,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ah! those holy eyes of blue, remaining so silent and so
fixed, do more mischief than my poor little brown ones, that
are ever roaming about seeking what they can devour, but securing
no prey."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>

<div class="blockw"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance charms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which to the lowest depths of guilt descends,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By vilest means pursues the vilest ends.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wears friendship's mask for purposes of spite,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fawns in the day and butchers in the night.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Churchill.</span>
</div></div></div>

<p>The dwelling of Sir Willmott Burrell was about eighteen or
twenty miles from the island of Shepey, on the Kentish
border. The mysterious companion of De Guerre had correctly
stated, that at the period of his introduction to the
Cecil family the youth had little chance of meeting with his
treacherous antagonist of the evening on which the remains of
Lady Cecil were consigned to the tomb; the knight having
been, for some days previous, occupied upon certain weighty
affairs within his own house. A bad landlord can never succeed
in convincing his tenantry that he is a good man. The
presence of Sir Willmott was by no means desirable to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
poorer neighbours and dependents, by whom he was at once
dreaded and disliked. Rarely, indeed, was it that a blessing
ever followed the mention of his name; and, although his influence
and authority were such as to render it dangerous to
murmur against the one, or oppose the other, Sir Willmott had
ample reason to know that he was nowhere surrounded by so
many secret enemies as when residing upon his hereditary
estate. The domestics who had served his progenitors had
long been dismissed, and their places supplied by more subservient
creatures, and more willing panders to the vices that
had increased with his increasing years. Although he had
taken especial care to surround himself with knaves of great
apparent devotion, in order that his character might not suffer
in the estimation of the few really religious personages by
whom he was occasionally visited, it required considerable care
to prevent their exposing, by their own depravity, the gross
and iniquitous life which their master led. It is seldom that
a uniform hypocrite is found among the uneducated; a more
than ordinary degree of talent and prudence being necessary to
sustain a character that is but assumed. Nature may be suppressed
by habitual caution; but the meaner, though not the
baser, villain, finds appetite too strong for even interest to control.
The household of Sir Willmott Burrell was ill-governed,
and the lessons which the master sometimes taught, but never
practised, the servants neglected or&mdash;despised. The butler,
the housekeeper, the steward, and the numerous insubordinate
subordinates were evermore in a state of riot and debauchery:
the evil had at length grown to such a pitch, that Burrell saw
its danger, and more than once resolved to adopt the only
remedy, and discharge them altogether; but upon such occasions,
he overlooked one very important circumstance, namely,
that he was in their power, and was consequently any thing
but a free agent in his own house. Burrell knew himself in
their toils, and at their mercy. Large sums of money might,
perhaps, have purchased their silence, but such a mode of procuring
safety was now beyond his reach; and although deeply
desirous to rid himself of them before his marriage with Constantia
Cecil, he scarcely conceived it possible to escape from
their trammels, without subtracting from the fortune that was
to accompany her hand. He dreaded the danger of confiding
his difficulties to Sir Robert Cecil, by whom they were unsus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>pected;
and his fine property was so considerably mortgaged,
as to render an appeal to his ancient friends, the usurers, a
matter of much difficulty, if not totally useless. Manasseh
Ben Israel, indeed, he knew had an inexhaustible store, and a
not unready hand, as he had upon more than one occasion,
experienced; but, villain as he was, he shrank from the idea
of applying to him for assistance, at the very moment when he
was thrusting the iron into his soul.</p>

<p>Burrell was seated alone in his library, musing over the
labyrinth from which he saw no immediate prospect of escape;
plan succeeding plan, as, unnoticed by him, the twilight had
deepened into the night. His doors were ordered to be locked
at an early hour&mdash;a command which, it is to be supposed,
the servants obeyed or disobeyed according to their own pleasure.</p>

<p>The Lords' Commissioners, Fiennes and Lisle, who were
travelling round the country on special business, had been his
visiters for three or four days; and on the evening on which
they took their departure, he was, as we have described him,
musing in his library, upon no very amicable terms with himself,
when his reverie was broken by a knock against the glass
of an oriel window that was sunk deep into an embrasure of
the wall. He started from his seat, and was so alarmed at
perceiving the face of a man close to the fretted frame-work,
as to draw forth a pistol, and present it towards the intruder.
In an instant the shivered fragments of an exquisitely tinted
pane flew into the library, and a voice exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"It's me!"</p>

<p>"And what is the motive of this destruction?" stormed
forth the Master of Burrell, in an angry tone, proceeding at
the same time to open the window; "were there not people
enough below to bring up your message? and are there not
doors enough for you to enter, without clambering twenty feet
up a straight wall, and shattering this beautiful picture, the
Marriage of St. Catherine, in a thousand pieces?"</p>

<p>"As to the marriage of St. Catherine," observed his visiter,
stepping through the casement, "I wish I could break all
marriages as easily; and as to the motive, your honour, I did
not like to wait quietly, and see a pistol-ball walk towards my
witless pate, to convince, by its effects thereupon, the unbelieving
world that Robin Hays had brains. As to the domestics,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
the doors were locked, and they, I do believe, (craving your
pardon, sir,) too drunk to open them. As to the wall, it's
somewhat straight and slippery; but what signifies a wall to
one who can be in safety on a tow-line, and only that between
him and eternity? Thank God! there is nothing on my
conscience to make my footing tremble&mdash;or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Robin Hays," interrupted Burrell at last, "I have listened
to you with much patience, because I know you love to hear
the sound of your own voice; if you bear either message or
letter from my worthy friend Sir Robert Cecil, let me have it
at once."</p>

<p>"You are in error, sir, under favour."</p>

<p>"Indeed!&mdash;then to whom am I indebted for this visit;
for I suppose you came not on your own account?"</p>

<p>"Ah, Sir Willmott!&mdash;you are always wise, Sir Willmott;
truly it would be ill coming on my own account, seeing that I
had no business of my own to bring me, therefore why should
I come? and even if I had, Dapple Dumpling travels so
slowly."</p>

<p>"This trifling is impertinent," exclaimed the knight angrily:
"to your business."</p>

<p>"I hope it wo'n't end in smoke, as it begins in fire," replied
Robin, slily presenting a roll of the tobacco vulgarly called
pig-tail.</p>

<p>"Mis-shapen wretch!" retorted Burrell in a towering passion,
flinging the roll directly in his face, "how dare you to
trifle thus with your superiors? art drunk, or mad?"</p>

<p>"Neither, an please ye, Sir Willmott," replied Robin, replacing
the tobacco in his bosom; "only since you wo'n't look
into the pig-tail, perhaps you will tell me what I am to say to
Hugh Dalton."</p>

<p>"Hugh Dalton! There, give it me; why did you not tell
me you came from the Buccaneer? Robin, you are a million
times worse than a fool! There, sit, good Robin&mdash;But, no,
light me yon lamp; the fire burns dimly. A murrain on't,
I can't see! There, that will do."</p>

<p>While Burrell read Dalton's communication, thus whimsically
but carefully conveyed, Robin had ample time to moralise
on and observe all around him.</p>

<p>"That table," thought the Ranger, "is just a type of the
times. The Bible, it can hardly be seen for the heap of foolish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
expositions, and preachments, in the shape of pamphlets, that
crowd upon it. O, Lord! O, Lord! take from the Puritans
their vain opinions, wild imaginations, false valuations, and
the like, which they hang over the book that Barbara says has
so much good in it (just as the Catholics at San Eustatia trick
out the Saviour's figure), and what poor shrunken minds they'd
have! Then the bottle and glass: that, I'm afraid, typifies
the Cavalier; the poor Cavalier! who clings so firmly to the
worn, and lets go the stronger, rope. But mark how the filthy
liquor stands beside the pure book!&mdash;even so are the just and
the unjust mingled. Ah! he has been praying with the Lords'
Commissioners; then drinking, and so forth, the instant their
backs were turned! Yet, God hath made the double-faced
villain of good proportions, so that a woman can look on him
with love, though his heart&mdash;augh!&mdash;I wouldn't have his
heart for his lands, no, nor for his fine person either. Barbara
can't abide him; she always says he has a black look&mdash;and
so he has. But hark! there's knocking at the gate, and
loud knocking too&mdash;Sir Willmott, as the servants can't hear,
so can't answer, shall I go down?"</p>

<p>Burrell was so much occupied with his letter, that he heard
neither the knocking nor Robin's question, but sat, his eyes
staring on the paper, as if the words were of fire. Nor was it
a long epistle, though sufficiently important to rivet his whole
attention. The contents were as follows:&mdash;</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p style="text-align: right">April the 6th, 1656.</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p>

<p>"Agreeably to your instructions, I went to the house at
St. Vallery, where you told me I was to meet the lady of whom
we spoke; but she had left harbour a few hours before I entered.
With much trouble I succeeded in tracing her to a
very odd sort of dwelling, a little outside the town, yet not in
time to overtake her or her attendant. Some said one thing,
and some another; but I could gather no information to be
depended on. I remained nearly nine days in the neighbourhood,
watching every vessel that came in or went out; nevertheless,
I am persuaded that she has embarked for England:
how, is still a mystery.</p>

<p><span class="i2">"Yours,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">"<span class="smcap">Fire-fly</span>."</span></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>

<p>"The fellow is careful enough: can it be possible he has
played me false? Yet, where the motive, or what?" mused
Burrell aloud. The knocking at the door was repeated, but
was only answered by the loud baying of a brace of hounds.
"And are the rascals really drunk?" inquired their master in
a piteous tone, roused at last to a sense of what was passing
around him.</p>

<p>"Ay, faith, sir; had I not as well go down? for, though
ill-apparelled as a serving-man, methinks I could do the civilities
better than the night-wind that howls so cursedly round
the entry."</p>

<p>"Ay, go, go! only see that I be not disturbed, unless,
indeed, it be some person I must see&mdash;some one of consequence."</p>

<p>"Ay," muttered Robin: "so much for modern hospitality!"
and he hastened to undo the fastening.</p>

<p>As the chains fell, a small bent figure, completely enveloped
in a fur cloak, entered the hall, closely followed by a swarthy
attendant, whose high features, quick sparkling eyes, and downcast
look bespoke him one of the tribe of Israel.</p>

<p>"Is Sir Willmott Burrell within?" inquired the stranger,
letting fall the cloak that had been closely muffled round his
face: he spoke, however, in so foreign an accent, that it was
a moment or two before Robin could reply.</p>

<p>"I demanded of thee if Sir Willmott Burrell of Burrell
was within?" repeated the old man; and as Robin observed
him more attentively, he perceived that he was dressed in the
peculiar fashion of the high-born Jews: his beard descended
nearly to his girdle, and his head was surmounted by a perpendicular
cap of yellow silk.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell is not well," replied Robin; "but I
will take your name, if it please ye, and return speedily with
his commands."</p>

<p>"Manasseh Ben Israel demands instant parley with the
Master of Burrell."</p>

<p>Robin did not bow, because, as a humble Cavalier and
a proud Christian, he held it a point of duty to hate and avoid
the despised race to which the stranger belonged; but he made
a respectful answer, for the riches of the Rabbi and the favour
of Cromwell were not to be contemned. He then proceeded
along the hall, and up some narrow stairs, called private, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
they led only to the library, and was crossing the apartment
for the purpose of announcing Ben Israel, when the Jew, who
had closely and unobservedly followed his footsteps with so
light a tread as even to escape Robin's ears, passed him suddenly,
and as suddenly Burrell of Burrell sprang from his seat,
as if struck by a musket-ball. The old man stood before him,
his features working, his lips moving, but no articulate sound
coming forth&mdash;his entire frame agitated, almost convulsed;
while Burrell, exerting every power of his mind to the contest,
was the first to move. He stepped towards the Jew, extending
his hand in token of amity. Ben Israel touched it not, but
raised his arm, pointing his skinny and shrivelled finger towards
Burrell, until it came on a level with his countenance;
then, by a desperate exertion, the cracked, strained voice forced
a passage through his parched throat, and he exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"My child!&mdash;my only one!&mdash;Zillah!&mdash;my beloved, my
only, only child! Do ye remember your own mother, who
travailed for ye, brought ye forth in pain, and carried ye, and
nourished ye in her bosom? Do ye ever hope to have a child,
who will tend, and serve, and watch over you, as mine once
did over me? If so, tell, tell me where mine is!&mdash;I will
bless you for the knowledge! I, an old man, whose beard is
white, implore you, who have ruined her, to tell me where she
is!"</p>

<p>The Jew flung his cap on the floor, and prostrated himself
before Burrell, who immediately raised him, and in his most
persuasive tone sought to soothe and assure the Rabbi he had
been in every respect misled and misinformed.</p>

<p>"Sit, good Ben Israel, and comfort yourself; you have, I
swear to you, been grossly imposed upon by some malignants
whom I must&mdash;&mdash;Robin! hunt out the knaves, and bring
some wine&mdash;the best in the old bin, for my good friend.
How could you, sir, suppose me capable of betraying the confidence
you reposed when you introduced me to the abode in
which your fair daughter dwelt? But, granting I had the
ascendency over her, which from your speech you seem to
infer, how&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Sir Christian, stop!" interrupted Ben Israel, who, now
his feelings had found vent, had composed himself, so as to
meet his wily adversary with tolerable fortitude: "Sir Christian,
stop! There are two classes of human kind your sect deceive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
without regret&mdash;betray without compunction&mdash;and destroy,
body and soul, without remorse&mdash;women and Jews. It is
nought, sir, nought&mdash;mere pastime&mdash;women's hearts and reputations,
and old men's grey hairs! Alas! alas! and is such
the religion of England!" The old man bent his head, and
moaned heavily; then, after a little space of time, raised himself,
and said, "In the name of the God of Jacob, I will take
you point by point! Reply unto my questioning; and, if thou
canst, acquit thyself."&mdash;A ray of hope darted over his expressive
features, like a beam of light athwart a thunder-cloud.
"But no," he continued, his countenance again darkening,
"it cannot be&mdash;it cannot be."</p>

<p>"Worthy Ben Israel! excellent Rabbi!" replied Burrell;
"dissect me as you will; and if I answer not thy expectation&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Too truly wilt thou answer my expectation," said the Jew.
"The Lord of Hosts be praised that these iniquities are unpractised
by the children of my people! The innocent lamb
torn from the fold; or, what is worse, decoyed from the tents
of her fathers! Had she been dead, I could have said, 'The
Lord's will be done,' He hath taken the child back into her
mother's bosom. But answer unto me these points&mdash;Didst
often see Zillah?"</p>

<p>"I certainly did see your daughter at times, during my stay
in Paris."</p>

<p>"And why, having delivered my messages? Of what importance
ought thy visits to have been to one of the despised
race?"</p>

<p>"You surely would not impute evil to my inquiring if your
daughter wished to write to her father when I forwarded
despatches to England?"</p>

<p>"Strange, then, she should never have availed herself of
such kindness. Did she give no reason for this neglect of her
parent?"</p>

<p>"I saw so little of her," replied Burrell carelessly, "that I
really forget."</p>

<p>The Rabbi shook his head.</p>

<p>"Perhaps, then, Sir Willmott Burrell, you can remember
this trinket, and inform me how it came into my daughter's
hands: it was forced from her previous to her flight."</p>

<p>Burrell started, for it was a miniature of himself, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
he had given her in the bud of his affection. At last he
brazened out an assurance that, however like, it was not his;
that he could not tell how young ladies obtained miniature
pictures; that, if the Rabbi would look, he would observe the
hair and eyes to be much <a name="Page_110t" id="Page_110t"></a><a href="#Page_110tn">lighter.</a></p>

<p>"Man!" exclaimed the Rabbi, fixing his keen black eye
upon Burrell, "away from before me! Guilt and falsehood
are on your lip. Your eye, the eye of the proud Christian,
quails before the gaze of the despoiled and despised Jew; were
you innocent, you would stand firm as I do now, erect in your
Maker's image. Do you not tremble lest God's own lightnings
blast you? Did you ever read, and reading believe, the Christian
story of Ananias and Sapphira!"</p>

<p>If Burrell had possessed an atom of human feeling, he would
have sunk abashed to the earth, and entreated the forgiveness
of the Rabbi, whose flashing eyes and extended features glared
and swelled with indignation; but the only two emotions that
at the time contended within him were cowardice and pride.
Had he the power, gladly would he have struck the Jew to
death, as a punishment for what he deemed his insolence;
but he feared the protecting and avenging hand of Cromwell,
who never resigned a cherished purpose or a cherished person,
and whose esteem for the learned Rabbi was perfectly known,
and much talked of about the court.</p>

<p>"You cannot avoid crediting me for meekness, Ben Israel,"
he said, without, however, raising his eyes from the ground
(for his blood boiled in his veins, though he spoke in a gentle
tone); "you have come into my house, rated me upon a foul
charge, and will not permit me to speak in my own defence.
Take a cup of this wine, and then I will hear, if you can adduce
it, further proof than that false portrait."</p>

<p>The Rabbi touched not the proffered beverage, but withdrew
from his vest sundry letters, which he unfolded with a
trembling hand: they were the communications he had received
from the Polish Jew, with whose family at Paris his
daughter had remained. He stated Burrell's extraordinary
attention to Zillah, during his residence abroad&mdash;the frequent
letters that passed between them under pretence of a correspondence
with her father&mdash;her having received others from
England since Burrell's return&mdash;her total change of manner&mdash;and,
finally, her having quitted his house, and his being un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>able
to discover where she had gone. Strong suspicions were
added that she had followed Burrell to, and was now in, England;
and there was a long and formal expression of regret
from the Polish Jew that he had ever admitted the Christian
beyond the threshold of his door.</p>

<p>The villain breathed more freely when he ascertained that
the fugitive had not been traced from St. Vallery; and he felt
he could have braved the affair with perfect ease and indifference,
but for the information conveyed by Dalton's letter, and
the consequent dread of Zillah's appearing before him, perhaps
at the very moment that the often-asserted, and sworn to, lie
passed his lips. It was now more difficult to dissemble than
he had ever yet found it; he saw clearly that his oaths and
protestations made but little impression upon the mind of Ben
Israel, who filled up every pause either by lamentations for his
daughter, execrations on her seducer, or touching appeals to
one whose feelings were centred in self, and who therefore had
little sympathy for sorrow that would have moved a heart of
stone. Burrell was so thoroughly overpowered by the events
of the evening, that the only point of exertion on which his
mind rallied was a strong wish to rid himself of the Jew as
speedily as possible, so that he might find opportunity to collect
and arrange his thoughts&mdash;it therefore occurred to him to
assume the bearing of injured innocence, as protestations had
been of no avail; he accordingly said, in a tone and with a
manner so earnest, that at the moment it almost destroyed the
suspicions of the Rabbi:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Sir, I have over and over again asserted enough to convince
any rational person that I know nothing of the crime
you impute to me; having, in my own estimation, performed
all that could be required, I must now withdraw. If you
please to lay your statement before his Highness, I will defend
myself, as I have now done, and let him judge between thee
and me."</p>

<p>"I have not been yet able to gain speech with the chosen in
Israel," replied Manasseh: "he hath been much from home
on secret service for the good of his people."</p>

<p>Burrell exulted at this knowledge, and again protested his
innocence in the strongest terms. Manasseh rose to depart.
Burrell pressed him to remain; but the old man resolutely
refused.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>

<p>"I am about to go forth from your dwelling. If you have
not been the seducer of my child, I crave your pardon in
deep humility, and will do penance in sackcloth and ashes for
having wrongfully accused you; but," he added, bitterly, "if
you have wronged me, and devoted her soul to destruction,
may the curse of the old Jew enter into your veins, and curdle
the red blood to a hot and destroying poison!&mdash;may the
flowers of the spring be to you scentless and revolting!&mdash;may
the grass wither under your footsteps!&mdash;may the waters of
the valley be even as molten lead unto your parched lips!&mdash;may&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Dog of an unbeliever!" exclaimed Burrell, whose temper
could no longer brook the taunting curses of the old man,
and whose coward spirit quailed beneath them, "hold thy foul
tongue, lest I pluck it from between thy teeth. Had I been a
circumcised Jew, and thou a Christian, I could not have listened
with more humility; and this is the reward of my forbearance&mdash;curses
deep and bitter as the waters of the Dead
Sea."</p>

<p>"They cannot harm if thou art innocent. I have neither
broken bread nor tasted salt within thy walls; and now I shake
the dust from off my feet upon thy threshold. Thy words
at first were of honey and the honey-comb, but now are they
as gall. Others must deal with thee. The prayer of the
bereaved father was as a tinkling cymbal in thine ears; but the
curse&mdash;the curse knocked at thy heart, and it trembled. Others
must deal with thee."</p>

<p>Manasseh Ben Israel repeated the curse with terrible
energy; then shaking the dust from his sandals, he passed,
and entered, with his attendant, the carriage that awaited him
at the gate.</p>

<p>Burrell was convinced, and humbled by the conviction, that
an irresistible impulse had compelled him to desert his
sophistry, and stand forth in his real character before one who
had the ear of the Protector, and whose religious persuasion
had not prevented his advancement, or his being regarded as a
man of extraordinary mental attainments, even in a country,
the prejudices of which, always deeply-rooted, were at that time
peculiarly directed against the Jews. This people were devoted
in their attachment to Cromwell; and it was believed
that they would not have scrupled to declare him the Messiah<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
could they have traced his descent in any degree, however
remote, to the dwellers in Judah. Manasseh had mixed so
much with Christians, and had been treated by the Protector
so completely as an equal, that he retained but little of the
servility of tone or manner, and less of the cringing and submissive
demeanour, that characterised his tribe; he therefore
spoke boldly to Sir Willmott Burrell, after a burst of strong
and bitter feeling. He knew himself protected by the ruler of
England, and felt undaunted in the presence of one he could
easily destroy; but then he was a father, and as such impelled
by nature to adopt every expedient that might promote the
disclosure of a secret on which almost his life depended, and
which, he doubted not, was, in some shape or other, in the
keeping of his wily opponent.</p>

<p>"A pretty scrape my villanies have brought me into!"
thought Burrell, as he returned to his chamber: "the girl will
come over&mdash;that stops a wedding. Suppose I were to take
Zillah to wife&mdash;the old rascal would not give me a maravedi.
Suppose, before I have secured Constance, Cromwell listens to
the Rabbi's tale, he will forbid my marriage to please the
accursed Jew, and I&mdash;may blow my brains out. Suppose I
marry at once&mdash;But how? Lady Cecil not many weeks dead!
I must manage it, however," he continued, pacing the apartment,
while Robin, who had ascertained the impossibility of
rousing the ill-governed menials from their state of hopeless
debauchery, amused himself by counting the number of times
the Master of Burrell walked up and down the room. At
length, finding such dull watching wearisome, he ventured to
enter, and inquire if he were to remain at Burrell House, or
return to the Gull's Nest.</p>

<p>"Well thought on, Robin Hays," said the knight, as if
roused, and not unpleasantly, from himself and his thoughts;
"you will rest here to-night, and accompany me to Cecil
Place on the morrow. See to these rioters, of whom I must
rid my house."</p>

<p>"You had better do it, then, immediately," retorted Robin,
"or they will save you trouble by ridding you of your
house."</p>

<p>"True, good Robin; you are ready-witted."</p>

<p>"And, to keep up my character, I'll back to Cecil Place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
this very hour," muttered Robin, as he closed the door;
"there is one there who must not tarry the coming of Sir
Willmott Burrell."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But such it is: and though we may be taught<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To have in childhood life, ere love we know,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet life is useless till by reason taught,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And love and reason up together grow.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Sir W. Davenant.</span>
</div></div></div>

<p>"And, indeed, my grave Lady Constance plays with the poor
fish in a very sportsmanlike manner; only, methinks, a little
too shy, and a trifle too sensitive! Marry, girl! what a most
yielding, docile, and affectionate wife you would make!&mdash;like
one of the heroines in the ancient Spanish romances; or
such a one as&mdash;Judith!&mdash;no&mdash;for you would never venture
to chop off a man's head&mdash;Stay&mdash;did she so?&mdash;or&mdash;Barbara!
you are well read in Scripture history; and, though
you ply your needle so industriously, that will not prevent
your calling to mind some of the holy women in the Bible, to
whom your mistress may be compared."</p>

<p>Barbara Iverk, who had no other duty at Cecil Place than
to wait upon the young heiress or assist in her embroidery,
was considered and treated more as a humble companion than
a menial; and Lady Frances Cromwell talked just as freely
to Mistress Cecil in her presence as if they were perfectly alone.
Nor was such confidence ever abused by the gentle girl. She
moved within her small circle like an attendant satellite upon
a brilliant star&mdash;silent and submissive&mdash;yet ever in her
place, ever smiling, innocent, and happy,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"A maid whom there were few to praise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And very few to love."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Simple and single-minded, her soul had never been contaminated
by the idea, much less the utterance, of falsehood.
Even to Constantia, the fulness of her worth and fidelity was
unknown; although the bare contemplation of Barbara's ever
parting from her was one of actual pain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>

<p>She replied to the lively question of the Lady Frances in
her usual straightforward and unpresuming manner: a manner
that afforded considerable amusement to the merry trifler, by
whom the little Puritan was commonly spoken of, while absent,
as "the fresh primrose."</p>

<p>"Indeed, my lady, I do not like mixing up profane and
holy things together."</p>

<p>"Fie, Barbara! to call your mistress profane. Constance,
do put down those heavy poems of Giles Fletcher, and listen
to your bower-maiden, describing you as one of the profane."</p>

<p>Constance looked up and smiled; while poor Barbara endeavoured
to free herself from the charge with earnestness and
humility.</p>

<p>"My Lady Frances, I ask your pardon; but I can hardly,
I fear, make you understand what I mean. I know that
Mistress Cecil is always aiming at the excellence to which the
holy women of Scripture attained&mdash;but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then she has not attained their holiness in your estimation?
She is too earthly still?"</p>

<p>"She is my dear and noble lady, and to know her is to love
her," replied Barbara, her brown, affectionate eyes swimming
in tears at the wilful perversion of her words. "May I beg,
Lady Frances, that you will condescend not to question so poor
and simple a girl as myself on what I know so little of?"</p>

<p>"There you are again in error, Barbara," retorted her tormentor,
who, like most wits, cherished a jest more than the
feelings of those she jested with; "I condescend when questioning,
not when silent."</p>

<p>Barbara made no reply, and Lady Frances, who was, at the
same time, pulling to pieces a superb fan of ostrich feathers,
proceeded to open her light battery against Constantia.</p>

<p>"How is Sir Robert this morning? I wish he were rid of
the rheumatism, and with us again. I have hardly seen him
since the valiant De Guerre made his appearance among us,
except at dinner; and, indeed, he looks ill, though&mdash;heigh
ho!&mdash;I wish all papas were as accommodating, and let their
daughters flirt with whom they like."</p>

<p>"Flirt, Lady Frances?"</p>

<p>"Yes, flirt, Mistress Cecil! Is there any thing appalling
in the word? though I believe it somewhat of the newest.
Now, poor I have no skill in these matters! If I see a pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
fellow, I care not who knows it; I like a jest, a laugh, tempered
with all rightful modesty. I do not prim my mouth,
tutor my eyes into sobriety, nor say Amen, like old Will's
Macbeth, to those who say 'God bless us!' I laugh my
laugh, and look my look, and say my say, though I am
youngest, and, by God's grace, wildest of his Highness the
Protector's children."</p>

<p>"Where got you your gay spirit, Lady Frances?" said
Constantia, rising and stepping towards her.</p>

<p>"My mother is a discreet matron as need be, but my father
was not always one of the gloomy rulers of this gloomy land:
he had his wild days, though it is treason to speak of them
now; and, in sooth, he sometimes forgets that young blood
runs swifter than old&mdash;How he lectures poor Richard!"</p>

<p>"The Lord Richard is not cast in his great father's mould;
he is a gentler and a feebler spirit; one who loves to hear of,
or to read of, great deeds, rather than to act them. Lady
Fauconberg is more like your father."</p>

<p>"My sister Mary would certainly have made a fine man.
It was one of nature's blunders to convert such coarse clay
into a woman."</p>

<p>"She has a noble mind, Frances, though not so holy a one
as the Lady Claypole."</p>

<p>"Well, dear Constance, you are very good to bear with
me. Suppose, now, my father, instead of sending me here,
had commanded that I should sojourn and mystify with that
righteous Mrs. Lambert, whom he magnifies into a model of
holiness; what a time I should have passed! Why, the
nuns, whom the holy Sexburga placed up yonder, had not as
much loneliness; don't you think the place was admirably
adapted for an elopement? I am certain&mdash;nay, you need
not smile&mdash;for I am quite certain, that every one of the
seventy-seven maidens, of whom history tells us, including the
charming Ermenilda herself, fully made up their minds to run
off with the Danes before they came to the island. I wish,
though, that your father could be persuaded to consider this
only a summer residence, for it must be a little dreary, I think.
Not that I feel it such, for you are so kind; and just as we
were beginning to grow a little dull or so, a flourish&mdash;and
enter Walter De Guerre, under the auspices of Major Wellmore!
Ha! ha! ha! Well it has amused me so much. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
certainly is a most charming person; and if <i>one</i>, who is not
here, were here, I should be inclined to tease him a little by my
vast admiration of this gentleman. By the way, Sir Willmott
Burrell has little reason to thank Major Wellmore for this new
introduction; though it must be quite delightful to make
either a lover or a husband jealous. Ah, I see you do not
agree with me&mdash;I did not expect you would; but, do you
know, I have taken it into my head that this De Guerre is not
De Guerre."</p>

<p>"Indeed! who is he then?"</p>

<p>"That, Constantia, is exactly what I want to know&mdash;and
I think you could unravel the mystery."</p>

<p>"My dear Frances, you are a very unaccountable person;
always playing false yourself, you hardly ever give people
credit for being true."</p>

<p>"You are vastly complimentary. Ah, Constance, when
you come to Hampton, you must learn some court observances.
When we were children together, we spoke truth."</p>

<p>"Were we not very happy then?"</p>

<p>"We were," said Frances, drawing a heavy sigh; "but
how changed the times since then! Constance, those who
walk along a precipice may well dread falling. Gay, giddy
as I am, Cromwell has not a child who glories in him more
than I do."</p>

<p>"And well you may," added Constance, whose dignity of
soul led her to appreciate, with as much judgment as enthusiasm,
the extraordinary man who commanded the admiration,
not only of England, but of Europe. "Well may you be
proud of the most successful statesman, the most resolute
general, the most useful Christian that ever governed a state.
By his power he holds our enemies in subjection; and guides
our friends by his wisdom. I am but a poor politician, yet,
methinks, I could almost worship your father for the spirit
and humanity with which he succours those poor persecuted
Vaudois, who have kept their faith pure as the breath of their
native valleys: when I think of this, even the conqueror is
forgotten in the man."</p>

<p>"You are a dear noble creature," exclaimed Frances, as she
gazed with admiration upon the animated and expressive countenance
of her companion; then encircling her neck, and kissing
her cheek, with that delightful warmth of manner which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
can spring only from warmth of feeling, she continued, "I
wish, my love, that flush were always on your cheek. You
nourish some secret sorrow, Constance; nay, I am sure you
do; and I will write and say so to my sister Claypole, who is
worthy to be your confidant, as well as your godmother, though
I am not. Nay, nay, I know it well: I admire, but do not
quite understand you. The heavens are given us to hope
for, and the sun to look upon, and&mdash;but dear me! that would
be&mdash;a simile! I vow that sounded like rhyme; but here
comes reason, in the shape of our new knight. Adieu! dear
Constantia!&mdash;Barbara! that is surely Robin Hays, groping
among the slopes like a huge hedgehog. Did you not want
to consult him as to the management of the peewits' eggs?"</p>

<p>"In truth, yes, my lady," replied Barbara, rising from a
half-finished carnation:&mdash;"May I go, mistress?"</p>

<p>Constance assented.</p>

<p>"May <i>I</i> go, mistress?" repeated Lady Frances, mimicking
Barbara's tone and courtesy, in her light-hearted gaiety.</p>

<p>"Yes," replied Constantia firmly, "I would rather you
did; for I have something particular to say to Major Wellmore's
friend."</p>

<p>"Now, is not that just like Constance Cecil?" thought
Lady Frances, as she left the room; "another would have said
any thing rather than the truth&mdash;yet is truth a noble thing:
something to venerate as well as love&mdash;the best of virtues,
the wisest of counsellors, and the firmest of friends."</p>

<p>Constance rose from her seat as the Cavalier entered; but
there was an expression of deep sorrow over his whole countenance,
that was almost immediately communicated to hers.
What an extraordinary and undefinable tie is that which binds
souls and sympathies together&mdash;the voice, that is heard only
by the ear of affection&mdash;the look, that only one can understand&mdash;the
silent thrill of happiness or of anguish, communicated
by a smile or by a sigh! The world may sneer at,
or may condemn; yet most true it is, that they who love with
the most purity and the most truth, draw nearest to that great
Spirit who is the perfection of both!</p>

<p>"I am come," said De Guerre, "to bid for awhile farewell
to Mistress Cecil; to thank her for the kindness I have
received under this roof; and to assure her that it can never
be forgotten."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>

<p>"You have received but little attention&mdash;too little, indeed;
yet, my father's health&mdash;our recent heavy affliction&mdash;will, I
am sure, plead for us, and win an excuse. I was not, however,
aware that your departure would come so suddenly. Is
my father apprised of it?"</p>

<p>"He is not:&mdash;forgive me, lady; but I could not avoid
saying how much and how truly I have felt the kind consideration
you have bestowed upon one who, however worthy, I
hope, in many respects, has nevertheless deceived you."</p>

<p>"De Guerre may deceive me," replied Constance, with considerable
emotion, extending one hand as she spoke, and covering
her face with the other, "De Guerre may deceive me, but
Walter&mdash;<i>dear</i> Walter&mdash;never."</p>

<p>The young man took her offered hand, and pressed it affectionately
to his lips. "Ah! how soon you saw in the
Cavalier the companion and playmate of your childhood, though
you believed him dead! Women have quick eyes, and warm
hearts for old friends. Unrecognised by my nurse&mdash;by your
father&mdash;yet discovered by you&mdash;by you only, Constance!
I need not say, do not betray me; do not breathe, even to
those walls, who it is that has entered within them; let it remain
secret as the grave. But I need not urge you thus, for
treachery is not in your nature; let me talk of other things,
and ask by what token, Constance, did you trace me through
the disguise that years, and the burning sun of many a parched
land, have thrown over my features and my form?"</p>

<p>"It was your voice that struck me first&mdash;some tones and
modulations, that I well remembered when you called my
dog:&mdash;then the unforgotten locket which you placed in my
hand, which, when I had seen you, I knew could have been
placed there by no other:&mdash;then&mdash;&mdash;" Constance paused and
blushed; she ought to have felt angry at the liberty that had
been taken with her tresses, but she gave no expression to such
a feeling; and the pause was broken by the Cavalier, who
drew from his bosom the beautiful braid of which the maiden
had been robbed.</p>

<p>The colour on Constantia's cheek was succeeded by a deadly
paleness.</p>

<p>"Ah! what a moment it was, by that old temple, the lily
triumphing over the rose on your fair cheek, even more than
now, yet with such mild and gentle triumph, one scarce could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
wish it less; your eyes veiled by those soft lashes:&mdash;well, no
more&mdash;I will say no more of this. I tried my poor skill to
call you back to life, and, just as I succeeded, your companion
and attendant came in sight. Since then, this dear memento
has nestled near my heart, a shield against evil, and against
evil thoughts. What! still so pale? you must be ill, my
sweet friend," he inquired tenderly.</p>

<p>"No, Walter, not in body; but wherefore should you bear
that braid so near you?"</p>

<p>"Sweet Constance, may I now call you by that dear name?
Oh, how my heart rebelled against the sound 'Mistress Cecil!'&mdash;Truly
is love a republican, for he does not recognise titles;
though, perhaps, it were better to describe him as a despot,
acknowledging none that are not of his own creation. Why
should I not wear the braid? Though now an outlawed
man, it may not be always thus; the time will come when
my own arm shall win the way to glory and to fortune."</p>

<p>"I doubt it not&mdash;I doubt it not;&mdash;but&mdash;save that
nothing can make your fortunes a matter of indifference to
the friend and companion of your childhood&mdash;I can have
no greater interest in you, nor you in me. But why prevent
my saying to my father that the lost bird is found? Methinks
I would gladly know with him the mysteries of your disappearance,
and the still greater one of your concealment; suffer
that I tell&mdash;&mdash;" The Cavalier smiled a smile so moody, so
full of sad expression, that she paused.</p>

<p>"Not so; I cannot explain any thing: perhaps (if your
words be serious) the time may never come when I can explain.
As to your father, if you ever valued Walter, I
charge you, even as you now value his life, that you give
hint to no human being of his existence. I am sure you will
keep my secret; strange as may seem the request, still you
will grant it."</p>

<p>"Yet surely, Walter, you may confide in one who sorrowed
for her playmate, with a lengthened and deep grief; but&mdash;" she
slowly added, observing the altered expression of his
countenance, "remember, I can only be to you a friend."</p>

<p>The words were uttered in a tone not to be misconceived.
The Cavalier understood and felt it.</p>

<p>"Better, then, that I had gone forth, as I was about to do,
in ignorance that any here recognised the ruined and outcast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
Walter! Can there be truth in the rumour, that one so
young, so beautiful, bearing the softened impress of a noble and
immortal mind upon a brow so lofty, is a willing sacrifice to
a coward and villain? Did I not hear you, with my own
ears, protest to the Lady Frances Cromwell, that, of your own
free will, you would never marry this Sir Willmott Burrell?
and, if it be so, if you spoke truth then, who dare compel
you, wealthy and high-born, to give your hand where your
heart is not? Oh, you are not the free, true-hearted girl,
that, twelve years ago, leaped upon your native hills to meet
the sunshine and the breeze, and often&mdash;alas! alas! that it
should only have been in mere sportiveness&mdash;declared that&mdash;but
no matter&mdash;I see it all, and future Lady of Burrell, bid
you farewell and for ever."</p>

<p>Constance replied with tears, yet calmly and firmly:
"Walter, be not cruel; or, at least, be not unjust. You were
ever impetuous, but also ever ready to repair the evil you had
done. It is ill of you to use so harsh a word against one who
has never wronged you. Alas! could you but read my
heart, you would also judge of me otherwise; but think of
me as your friend&mdash;your fervent and faithful friend&mdash;I will
not prove unworthy."</p>

<p>The Cavalier was about to reply, when Robin Hays was
ushered into the room by Barbara, who immediately withdrew.
After bowing with due respect to Constance, he was
about to whisper into the ear of the Cavalier, who, however,
desired him to speak out, as he had nought to conceal from
that lady. The Ranger seemed but little astonished at receiving
such a command, and without further ceremony proceeded.</p>

<p>"I did hope, sir, that you would have left Cecil Place
before this; Sir <a name="Page_121t" id="Page_121t"></a><a href="#Page_121tn">Willmott</a> Burrell will, I am certain, arrive
within an hour; and you know it is the Skipper's earnest
desire that you should not meet."</p>

<p>"Robin, you told me all this but a little time past; and I
know not why I am to hear it again. I have nought to fear
from this Burrell."</p>

<p>"It would be certainly unsafe, were there a possibility of
his suspecting you, for his&mdash;&mdash;" Again Constantia interrupted
herself; she had been on the point of betraying her knowledge
of Sir Willmott's jealous and impatient temper; and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
after a pause, she added, "but there is little danger of that:
as a boy, he never saw you; and he must respect the friend
of Major Wellmore."</p>

<p>"Ah, madam!" observed Robin, "he is no respecter of
persons; and I see no reason why two should meet again,
who have already so roughly handled each other."</p>

<p>"Where did they meet?" inquired Constance eagerly.</p>

<p>"There is no time to tell the story now, lady," replied
Robin impatiently. "As I see you know this gentleman, and
knowing him, are too generous not to be interested in his
favour, urge, I beseech you, his instant departure from Cecil
Place. Surely I can explain every thing as well as he. It
was Dalton's wish&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I bitterly grieve to hear that you have aught to do with
so bold, so bad a man as Dalton," said Constance hastily;
"his name brings to my remembrance feelings of undefined
pain, for which I cannot account. It is long since I have
heard of him; but something poor Barbara communicated to
me in her innocence, made me suspect he had been here. Go
then; and take my prayers, and (though nothing worth, it
may be,) my blessing. And now, farewell&mdash;farewell&mdash;at
least for a time!"</p>

<p>"We must meet again, Constance! say only that you will
see me once more before&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"By Heaven!" exclaimed Robin, "you stand dallying
here, and there is Sir Willmott himself coming down the
avenue at full speed! Lady, I entreat your pardon for my
boldness&mdash;But go, lady go!&mdash;in God's name!&mdash;then, and
not till then, will he depart."</p>

<p>Constance did not trust herself in the room a moment
longer. After briefly collecting her thoughts, which had
laboured unceasingly to unravel the mysteries that surrounded
the Cavalier, she entered her father's chamber. He had been
evidently suffering from illness, and was seated in a large
easy chair, his feet resting upon cushions, while the Reverend
Jonas Fleetword read from time to time out of sundry pious
books that were placed on a table before him. The preacher
paused as she approached, and signified his intention of
walking forth "to meet the man Burrell," who, he understood
from the wild youth called Robin Hays, was to arrive
ere noon. It was a precious opportunity, one not to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
be neglected, for cultivating the rich seed sown in that holy
land.</p>

<p>When the worthy divine was fairly out of the room, Constance
delivered a message from the Cavalier, stating that he
had been obliged to leave Cecil Place without taking a personal
leave of his kind host; and repeated his expressions of
gratitude for the attentions he had experienced during his
brief sojourn.</p>

<p>"Thank God, he is gone!" replied the baronet, drawing
his breath freely, as if relieved from a painful oppression.
"Introduced as he was, it was impossible not to treat him
with respect, but he strangely disturbed me. Did you not
think him a cold, suspicious youth?"</p>

<p>"I cannot say I did, sir."</p>

<p>"You are singularly unsuspicious, Constance, for one so
wise: you ought to learn distrust; it is a dark, a dreadful,
but a useful lesson."</p>

<p>"Methinks one has not need to study how to be wretched;
suspicion has to me ever seemed the school of misery."</p>

<p>The baronet made no reply to this observation, but soon
after abruptly exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"He will not come again, I suppose."</p>

<p>Constance did not know.</p>

<p>He then fancied he could walk a little; and, pressing to
his side the arm on which he leaned, said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ah, my child! a willing arm is more delightful to a
parent than a strong one. Wilt always love thy father, Constance?"</p>

<p>"My dear father, do you doubt it?"</p>

<p>"No, my child; but suppose that any circumstance should
make me poor?"</p>

<p>"You will find what a nice waiting-maid your daughter is."</p>

<p>"Suppose I was dishonoured?"</p>

<p>"Public honour is given and taken by a breath, and is
therefore of little worth; but the private and more noble
honour is in our own keeping: my father keeps it safely."</p>

<p>"But suppose that I <i>deserved</i> the ill word of all mankind?"</p>

<p>"My dear father, why trouble yourself or me with such
a thought?&mdash;if it so happened, you would still be my parent;
but such an event is impossible."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>

<p>The baronet sighed, as if in pain. Constance looked
anxiously into his face, and noted that a cold and clammy perspiration
stood thickly on his brow.</p>

<p>"You had better sit down, dear sir."</p>

<p>"No, my child, I shall be better for a little air; let us go
into the library."</p>

<p>As they entered the room, a scene of solemn drollery presented
itself, that a humorous painter might well desire to
portray. Kneeling on a high-backed and curiously-carved
chair, was seen the lean, lanky figure of Fleetword, placed
within a foot of the sofa, on which, in the most uneasy
manner and discontented attitude, sat the Master of Burrell.
The preacher had so turned the chair that he leaned over it,
pulpit-fashion; holding his small pocket Bible in his hand,
he declaimed to his single auditor with as much zeal and
energy as if he were addressing the Lord Protector and his
court. The effect of the whole was heightened by the
laughing face and animated figure of Lady Frances Cromwell,
half-concealed behind an Indian skreen, from which she was,
unperceived, enjoying the captivity of Burrell, whom, in her
half-playful, half-serious moods, she invariably denominated
"the false black knight." Fleetword, inwardly rejoicing at
the increase of his congregation, of whose presence, however,
he deemed it wisdom to appear ignorant, had just exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Has not the word of the Lord come to me, as to Elisha
in the third year? and shall I not do His bidding?"</p>

<p>"Thou art a wonder in Israel, doubtless," said Burrell,
literally jumping from his seat, and that so rudely as nearly
to overturn the pulpit arrangement of the unsparing minister;
"but I must salute my worthy friend, whom I am sorry to
see looking so ill."</p>

<p>"Perform thy salutations, for they are good," said the
preacher, adjusting the chair still further to his satisfaction,
"and after that I will continue; for it is pleasant repeating
the things that lead unto salvation."</p>

<p>"You would not, surely, sir," said Lady Frances, coming
forward and speaking in an under-tone, "continue to repeat
poor Lady Cecil's funeral sermon before her husband and
daughter?&mdash;they could not support it."</p>

<p>"You speak like the seven wise virgins," replied Fleetword,
putting one of his long limbs to the ground, as if to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
descend; and then as suddenly drawing it back, he added,
"But the Lord's servant is not straitened; there are many
rivers in Judah, so the faithful may drink at another stream."</p>

<p>"I wish you would come with me," said Lady Frances,
rightly interpreting the entreating look of Constantia: "or
rather, come with <i>us</i>, for I am sure Mistress Cecil has much
to say to, and I have much to hear from, you: we will leave
Sir Robert and Sir Willmott to talk over the affairs of this
great nation; temporal matters must be attended to, you
know: and though"&mdash;she looked for a moment at Burrell,
whose countenance had not yet regained its usual suavity&mdash;"I
am sorry to be the means of depriving Sir Willmott of
much necessary instruction&mdash;I have no doubt you will make
up the deficiency to him at some future time."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The soote season that bud and blome forth brings,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The nightingale with fethers new she sings,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The turtle to her mate hath told the tale,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Somer is come, for every spray now springs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And thus I see among these pleasant things,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Eche care decay; and yet my sorrow springs.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Surrey.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It may be readily imagined that Burrell remained in a state
of extreme perplexity after the receipt of Dalton's letter, and
the departure of Ben Israel. He saw there was now but one
course that could preserve him from destruction, and resolved
to pursue it:&mdash;to cajole or compel Sir Robert Cecil to procure
the immediate fulfilment of the marriage contract between
himself and Constance. This was his only hope, the sheet-anchor
to which he alone trusted; he felt assured that, if the
Protector discovered his infamous seduction of the Jewess,
Zillah, he would step in, from a twofold motive, and prevent
his union: in that he esteemed both the Rabbi's wisdom and
his wealth, and was most unlikely to suffer one on whom his
favour had been bestowed so freely, to be injured and insulted
with impunity; and next, inasmuch as he entertained a more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
than ordinary regard for Constance Cecil, the child of an
ancient friend, and the god-daughter of the Lady Claypole.
Of this regard he had, within a few weeks, given a striking
proof, in having selected Cecil Place above more splendid
mansions, and the companionship of its youthful mistress, in
preference to many more eager candidates for such an honour,
when, for certain weighty reasons, he deemed a temporary absence
from the court essential to the comfort and prosperity
of the Lady Frances.</p>

<p>The friendship that had subsisted between the family of the
Protector and that of Sir Robert Cecil was, as we have intimated,
not of recent growth; the Lady Cromwell and Lady Cecil had
been friends long before the husband of the former had been
called to take upon him the high and palmy state that links
his name so gloriously, so honourably&mdash;but, alas! in some
respects, also, so unhappily&mdash;with the history of his country.
When an humble and obscure individual at Ipswich, the
visits of the Lady Cecil were considered as condescensions,
upon her part, towards friends of a respectable, yet of a much
inferior, rank. Times had changed; but he who was now
a king in all but the name, and far beyond ordinary kings in
the power to have his commands obeyed as widely as the winds
of heaven could convey them&mdash;remembered the feelings that
held sway in lowlier, yet, perhaps, in happier days; and,
although rarely a guest at Cecil Place, he continued a stanch
friend to the family, to whom he had, upon several occasions,
extended the simple hospitalities of Hampton Court.</p>

<p>Towards the Lady Constance, his sentiments of respect and
regard had been frequently and markedly expressed. When
he beheld the fading beauty of the mother reviving with added
graces and attraction in the fair form and expressive countenance
of the daughter, it was with feelings of pride, unusual
to him, that he remembered his wife had been among the first
to cherish and estimate the promise which the youth had
given, and which the coming womanhood of Constance was
surely about to fulfil.</p>

<p>Moreover, two sons of Sir Robert had fought and died by
the side of the Protector, having been schooled in arms under
his own eye; and had there been no other motive for his interference,
he was not a man to have looked on the dead
features of his brave companions, and have felt no interest in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
the relations who survived them. To the only remaining
scion of a brave and honourable race, Cromwell, therefore, had
many reasons for extending his protection and his regard.
Sir Robert, perhaps, he considered more as an instrument than
as a friend; for Cromwell, like every other great statesman,
employed friends sometimes as tools, yet tools never as friends&mdash;a
distinction that rulers in all countries would do well to
observe. It is an old and a true saying, "that a place showeth
the man;" few, at that time, could look upon the Protector,
either in a moral or political point of view, without a blending
of astonishment and admiration at his sudden elevation and
extraordinary power; and, more especially, at his amazing
influence over all who came within the magic circle of which
he was the centre. Burrell of Burrell he regarded as a clever,
but a dangerous man; and was not, perhaps, sorry to believe
that his union with so true a friend to the Commonwealth as
Constance Cecil would convert him from a doubtful adherent,
into a confirmed partisan, and gain over to his cause many of
the wavering, but powerful families of Kent and Sussex, with
whom he was connected.</p>

<p>Burrell, however, had succeeded in satisfying Cromwell
that the proposed union had the full consent and approbation,
not only of Sir Robert Cecil, but of his daughter. The protracted
illness of Lady Cecil had much estranged Constance
from her friends; and, as the subject was never alluded to
in any of the letters that passed between her and her godmother,
it was considered that the marriage was not alone
one of policy, but to which, if the heart of Constance were
not a party, her mind was by no means averse. Of the Protector's
views upon these several topics, Burrell was fully
aware; and he dreaded the discovery, not only of his own
conduct, but of the feelings that existed towards him on the
part of his affianced bride; there were other topics that did
not so readily occur to the mind of Burrell, but that would
have been of themselves sufficiently weighty to have confirmed
his worst fears for his own safety&mdash;the Protector's stern love
of justice, and his especial loathing of that vice of which the
villain had been guilty. Had the Jew, Ben Israel, and the
maiden, Constance Cecil, been indifferent persons in his sight,
the double treachery of Burrell would have been requited upon
his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p>

<p>Next to Hugh Dalton, no man possessed so unbounded,
and, so apparently, unaccountable, an influence over Sir Robert
Cecil as Sir Willmott Burrell: he knew, as we have elsewhere
stated, many of his secrets, and shrewdly guessed at others of
more weighty import; while, with the ready sagacity of an
accomplished knave, he contrived to appear well acquainted
with matters of which he was altogether ignorant, but the existence
of which he had abundant reasons for suspecting. The
enfeebled health and growing infirmities of the baronet rendered
him an easy prey to his wily acquaintance, who, driven
to his last resource, resolved upon adopting any course that
might save him from destruction, by inducing Sir Robert, not
only to sanction, but command an immediate marriage with
his daughter.</p>

<p>In commencing the conversation with Burrell, Sir Robert
peevishly complained of the annoyance to which he had been
subjected in receiving and accommodating the young friend of
Major Wellmore, although he abstained from the indulgence
of feelings similar to those he had exhibited in the presence of
his daughter. He then murmured bitterly of sleepless nights&mdash;of
restless days&mdash;of watchings and weariness&mdash;of hideous
dreams&mdash;of the toils, turmoils, and unfaithfulness of the
world&mdash;the usual theme of those who have done nothing to
merit its fidelity; and, as Sir Willmott Burrell looked upon
him, he marvelled at the change that but a few weeks had
wrought in his appearance; his mind seemed so enfeebled,
that he deemed it even more altered than his body. He was,
moreover, much astonished to find that he dwelt so little upon
his recent and most heavy loss; for the attachment between
Sir Robert Cecil and his wife had been remarkable at a time
when domestic happiness was even the court fashion. But
here Burrell was at fault; he knew nothing of the position in
which Sir Robert at present stood with regard to Hugh Dalton,
and was therefore ignorant of the positive peril by which he
was encompassed: a peril so great and so immediate, as to
render him, in a degree, insensible to the affliction under
which he had so recently and so painfully laboured. Often,
in his dreary night watches, when sleep set no seal upon his
aching lids, or when they closed for a little over the strained
and worn eyeballs, and then opened in terror at frightful
images that haunted his fevered fancy&mdash;often, at such times<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
had he endeavoured to offer up a thanksgiving, that she was
gone from the wrath, the avenging horrors&mdash;the approach of
which he dreaded a thousand times more than death.</p>

<p>The application that had been made to the Protector for
Dalton's pardon, had been treated as he expected; and his
only chance of accomplishing the object of the Buccaneer,
now rested on the possibility of his gaining over certain persons
of the court, to exert their influence with Cromwell in
the outlaw's behalf. Sir Robert's personal interest did not
extend far, but the influence of his gold did. The Protector
could free himself from outward sinners, but he could not rid
himself of the more smooth, and consequently more dangerous,
villains, generated by the peculiar forms and habits of
the times. To some of these, Sir Robert had secretly offered
temptation in every way: the stake was large, the danger
certain; for he well knew the inflexibility of Dalton's character,
and that he would not fail to perform that upon which
he had resolved. It had occurred to him, more than once, to
consult Burrell on the subject; but a dread of his future son-in-law,
for which he could not account, had hitherto prevented
his naming to him the Buccaneer's desire to be a legalised
commander. His anxiety to carry his point now, however,
overcame his timidity, and he resolved to speak to him on the
matter, at the very time the knight had decided on addressing
the baronet&mdash;under equal weighty circumstances&mdash;on the
subject of his marriage. Unfortunately for Sir Robert Cecil,
he was the first to unfold his plan; and thus gave the wily
Burrell another and a firmer hold than he had yet possessed.
After repinings over his health, and murmurs against mankind,
had somewhat lessened that secret and consuming misery
that enveloped him as with a winding sheet, he inquired if Burrell
had lately encountered a man they must both remember,&mdash;Hugh
Dalton,&mdash;a bold, but reckless fellow, who had played
cavalier, buccaneer, and a thousand other characters in turn&mdash;all
characters, in fact, save that of a coward. Burrell replied
in the negative; but confessed he knew the man had been
upon the coast; cunningly adding, that since his affections had
been so entirely fixed upon Constantia, he had given up every
connection, every idea, that might hereafter draw him from a
home where all blessings would be united.</p>

<p>Sir Robert was never insensible to his daughter's praise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
but it did not prevent his continuing the subject. He stated
that Dalton was a clever, experienced seaman;&mdash;that his
knowledge of foreign seas and foreign affairs in general might
be made most useful to government, if government would
avail itself of such advantages;&mdash;that the Buccaneer was a
bitter thorn in the side of the Protector, as he had been known
to convey malcontents to England, as well as to ship them
off;&mdash;that his Fire-fly might be termed a meteor of the
waters, now here, now there, shining like a blazing star&mdash;stealing
like a moon-beam&mdash;in the Texel, in the Thames, in
the Baltic, or the Black Sea&mdash;as occasion required; everywhere
when mischief was doing, nowhere when it was to be
remedied:&mdash;that all this evil might be avoided by giving
Dalton a pardon and the command of a Commonwealth ship;
that he would accept, indeed he (Sir Robert) was sure that he
desired, such an employment, and that it would be a grievous
thing for the state if an arrangement could not be made to
purchase his future services and his good conduct at so small
a price.</p>

<p>Burrell was astonished, but saw clearly enough that there
must be some covert motive for such deep and unaccountable
anxiety: he dexterously set forth the various arguments that
might be urged by government against a man of Dalton's
character; the ill example, the dangerous precedent of one so
circumstanced taking his place amongst honourable men, and
so forth; mooting a variety of points, in order that he might
judge of Sir Robert's object by his manner of answering objections.</p>

<p>The baronet was caught in the toils; he betrayed so much
anxiety, so much panting eagerness in the Buccaneer's behalf, as
to satisfy Burrell that hardly any thing less than a cause of life
and death could create such intense earnestness on such a subject
in a person who seemed balancing between this world and the
next. Various surmises and conjectures, which he had heard in
former times, strengthened the opinion. Having assured himself
upon this point, he ventured upon one of those daring
falsehoods that had hitherto been the principal means of his
success: he assured the baronet, in the most solemn manner,
that he had a secret way, one which he could not explain, but
it was a species of promise for service performed, of winning
from Cromwell the desired pardon and appointment;&mdash;that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
he had avoided asking such a favour until something particular
occurred, something of deep value and importance;&mdash;that he
was willing to sacrifice his own prospects to oblige his friend;
and the only favour he asked in return was one that, though
above all price in his estimation, could be easily bestowed by
Sir Robert Cecil&mdash;the immediate gift of his daughter's hand.
He did not wish her feelings to be wounded by a public ceremony
so shortly after the loss they had all sustained; nay, he
would prefer receiving her from her father in the ruined but
beautiful little chapel that belonged to the house: all he requested,
all he entreated, was that the marriage should be
speedy. Then, with the power of one deeply skilled in deceitfulness,
he wound up the whole by tender allusions to the
weakness, the precariousness of Sir Robert's health, and the
despair he might experience on his death-bed, if he expired
with the knowledge that his beloved, and only child, had no
earthly protector.</p>

<p>Sir Robert remembered his promise to his wife, that he
would never urge his daughter's marriage with Burrell; and
although he avoided noticing this as an apology to the knight,
yet he firmly stated his dislike to press Constantia on the subject;
and earnestly inquired if there were no other way by
which he could show his gratitude than by interfering in the
matter, at all events, until the year of mourning for Lady
Cecil had expired.</p>

<p>Burrell feigned astonishment at this reply: the hand of
Mistress Cecil, he said, had long been betrothed to him; he
confessed that he did not think Sir Robert would for a moment
have hesitated to comply with his most reasonable request: he
urged various motives for hastening the union, and finally entreated
the baronet's permission to address his daughter herself
on the subject. To this Sir Robert offered no opposition;
he was ignorant of the strength of Constantia's feelings with
regard to Burrell. She had been affianced to him in her early
girlhood, when much too young to have an opinion on the
matter; and as the union had never been pressed upon her,
she had not been called upon to state any objections to it.
Her poor mother had seen, with the clearness of a mother's
love, that the marriage would never tend to her child's happiness:
she had observed both characters <a name="Page_131t" id="Page_131t"></a><a href="#Page_131tn">narrowly</a>, and was
perfectly convinced of Burrell's worthlessness. She could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
not impress this conviction on Sir Robert's mind; but in her
last moments she extorted from him the promise that he would
never urge the union. This was, as we have seen, all she
could obtain; and Sir Robert was content to "keep the word
of promise to the ear," without reference to the sense.</p>

<p>Burrell seemed perfectly satisfied with the permission he
had obtained, and left Sir Robert in the library, expressing his
determination to speak to Mistress Cecil on the subject that
evening.</p>

<p>"And he will make her a very affectionate husband," mused
Sir Robert, after his departure: "how can he do otherwise?
But I do not interfere in it; I know she has no other attachment;
and my Constantia's sense of duty will oblige her to
love her husband. Oh, yes, she will be happy&mdash;happy&mdash;happy"&mdash;he
said, as if the repetition of the word could give
birth to the feeling.</p>

<p>It was the clear and balmy twilight; the sun had left the
west in glory, and the delicious breeze of evening was mingling
among the young leaves of the shrubs and trees; all appeared
in contentment and at peace, when the Lady Frances Cromwell
and Constance sat together upon a mossy bank, but a few
yards distant from the house, yet so overshadowed by venerable
trees, that not a turret nor a vestige of the building was
to be seen. The spot they had chosen for their resting-place
was known as "the Fairy Ring:" it was a circular mound,
girdled by evergreens, which, in their turn, were belted by
forest-trees, that spread in an opposite direction to the
house, into what was called the Ash Copse. The dark green
of our winter shrub, the spotted laurustinus, was relieved by
the golden tassels of the laburnum, just opening into bloom;
the hawthorn contended for beauty and perfume with the
delicate blossoms of the purple lilac; while its modest sister,
the white, sent forth her pale green leaves, and delicate buds,
over a bed of double violets:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Where all the earth beneath&mdash;the heaven above,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Teem'd with the earliest spring of joyous youth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sunshine, and flowers, and vague, and virgin love."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>The quiet and serenity of the evening communicated its
tone and character to the buoyant mind of Lady Frances
Cromwell.</p>

<p>"I am sober as the twilight, Constance, because I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
been thinking of sober matters. Alas! alas! we have all our
twilights.&mdash;Youth's twilight is soft and perfumed as that
which hovers over us,&mdash;tranquil&mdash;but it is the tranquillity
of hope. The twilight of middle life is, methinks, nearly
allied to that of an autumn evening,&mdash;doubts hover and come
upon us as the falling leaves; the wind whistles like the
wailing of departing days; there is but little tranquillity then,
because the hope that is left is enough to agitate by its vain
dreams, but not to soothe. What shall I say of the twilight
of age? I do not like to think of it&mdash;its tranquillity appears
to me so closely linked with despair."</p>

<p>"No, Frances, not despair: it is only the moody and abstracted
silence of guilt that claims such awful kindred. I
think age more beautiful&mdash;more hope-giving, than youth;
though its beauty is far different, and its hope sublime, instead
of joyous. Ask the most prosperous&mdash;the most fortunate
man in existence&mdash;one on whom the eyes of the whole
world are turned in admiration and its attendant, envy&mdash;ask
such a one if he would live over his life again, and he will
answer, 'No!'"</p>

<p>"This speaks badly for the happiness of life," said Lady
Frances.</p>

<p>"I do not think it does," replied Constantia; "every evil
has either a remedy or an anodyne: but, unfortunately, we
are more prone to dwell upon evils than upon blessings&mdash;yet
this should make us less satisfied with earth, as we draw nearer
heaven."</p>

<p>"Constance, are you a philosopher?"</p>

<p>"No; for I am a woman! and what is called philosophy
is sadly at war with both our mental and our bodily endowments.
I have heard there are lands in which certain persons
think they confer honour upon our sex, by mixing us more up
with the bustle and turmoil of the world&mdash;methinks they
would strangely pervert our natures."</p>

<p>"I agree with you, Constance: let men have all the public,
and women all the private business of life to manage, and
my word on 't, the balance of power is with us. Our tongues
have enough to do at home, without chattering in high places;
and as to our arms! mine could ill wield battle-axe or broadsword.
I suppose these people of whom you speak would
invent a new sex to look after domestic matters, while we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
assist in the broil and the battle! We shall lose our influence,
depend on 't, the moment we are taken out of our
sphere&mdash;we shall lose caste as women, and be treated with
contempt as men. What <i>I</i> like, Constance, is to have my
own dear little way, by my own pretty little man&oelig;uvres&mdash;behind
the bush&mdash;thrust another into the breach, and then, if
evil arise, the man gets the blame, while I retreat in safety."</p>

<p>"Then the Lady Frances would take one of the other sex
as a shield?"</p>

<p>"Yes, Constance; they would do as well to be shot at as
ourselves, you know."</p>

<p>"Ah, Frances, you are no true woman, unless, if there were
real danger, you would thrust yourself between it and the life a
thousand times more precious than your own. Suppose, for
instance, that sudden danger menaced the life of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush, dear Constantia; the idea of such an event is
enough. It is easier to sacrifice life when the sacrifice is
demanded by affection, than to resign one selfish indulgence."</p>

<p>"Ah! because, in the first case, we gratify ourselves; in
the second, others."</p>

<p>"You are a mental chemist, Constance: but here comes
the maid called Barbara, with hoods and cardinals, signifying
that the dew is falling, though we feel it not."</p>

<p>"I sought you, mistress," said Barbara, "all over the
house, for Sir Willmott Burrell advised me that he wished to
speak with you in the oak parlour, if it so please you, or in
the library; my honoured master was present."</p>

<p>"Did my father too want me?"</p>

<p>"No, madam; he said he would go to his chamber, for a
little, before the evening meal."</p>

<p>The young ladies, followed by Barbara, entered the house,
and, as Frances Cromwell pressed Constantia's hand, she felt it
clammy and chilling cold: she would have spoken, but, while
arranging the necessary words, her friend, with a more than
usually dignified deportment, entered the parlour. It was a dark,
dim room, the frettings and ornaments of black carved oak.</p>

<p>"Tell Sir Willmott Burrell I await him here," she said to
Barbara, while passing the threshold.</p>

<p>Frances Cromwell, over whose mind a feeling of terror was
imperceptibly stealing, would have remained, but Constance
intimated that she would receive Burrell alone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1">&mdash;&mdash;I am sworn brother now<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To grim Necessity; and he and I<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will keep a league till death.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"My blood seems to curdle in my veins," murmured Constance,
as she rubbed the palm of one hand against the back of
the other; "my very blood seems to curdle in my veins, and
a shadow, as of the vampire's wing, is over me. But why is
this? Is God less present with me here than beneath the
heavenly atmosphere I have just now breathed?" And then
she uttered a few words of prayer, so earnestly, that Burrell
had entered the room before she was aware of his presence.</p>

<p>"You are not well," he observed, seating himself in a chair
beside that into which she had sunk: "I hope I do not disturb
you unpleasantly. You keep watch too anxiously by your
father's couch."</p>

<p>"I am better now," she replied; "but that of which you
speak, my thought of the living and the dead, although it
may have somewhat touched my health, has been my happiest
duty."</p>

<p>"Perhaps you would rather hear what I have to say to-morrow,"
he observed, a momentary feeling of sympathy
forcing itself upon his mind, as he noticed her white lip, and
still whiter cheek.</p>

<p>"I pray you, sir," she replied proudly, "to proceed: I am
as ready now as I can be on the morrow to listen to aught it
may be your pleasure to advance. Your observations, if it
please you, now."</p>

<p>"I have no 'observations' to offer, Mistress Cecil,&mdash;may
I say Constance? for so I used to call you in the early days
of our betrothment,&mdash;though I have much to request. I
confess, I have felt hurt, and aggrieved, at the small show of
courtesy you have vouchsafed me; but, as I believe that sorrow,
and an habitual reserve, have wrought this manner, I do
not blame, though I regret it deeply. The time, I hope, fair
lady, is not far distant when you will ratify my claim to your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
hand; then the devotedness of my future life,&mdash;the entireness
of my attachment,&mdash;the depth of my love&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell," interrupted Constantia, "<i>the grass
upon my mother's grave is not yet green; and would you talk
of love?</i>"</p>

<p>For a moment the knight was silent.</p>

<p>"Reasons&mdash;reasons that I will explain hereafter, make me
exceedingly desire that the contract should be immediately
fulfilled. Nay, lady, do not start, and shudder," he continued,
taking her hand, that hung listlessly, and without
motion, within his grasp; "even should you not love as
I do, affection will make you all mine own, within a little
time."</p>

<p>"Believe it not, Sir Willmott," said Constantia, at length
disengaging her hand; "I can never love you."</p>

<p>Men have been accustomed, in all ages, to hear simple
truths, of such a description, declared in so simple a manner.
Ladies rant, and protest that they abhor and abominate,&mdash;or
they weep, and shriek, and call the gentleman odious, or
horrid, or some such gentle name; which the said gentleman
perfectly understands to mean&mdash;any thing he pleases; but
Constantia's perfect truth, the plain earnestness of that brief
sentence, carried conviction with it; and the handsome Burrell
paced three or four times the length of the oak parlour, before
he could sufficiently bring his mortified feelings under
necessary subjection: he then resumed his seat.</p>

<p>"I think otherwise; a woman can but require devoted
affection, constant watchfulness, and tender solicitude. All,
all this will be yours. Besides, a daughter of the house of
Cecil would not break faith. I could <i>command</i> your hand&mdash;I
only solicit it."</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott, you well know, that when the unhappy
contract was entered into, I was of tender age; too young, indeed,
to comprehend its nature. Ought you in honour to
urge it on me, when I frankly tell you by word of mouth, what
my demeanour must have informed you long, long since, that&mdash;I
can never love you?"</p>

<p>"You have said it once, lady; and the sentence cannot be
pleasant to the ears of your affianced husband. The turmoils
of the times, and the service I so largely owed to the Protector,
have called me much from home; and though my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
heart lingered here, I was forced away by duty to the state:
surely you would not love me less because it was rigidly performed?"</p>

<p>"You would not wish me your wife," said Constance, in
a faltering tone, resolving to make trial of Sir Willmott's
generosity, while her strength seemed to rise with her honest
purpose,&mdash;"you would not wish me your wife; for not only
do I not love you, but&mdash;I love&mdash;another."</p>

<p>Now, Sir Willmott Burrell did not start from his chair, nor
did he pace up and down the polished floor,&mdash;he fixed his
eyes upon Constantia, as if he would have read within her
soul <i>who</i> she loved; but the expression gradually changed,
from a deep and perilous curiosity, to one of firm resolve,
until, drawing his breath between his set teeth, he said, slowly
and deliberately, but in a restrained tone, as if the voice came
from the fiend within him,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I am sorry for it, Constantia Cecil; for it cannot prevent
your being mine&mdash;mine&mdash;and, by the God that hears me,
mine only, and for ever!"</p>

<p>Constantia rose slowly from her seat, and said, in a firm
voice, "I did not come here to suffer insult, sir."</p>

<p>She walked across the room with so dignified a step, that
she had nearly reached the door, before Burrell acquired sufficient
courage to stay her departure. He laid his hand on her
arm as she touched the lock, but she shook it off as coolly, yet
as firmly, as the apostle threw from him the viper into the
flames at Melita. Burrell, however, had too much at stake
tamely to relinquish his purpose. He spoke in a constrained
voice, and said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I entreat you to remain; if it be not for your own good,
it will be for your father's that you do so."</p>

<p>The mention of her father's name at once commanded her
attention. She desired Burrell to speak on; without, however,
resuming her seat. He paused for so considerable a time that
she at length observed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I wait, Sir Willmott, and will wait patiently, if it be
necessary: but methinks your silence now is as uncourteous
as your speech a brief while since."</p>

<p>"It is because I feel for you, Mistress Cecil,&mdash;feel for you
acutely, that I thus hesitate. I would spare you the pain I
know my words must inflict; and therefore, once more, calmly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
but energetically, implore you to consent to the immediate fulfilment
of the contract existing between us."</p>

<p>"This is trifling, sir. I desire that you suffer me to pass
forth. I might have known you had nothing to say that concerned
my father; and, as to myself, if you could be mean
enough, under such circumstances, to accept my hand, I cannot
be base enough to give it."</p>

<p>"A fine sentence!" exclaimed Burrell, sneeringly. "I
make bold to tell you, lady, I care not so much as you may
imagine for your affections, which I know you have sufficient
principle to recall, and bestow upon the possessor of that fair
hand, whoever he may be. Nay, look not so wrathful, for I
know <i>that</i> which would make your proud look quail, and the
heiress of Cecil rejoice that she could yet become the wife of
Sir Willmott Burrell!"</p>

<p>Constantia trembled. She had never before listened to
such language; and she felt there must be something appalling
in the motive that could give it utterance. Although her
hand rested on the massive lock of the door, she had not
power to turn the handle. If looks could wither, the Master
of Burrell would have shrunk before her gaze; yet he bore
her indignant frown with more audacity than he could have
believed he possessed.</p>

<p>"If your communication concerns my father, speak, sir; if
not,"&mdash;she paused, and he took up the sentence&mdash;</p>

<p>"If not, Constantia casts me off for ever! Yet," he added,
in a tone of insulting pity, "I would spare your feelings, for
you have been a most affectionate child."</p>

<p>"Sir," interrupted Constance, "I hope I am too true a
daughter to hear those taunts with patience: your insinuations
I despise, and I <i>defy</i> you to utter an accusation against
him that could summon a tint of crimson to my cheek!"</p>

<p>"But I could speak <i>that</i> which would make the red cheek
pale, lady&mdash;what think you of&mdash;of&mdash;of <span class="smcapc">MURDER</span>?"</p>

<p>Constantia's eye gleamed for a moment, like a meteor, and
then it became fixed and faded; her form assumed the rigidity
of marble, and at each respiration her lips fell more and more
apart. The villain became alarmed, and, taking her hand,
would have led her to a seat; but his touch recalled her to
herself: she darted from him to the centre of the room, and
there, her arm extended, her fine head thrown back, every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
feature, as it were, bursting with indignation, she looked like
a youthful priestess denouncing vengeance on a sinful <a name="Page_139t" id="Page_139t"></a><a href="#Page_139tn">world.</a></p>

<p>"If I could curse," she said, "you should feel it heavily;
but the evil within you will do its own work, and my soul be
saved from sin. Away! away! And you thought to fright
me with that horrid sound! My dear, dear father!"</p>

<p>"I declare before Heaven," interrupted Burrell, "it is to
save him I speak! The damning proofs of his guilt are within
my hold. If you perform the contract, neither tortures nor
death shall wring them from me; if you do not&mdash;mark me&mdash;I
will be revenged!"</p>

<p>"Silly, wicked that I was," exclaimed Constance, "not to
command you before him instantly, that the desperate lie
might be sent back into your throat, and choke you with its
venom! Come with me to my father!&mdash;Ah, foul coward!
you shrink, but you shall not escape!&mdash;To my father instantly!"</p>

<p>Burrell would have restrained her, but it was impossible.
Finding that he did not move, she was rushing past him, when
he arrested her progress for an instant, saying,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Since you will thus dare the destruction of your only
parent, it is fitting you know of whose murder he is accused."
He drew nearer to her, so near that she felt his hateful breath
upon her cheek, as, like the serpent in the garden of Eden, he
distilled the deadly poison into her ear. A slight convulsion,
succeeded by an awful paleness, passed over her countenance;
but, rallying, she darted on him another look of defiance and
scorn, and flew to her father's chamber.</p>

<p>The old man had been sleeping, but awoke as she entered,
and probably refreshed by the short repose he had enjoyed,
stretched forward his arms to his daughter with an expression
of confiding fondness, which, in the then state of Constantia's
feelings, but added to the agony she endured. She could not
resist the mute appeal; falling on her knees, she buried her
face amid the drapery of his robe. In this posture she continued
for a few minutes: her lips uttered no word, but her
bosom heaved as if in mortal struggle, and her hard breathings
were almost groans. At length, still kneeling, she raised her
head, her hands clasped, her swollen but tearless eyes fixed
upon the pale, anxious, and alarmed countenance of her
parent. He would have spoken, but she raised her finger in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
token that she entreated silence; a moment afterwards she
addressed him in broken and disjointed sentences.</p>

<p>"I can hardly give it utterance&mdash;and when I think upon
it, I know not why I should intrude so vile a falsehood on
your ear, my father; but Burrell seemed so real, so fearfully
real in what he said, that I tremble still, and my voice comes
heavily to my lips." She paused for breath, and pressed her
clasped hands on her bosom.</p>

<p>Sir Robert, imagining that she alluded to her marriage,
which he knew Burrell must have been urging upon her,
replied,&mdash;</p>

<p>"My dearest child knows that I have not pressed her
union; but Sir Willmott is so anxious&mdash;so attached&mdash;and,
I must say, that my grey hairs would go peacefully to the
grave were I to see her his wife. I am almost inclined to
think my Constance capricious and unjust upon this point;
but I am sure her own good sense, her regard for her
father&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Merciful powers!" interrupted Constance, wildly; "and
is it really possible that you knew of his proposal? Ay, ay,
you might have known <i>that</i>, but you could not know the
awful, the horrid threat he held out to me, if I did not comply
with his demand&mdash;ay, <i>demand</i> for an immediate union?</p>

<p>"It was very imprudent, very useless, in fact," said the
baronet, peevishly, his mind reverting to the proposals of the
Buccaneer, which he believed Burrell had communicated to
Constantia; "very absurd to trouble you with the knowledge
he possesses of my affairs&mdash;that is strange wooing&mdash;but
good will arise from it, for you will now, knowing the great,
the overpowering motive that I have for seeing your union
accomplished&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The baronet's sentence remained unfinished, for the look
and manner of his daughter terrified him. She had risen
from her knees, and stood, her eyelids straining from her
glaring eyes, that were fixed upon her father, while her
hands were extended, as if to shut out the figure upon which
she still gazed.</p>

<p>"It is all madness&mdash;moon-struck madness," she exclaimed,
and her arms dropped at either side as she spoke; "some
cruel witchery surrounds me; but I will speak and break the
spell. Father, you are not a murderer? you did not mur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>der&mdash;&mdash;"
and she, too, whispered a name, as if it were one
that the breath of heaven should not bear.</p>

<p>The baronet sprang from his seat, as if a musket ball had
entered his heart.</p>

<p>"'T is false!" he exclaimed; "there is no blood upon my
hand&mdash;look at it&mdash;look at it! Burrell has no proofs&mdash;unless
that villain Dalton has betrayed me," he added, in a
lower tone; "but I did not the act, the blood is on <i>his</i> head,
and not on mine. Constance, my child, the only thing on
earth <i>now</i> that can love me, do not curse&mdash;do not spurn me.
I ask not your sacrifice, that I may be saved;&mdash;but do not
curse me&mdash;do not curse your father."</p>

<p>The haughty baronet fell, humbled to the dust, at his
daughter's feet, clasping her knees in awful emotion, but
daring not to look upon the face of his own child.</p>

<p>It would be as vain to attempt, as it would be impossible to
analyse, the feelings of that high-souled woman during moments
of such intense misery. She neither spoke nor wept;
nor did she assist her father, by any effort, to arise; but,
without a sentence or a word, folding her mourning robe
around her, she glided like a ghost forth from the chamber.
When she returned, her step had lost its elasticity, and her
eye its light; she moved as if in a heavy atmosphere, and her
father did not dare to look upon her, as she seated herself by
the chair he had resumed.</p>

<p>She took his hand, and put it, but did not press it, to her
lips: he thought he felt a tear drop upon his burning fingers;
but the long hair that fell over her brow concealed her face.
He was the first to break the dreadful and oppressive stillness.</p>

<p>"I would speak with Burrell: there must have been
treachery. Of himself, believe me, he knew nothing: but I
was so taken by surprise, that I did not consider&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Stop, sir, I entreat you," interrupted Constance. "There
is now no motive for consideration. I have just seen, and
promised to be the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell within this
week&mdash;and three of its days are already past:&mdash;<i>his</i> silence,
and <i>your honour</i> are secured."</p>

<p>The unhappy man was powerless and subdued; he hid his
face amid the pillows of the chair, and wept bitterly. Constance
walked to the window: the beams of the silver moon
dwelt with more than usual brightness on the tops and around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
the foliage of the trees that encircled the Fairy Ring, where,
but an hour before, her footsteps had lingered with her friend.
All around seemed buried in the most profound stillness; not
the bay of a dog, nor the hum of an insect, disturbed the repose
that slept on every plant and flower, and covered the
earth as with a garment. Suddenly a nightingale flew past
the window, and resting its breast on the bough of an old
thorn, poured forth a delicious strain of melody. Constance
leaned her throbbing forehead against the cold stained-glass,
and the tenderness of the wild bird's untaught music penetrated
her soul; large tears flowed down her cheeks, and her
seared heart was relieved, for a little, of its overwhelming
horrors. She then returned to her father's side; and again
taking his hand in hers, said, in a calmer voice,</p>

<p>"Father, we have both need of consolation&mdash;let us read
and pray together."</p>

<p>"It is too late to attempt deceiving you longer, Constance;
yet I would fain explain&mdash;&mdash;."</p>

<p>"Not now, father. We will pray."</p>

<p>"And you will be happy; or if not, you will not curse
him who has wrought your misery<a name="Page_142t" id="Page_142t"></a><a href="#Page_142tn">?"</a></p>

<p>"I have too much need of blessing. Bless, bless you, my
father!&mdash;Let us now seek consolation where only it is to be
found."</p>

<p>"But may I not speak with Burrell? I want to know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Father! I entreat you, peace. It is now useless; the
die is cast&mdash;for me&mdash;for us&mdash;in this world&mdash;useless all,
except the aid that, under any trials, we can ask and receive
from Heaven."</p>

<p>"My child, call me your dear father, as you were wont;
and let your soft lips press upon my hand as there were fondness
in them. You said you would not curse me, Constance."</p>

<p>"Bless, bless you, my <i>dear</i> father!" She kissed his hand;
and having lighted the chamber lamp, read one of the penitential
psalms of the King of Israel, when sin, and the wretchedness
that follows sin, became too heavy for him to bear.</p>

<p>"And now let us pray," said Constantia, conceiving that
her father's mind was more composed; "let us offer up petitions
to the source of all mercy and forgiveness."</p>

<p>"I cannot pray," he said; "my lips may move, but my
heart is hardened."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>

<p>"We will learn of Him who softened the stony rock, that
the children of promise might taste of the living waters in a
strange land."</p>

<p>And her earnest and beautiful prayer floated to the Almighty's
throne, from that dull and heavy chamber, a record
of the faithful and self-sacrificing spirit whose purest earthly
temple is a woman's heart.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet, spite of all that Nature did<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To make his uncouth form forbid,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">This creature dared to love.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But virtue can itself advance<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To what the favourite fools of chance<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By fortune seem design'd.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Parnell.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"Is your sweet lady out yet, pretty Barbara?" inquired
Robin Hays of Barbara Iverk, as he met her in the flower-garden
of Cecil Place, when it was nearly midday.</p>

<p>"My poor lady is, I am sure, very ill; or, what is still
worse, ill at ease," replied the maiden. "She has not been in
bed all night, I know, for the couch was undisturbed this
morning, so I just came here to gather her some flowers:
fresh flowers must always do one good, and I think I never
saw so many in bloom so early."</p>

<p>"Barbara, did you ever hear tell of a country they call the
East?"</p>

<p>"A country!" repeated Barbara, whose knowledge of geography
was somewhat more extensive than that of Robin,
although she had not travelled so much, "I believe there are
many countries in the East."</p>

<p>"Well, I dare say there may be. Mistress Barbara: you
are going to chop scholarship with me; but yet, I suppose,
you do not know that they have in that country a new way of
making love. It is not new to them, though it is new to
us."</p>

<p>"Oh, dear Robin! what is it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>

<p>"Why, suppose they wished you, a young pretty maiden
as you are, to understand that I, a small deformed dragon,
regarded you, only a little, like the beginning of love, they
would&mdash;" Robin stooped as he spoke, and plucked a rose-bud
that had anticipated summer&mdash;"they would give you this
bud. But, suppose they wanted you to believe I loved you very
much indeed, they would choose you out a full-blown rose.
Barbara, I cannot find a full-blown rose; but I do not love
you the less for that."</p>

<p>"Give me the bud, Robin, whether or no; it is the first of
the season:&mdash;my lady will be delighted with it&mdash;if, indeed,
any thing can delight her!"</p>

<p>"I will give it you to keep; not to give away, even to
your lady. Ah, Barbara! if I had any thing worth giving,
you would not refuse it."</p>

<p>"And can any thing be better worth giving, or having, than
sweet flowers?" said the simple girl. "Only it pains me to
pull them&mdash;they die so soon&mdash;and then, every leaf that falls
away from them, looks like a reproach!"</p>

<p>"Should you be sorry if I were to die one of these days,
Barbara," inquired the Ranger, "like one of those flowers?"</p>

<p>"Sorry! have I ever appeared ungrateful, Robin? When
first I came here, you used to be so kind me:&mdash;indeed, you
are always kind&mdash;only I fear lately you are displeased with
me about something or other. You have avoided me&mdash;are
you angry, Robin?"</p>

<p>"Indeed I am not; nor do I forget how often you have
driven away the 'shadows' that used to come over me."</p>

<p>"And do you&mdash;I mean, do you esteem me as much as
ever?"</p>

<p>Robin looked earnestly into her face, and then taking her
hand, gently replied:&mdash;</p>

<p>"I do esteem you, as you term it, more than ever; but I
also love you. When a little helpless thing, I took you from
your father's arms: I loved you then as a parent would love
a child. When Lady Cecil took you under her care, and I saw
you but seldom, my heart leaned towards the daughter of my
best friend with a brother's love. And when, as I have just
said, the sunlight of your smile, and the gentleness of your
young girlish voice, dispelled much melancholy from my
mind, I thought&mdash;no matter what. But now the case is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
altered&mdash;you see in me a mere lump, a deformed creature, a
being unseemly to look upon, a wretch&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"Robin Hays, you wrong yourself," interrupted Barbara;
"I do not see you thus, nor think you thus. The raven is
not a beautiful bird, nor hath it a sweet voice, yet it was
welcomed and beloved of the prophet Elijah."</p>

<p>"So it was, Barbara; but why?&mdash;because it was <i>useful</i>
to him in his hour of need. Think you that, in the time of his
triumph and prosperity, he would have taken it to his bosom,
as if it had been a dove?"</p>

<p>"I do not see why he should not," she said: "God is so good,
that he never takes away one beauty without bestowing another;
and the raven's glossy wing might be, to some, even more
beautiful than the purple plumage of the dove: at all events,
so excellent a man would not be chained by mere eye-beauty,
which, after all, passeth quickly. Though I think it was
very uncourteous of Mr. Fleetword to say, in my hearing,
Robin, that the time would come when Mistress Constance
would be as plain-favoured as old Dame Compton, whose
countenance looks like the worm-eaten cover of Solomon
Grundy's Bible."</p>

<p>"Ah, Barbara! you are a good girl: but suppose I was as
rich as I ought to be before thinking of marrying&mdash;and supposing
you came to the knowledge of your father, and he
agreed&mdash;and supposing Mistress Cecil did not say nay&mdash;supposing
all this&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>Robin paused, and Barbara, with her eyes fixed on the
ground, commenced pulling to pieces the rose-bud he had
given her.</p>

<p>"Supposing all this, Barbara&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"Well, Robin?"</p>

<p>"Do you think, Barbara, you would then&mdash;marry me?"</p>

<p>"I never thought of marriage, seeing that I am too young,
and, withal, too inexperienced; but there is one thing,
Robin&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I knew it," interrupted the Ranger, in one of his sudden
bursts of bitterness; "I might easily have known it&mdash;Beauty
and ugliness!&mdash;Fool! fool! to imagine that a girl could look
on me without loathing! There&mdash;go to your mistress, go to
your mistress, and make gay sport of Robin Hays!"</p>

<p>The soft eyes of Barbara filled with tears; she made no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
reply, but prosecuted her attack on the rose-bud so vigorously,
that nought but the stem remained in her fingers.</p>

<p>"You need not have torn that rose to bits before my face!
Ay, trample on its leaves as you do on my heart!&mdash;Why do
you not go to your mistress?"</p>

<p>"You are very wayward, Robin; one time smooth, at
other times, and without cause, rugged as a path through a
thorny common: I can only pray that the Lord may teach you
better than to misinterpret my words, and mock a poor girl
who never entertained a thought to your disadvantage."</p>

<p>She could say no more, for the large round tears forced their
way down her cheeks, as she turned towards the house with a
bowed head and a feeble step. But Robin's mood had again
changed.</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, Barbara: forgive me; and think, that
if my mind sometimes takes a crooked turn, it is the fault of
my damnable body!"</p>

<p>"Do not swear; it is the profaneness of your words, and,
I fear me too truly, of your life also, that hurts me. Oh,
Robin! do tell me who my father is, that I may find him,
and have some heart to lean upon that will not always cause
me tears. My lady is ever sad, and you are ever wayward
and uncertain: I am a double orphan; and were it not for
the consolation afforded me by better thoughts, should be most
miserable."</p>

<p>"Forgive me, girl, forgive me; but every one alludes to
this cursed deformity, and it is ill to bear&mdash;" said Robin,
walking by her side.</p>

<p>"I never alluded to it, never even thought of it," replied
Barbara, sobbing: "if the voice and the eye is kind, and,
above all, if the face become familiar, it is one, all one, whether
the features be formed according to beauty or otherwise. I
never thought of looking into little Crisp's face, when he
licked my hand but now; I only felt that the creature loved
me."</p>

<p>"Crisp is no more a beauty than his master," observed
Robin, patting the dog, who leaped to the caress: "but you
cannot like him as well as black Blanche, or Bright-eye, your
mistress's silken favourites, who show their teeth at the poor
fellow whenever he approaches the entrance?"</p>

<p>"Bright-eye is a trifle conceited, I grant; but Blanche is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
like a lamb, only what can she do? Crisp comes gammocking
up, wagging his tail, seeming in the best of good humours; poor
Blanche receives him kindly, and sometimes walks before him
to the buttery; then, all of a sudden, just as she is thinking
how very glad she is to meet Crisp&mdash;thinking, too, that
notwithstanding his shaggy coat and crooked legs, he is a
thousand times more to be esteemed and liked than the fine
and conceited Bright-eye&mdash;at that very time, and just as
suddenly as you fly into your passions, Crisp stops, grins, twirls
his tail, and will neither return her civility nor accept her invitation.
What can poor Blanche do, Robin?"</p>

<p>This statement was made by the pretty Puritan with a
mingling of simplicity and shrewdness, for which, to have
looked in her innocent face, one would scarcely have given her
credit. The tears of youth dry as quickly as the dews in
summer; and the young heart rebounds from grief as swiftly
as the arrow from the bow. Robin looked upon her with
doubting, but with strong affection. He knew, though he
struggled with hope against the conviction, that Dalton's friendship
would hardly induce him to bestow his daughter upon
such an unpropitious personage as himself; and he felt assured&mdash;or,
at least, believed, in his more gloomy moments,
that so it must be&mdash;no woman could, by any possibility, feel
affection for him. He was also, at times, under the full assurance
that Barbara only laughed at his addresses; and
though she had more than once given him all reasonable encouragement,
he most industriously placed it to the account
of the universality of female coquetry, a theory in which he
most conscientiously believed.</p>

<p>Without, therefore, any notice of her little fable, or the
visible inference so easily drawn from the comparison between
Crisp and himself, he started off from the subject nearest his
heart, with an abrupt inquiry as to whether her mistress would
be likely to go abroad that evening.</p>

<p>"I dare say she will come out in the twilight," replied
Barbara, who had sufficient of the sensitiveness of her sex to
feel deeply mortified at Robin's heedlessness of her delicate
allusion, adding, "Good day; I cannot stay any longer with
you; so give you good day;" and she added in a lower tone,
"a more gentle humour when next we meet." Woman's pride<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
impelled her footsteps with extraordinary alacrity; woman's
affection, or curiosity, both of which are oftentimes at war
with her reason, obliged her to look back as she entered the
postern, and then she enjoyed the little triumph of observing
that Robin remained on the same spot gazing after her.</p>

<p>"I don't think I said any thing very unkind to him," she
thought while passing along the gallery. "I have a great
mind to go back and ask him if he wanted to send any message
to my lady; I did not give the poor fellow time to speak&mdash;I
ought not to serve anyone so. What would good Mr. Fleetword
say, if he knew I spoke so snappishly to any fellow-christian?&mdash;Keep
your cold nose away from my hand, Master
Bright-eye; you forget how you behaved to my friend Crisp
yesterday."</p>

<p>Just as she arrived at this point of her soliloquy, she stood
before a window, overlooking the part of the garden where
she had left Robin.&mdash;He was no longer there! and the fond
heart of little Barbara, at once forgetful of the harshness and
waywardness of her early friend, was only aroused from profound
reasoning upon her own unworthiness, by a smart tap
on the shoulder from the fair hand of Lady Frances Cromwell.</p>

<p>"Pretty Barbara in meditation!" she exclaimed;&mdash;"but
this is no time to ask upon what or why. What is the meaning
of your lady's sudden resolve?"</p>

<p>"What resolve, madam?"</p>

<p>"Why, a resolve to marry Sir Willmott Burrell within this
week."</p>

<p>Barbara was panic-struck: she remained silent for a few
minutes, and then clasping her hands, implored Lady Frances
to do&mdash;she knew not what.</p>

<p>"Ah! she will die, my lady, she will die! for who could
live married to such a man? He is, indeed, a fearful husband
for such a one. My lady, I know she does not love him&mdash;she
never did&mdash;never could. I have heard her say in her
sleep&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What, good maid?" asked Lady Frances eagerly, and with
her usual curiosity. But the habitual integrity of Barbara's
mind was awakened: with tears and sobs she replied,&mdash;</p>

<p>"What I must not, as a true girl, repeat. I crave your
pardon, my lady, but it would ill become me to speak of what is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
said in sleep: only, dear, dear lady, if you love my dear mistress&mdash;if
her life be dear to you&mdash;prevent, if possible, this
marriage."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And them beside a ladie faire he saw,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Standing alone on foote in foule array;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To whom himself he hastily did draw,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And to depart them, if so be he may.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The Lady Frances Cromwell was not likely to keep secret,
grief or any thing else she had the power of disclosing: forthwith
she proceeded to assail Constance Cecil with a torrent of
exclamations and expostulations, to support which no inconsiderable
degree of philosophy was requisite. The intention,
however, sanctified the deed, and Constance, for some time,
only pressed her hand in reply: at length she said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"You see me, dearest Frances, at present under much depression:&mdash;a
dark cloud is over me; but, I entreat you,
heed it not. I am about to do what is right, and not even
the commands of his Highness, your father, could prevent it,
if indeed you were to act upon the hint you have given me,
and procure his interference. My fate is sealed, irrevocably
sealed! And do you wonder that I tremble at the change I
am about to undergo, the awful change, from maid to wife?
Barbara, good maid, let me see no more of tears, but smiles,
as in past times. And now I entreat you both, sweet friends,
(for that humble girl has a heart formed by tenderness for
what is more exalted&mdash;friendship,) leave me. You, my
dear Lady Frances, will to-day, for my sake, and for his, be
as much as possible with my father; he must grieve at this
parting&mdash;it is but natural;&mdash;and you, girl&mdash;there, go to
your embroidery."</p>

<p>Barbara looked into her lady's face, seized her hand, and
pressed it alternately to her heart and lips.</p>

<p>"I will sit in yonder nook, dear mistress; I will not turn
towards you, nor speak, nor breathe&mdash;you may fancy me a
statue, so silent, so immovable will rest your little Barbara.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
Blanche and Bright-eye, and even that black wolf-hound, remain
in the chamber, and why not I? Am I less faithful,
or less thoughtful, than a dog? and would you treat me
worse? Besides, dear lady, your wedding-clothes! There
is not a satin or a silver robe, nor farthingale, nor cardinal&mdash;not
a lone ostrich-plume, that is not of six fashions past!
Good, my lady, if it is to be, you must wed as of a right becomes
your high descent. My Lady Frances can well speak
of this; and as there is no time to send to London now, her
tire-women would help me to arrange the robes necessary
upon such occasions."</p>

<p>"Peace, Barbara! I mean to dress as well befits this
bridal; so trouble not thyself as to the tiring; but go, my
gentle girl, go, go."</p>

<p>"And may I not crouch yonder, where so often I have
read to you, and sung the little ballads that you taught me for
pastime?"</p>

<p>"Or those that poor Robin taught you? I wish that
young man, Barbara, had a more settled way of life; for,
despite his awkward form, there is much that is noble and
elevated about him. However, make no haste to wed, and,
above all, guard well your heart; keep a keen watch over
your affections&mdash;ay, watch them, and pray, pray fervently,
poor girl, that they may go to him who may have your hand."</p>

<p>"They <i>shall</i> go," said Barbara, rising to follow Lady
Frances, who had abruptly left the chamber to conceal her
tears; "I would not marry a king&mdash;I mean, madam, a governor&mdash;if
I did not love him! Why should I?"</p>

<p>"Why should you, indeed, my kind Barbara! There, go
and tell your master, tell also Sir Willmott, that I have much
to do and much to think upon; so that to-day they must excuse
my absence. It is an awful thing this marriage&mdash;an
unknown, or at least uncharted course to enter on;&mdash;to virgin
minds," she murmured, as her faithful attendant left the room,
"at all times full of doubts, ay, even when love is pilot and
the fond soul brim-full of hope. I too, who had such dreams
of happiness, of good and holy happiness&mdash;the interchange
of kindness, the mutual zeal, the tender care&mdash;the look, so
vigilant and gentle, so full of pure blandishment&mdash;the outpouring
of thoughts on thoughts&mdash;the words, so musical because
so rich with the heart's truth; and so I fancied love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
and its fulfilment, marriage. Well knew I of the contract:
yet still I dreamed and hoped, yes, slept and dreamed; but to
be awakened thus&mdash;to such unutterable horror! Thank
God, my mother is in heaven!&mdash;that is the solitary drop of
comfort in my life's poison-bowl.&mdash;My mother's death a
comfort! Alas, alas!"</p>

<p>She covered her face with her hands, and we draw the
Grecian painter's veil over the contending feelings it would be
impossible adequately to portray.</p>

<p>Sir Willmott Burrell bustled and chafed, and gave orders
to his serving-men, and to those now called tailors; visited
the neighbouring gentry, but spoke not of his approaching
marriage, which he preferred should take place as silently as
might be. Nevertheless he had far too much depending upon
the succeeding hours to pass the day either in quiet or composure.
He had braved through his interview with the unhappy
Sir Robert Cecil, and urged, as an excuse for his conduct,
the extremity to which his love was driven by Constantia's
decided rejection of his suit, carefully, however,
concealing from her unfortunate parent the fact that she loved
another.</p>

<p>Sir Robert had sent several messages to his daughter, imploring
her to see him, but in vain&mdash;she resolutely refused,
wisely dreading the result of such an interview. "This day
and to-morrow is all the time," she said, "I can call my own,
until&mdash;for me&mdash;time has entered upon eternity. All I implore
then is, that I may be alone, the mistress of myself
during such brief space."</p>

<p>When the sun was set, Barbara entered her room with a
slight evening meal. Her mistress was sitting, or rather
lying on a low couch, opposite a table, upon which stood a
small dial, mounted in chased silver, representing a garland of
flowers.</p>

<p>"Lay it down, good girl; I cannot taste it at present. I
have been watching the minute-hand pace round that dial.&mdash;Is
it, indeed, near seven? It was an ill thought of the foreign
craftsman to set Time amid roses; he should have placed
it among thorns. Is the evening fine?"</p>

<p>"Fine, but yet sober, my lady; the sun has quite set, and
the birds are silent and at roost, except the old blackbird, who
whistles late, and the wakeful robin, who sometimes bandies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
music with the nightingale.&mdash;Would you like to hear them,
madam?"</p>

<p>"Not just now, Barbara: but leave out my hood. Did
my father again ask for me?"</p>

<p>"Not since, mistress. Mr. Fleetword is with him." Barbara
left the room.</p>

<p>"I cannot tell why, my lady," she said earnestly to Lady
Frances, whom she met in the vestibule&mdash;"I cannot divine
the reason, but this bridal has to me the semblance of a
funeral. God shield us all from evil! there is a cold deathlike
chill throughout the house. I heard&mdash;(though, my
lady, I do not believe in such superstitions,) but I heard the
death-watch tick&mdash;tick&mdash;ticking, as plain as I hear the old
clock now chime seven! And I saw&mdash;I was wide awake&mdash;yet
I saw a thin misty countenance, formed as of the white
spray of the salt-sea wave, so sparkling, so shadowy, yet so
clear, come between me and the moonbeams, and raise its
hand thus.&mdash;Oh, mercy&mdash;mercy&mdash;mercy!" she shrieked,
so as to startle the Lady Frances, and then as hastily exclaimed,
"La! madam, to think of the like! if it isn't that
little muddy, nasty Crisp, who has found me out! I will
tell you the rest by and by, madam, only I want to turn
this little beast into the shrubbery, that he may find his
master."</p>

<p>At another time Lady Frances would have rallied her for
accompanying, instead of dismissing Crisp to the garden; but
a weight of sorrow seemed also to oppress her. Her usually
high spirits were gone, and she made no observation, but retreated
to the library.</p>

<p>A few moments after the occurrence of this little incident,
Constance was seated on the bank in "the Fairy Ring," pondering
the dread change that had taken place since the previous
night.</p>

<p>The evening, as Barbara had expressed it, was fine but
sober. The lilac and the laburnum were in full blossom, but
they appeared faded to Constantia's eyes; so completely are
even our senses under the control of circumstances. Sorrow
is a sad mystifier, turning the green leaf yellow and steeping
young roses in tears. She had not been long seated, when a
step, a separating of the branches, and Walter De Guerre was
at her feet. Constance recoiled from what at heart she loved,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
as it had been a thing she hated; and the look and motion
could not have been unnoticed by her lover.</p>

<p>"I have heard, Mistress Cecil&mdash;heard all!&mdash;that you
are about to be married&mdash;married to a man you despise&mdash;about
to sacrifice yourself for some ambitious view&mdash;some
mad resolve&mdash;some to me incomprehensible determination!
And I swore to seek you out&mdash;to see you before the fatal act,
had it been in your own halls; and to tell you that you will
never again feel what happiness is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I know it!" interrupted Constance, in a voice whose
music was solemn and heavy as her thoughts: "Walter, I
know it well. I never shall feel happy&mdash;never expect it&mdash;and
it would have been but humanity to have spared me this
meeting, unwished for as it now is. You, of all creatures in
this wide, wide world, I would avoid.&mdash;Yes, Walter, avoid
for ever! Besides," she continued with energy, "what do
you here? This place&mdash;this spot, is no more safe from <i>his</i>
intrusion than from yours. If you loved, if you ever loved me,
away! And oh, Walter! if the knowledge&mdash;the most true,
most sad knowledge, that I am miserable&mdash;more miserable
than ever you can be&mdash;be any soothing to your spirit, take it
with you! only away, away&mdash;put the broad sea between us,
now and for ever! If Sir Willmott Burrell slept with his
fathers the sleep of a thousand dead, I could never be yours.
You seem astonished, and so was I yesternight; but it is
true&mdash;true&mdash;true&mdash;so put the broad sea between us
quickly, Walter&mdash;now, and for ever!"</p>

<p>The Cavalier looked as if he understood her not, or thought
her senses wandered: at last he said, "But why need you, with
a fortune to command, and a spirit to enjoy whatever is bright,
or beautiful, or glorious&mdash;why should you fetter your free-born
will? There is a cunning mystery about it, Constance"
(Constance shuddered, and hid her face, lest its expression
should betray something of her secret); "a mystery I cannot
solve: confide it to me, and solemnly I swear, not only
never to divulge, but to peril, with my good sword, my heart's
richest and warmest blood, in any cause that can free you
from this bad man. Nor do I expect aught of you in return,
nor any thing ask, save that you may be happy, with any, any
but this&mdash;&mdash;I cannot speak his hated name."</p>

<p>Constance was too agitated to reply. Under present cir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>cumstances,
she would have given worlds not to have seen
Walter; and, having seen him, she knew not what to say, or
how to think or act: the painful struggle she endured deprived
her of the power of utterance.</p>

<p>"It is not for myself I speak, Constantia; though now I
need not tell you that the love of boyhood has never been
banished from my bosom. The remembrance of the hours we
spent together, before a knowledge of the world, before a change
in the constitution of our country, shed its malign influence,
not over our hearts, but over our destinies&mdash;the remembrance
of those hours has been the blessing, the solitary blessing, of
my exile; it has been the green oasis in the desert of my existence:
amid the turmoil of battle, it has led me on to victory;
amid the dissipation of the royal court, it has preserved me
from taint. The remembrance of Constance, like the night-star
that cheers the mariner on the wide sea, has kept all holy
and hopeful feelings around my heart; telling of home, my
early home, and its enjoyments&mdash;of Constance, the little affectionate,
but high-souled girl&mdash;the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Stop!" interrupted Constance, with an agonised expression&mdash;"Stop,
I conjure you! I know what you were
going to say; you were about to repeat that which my mother
loved to call me&mdash;your wife! She did not mean it in mockery,
though it sounds so now, like a knell from the lower earth.
But one thing, Walter, one request I have to make&mdash;you
pray sometimes?&mdash;the time has been when we have prayed
together!&mdash;when <i>next</i> you pray, thank God that SHE is dead!"</p>

<p>"How! thank God that my kind and early friend&mdash;that
your mother is dead!" repeated the young man, in a voice of
astonishment.</p>

<p>"Even so, Walter. You would not see her stretched upon
the rack? would not see her exposed to tortures, such as, at
no very distant period, the saints of our own church endured?&mdash;would
not see her torn limb from limb by wild horses?"</p>

<p>"Heavens! Constantia, are you mad?" exclaimed Walter,
terrified at her excited and distraught manner.</p>

<p>"I am not mad," she replied, in a changed and subdued
tone; "but do not forget (and let it be on your knees) to
thank God that my mother is dead; and that the cold clay
presses the temples, which, if they were alive, would throb
and burn as mine do now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>

<p>She pressed her hands on her brow; while the youth, appalled
and astonished, gazed on her in silence.</p>

<p>"It is well thought on," she said, recovering her self-command
much more quickly than he could have imagined possible.
"I will give it you; it would be sinful to keep it after
that dread to-morrow; even now, what do I with your gift?"
She drew forth from her bosom the locket of which we have
before spoken, and, looking on it fondly for a moment, thought,
though not aloud, "Poor little fragment of the glittering sin
that tempts mankind to their destruction! I heeded not your
chasing nor your gems; but once (forgive it, God, forgive it!)
thought far too much of him who gave it: I should have
known better. I will not look on you again, lest you take
root within the heart on which you have rested: though it
was then in innocence, yet <i>now</i> it is a crime; there&mdash;" she
held it towards him with a trembling hand. While her arm
was thus extended, Burrell rushed from behind the covert of
a wide-spreading laurel, and, with an action at once unmanly
and insulting, snatched the trinket from her hand and flung it
on the sward.</p>

<p>Magic itself could not have occasioned a greater change in
the look, the manner, the entire appearance of the heiress of
Cecil. She drew herself up to her full height, and instantly
demanded, "How Sir Willmott Burrell <i>dared</i> to act thus in
her presence?"</p>

<p>The Cavalier drew his sword from its sheath; Burrell was
not backward in following the example. He returned Constantia's
look of contempt with one of sarcasm&mdash;the peculiar
glance that becomes so effective from under a half-closed
lid&mdash;and then his eye glared like that of the hooded snake,
while he replied,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Methought the lady in her chamber: the destined bride, during
the day, keeps to her own apartment; 'tis the soft night that
draws her forth to interchange love-pledges and soft sayings."</p>

<p>"Villain!" exclaimed De Guerre with startling energy,
"hold thy blaspheming tongue, nor dare to imagine, much
less express, aught of this lady that is not pure as heaven's own
firmament!"</p>

<p>"Oh, my good sir," said the other, "I know you now! the
braggart at my Lady Cecil's funeral&mdash;the pall-bearer&mdash;the
church-yard lounger&mdash;the&mdash;&mdash;!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>

<p>"Hold, coward!" interrupted the Cavalier, grinding the
words between his teeth. "Lady, I entreat you to retire;
this is no scene for you:&mdash;nay, but you must!"</p>

<p>"Touch her <a name="Page_156t" id="Page_156t"></a><a href="#Page_156tn">not,"</a> exclaimed Burrell, the brutality of his
vile nature fully awakened at perceiving Walter attempt to
take her hand; "touch her not, though you are doubtless
the youth to whom her heart is given."</p>

<p>"Forbear, sir!" ejaculated Constance; "if you have the
spirit of a man, forbear!"</p>

<p>"Oh, then, your passion has not been declared by words&mdash;you
have spoken by actions!" he retorted with redoubled
acrimony.</p>

<p>The reply to this gross insult was made by the point of De
Guerre's sword resting on Burrell's breast.</p>

<p>"Defend yourself, or die like a vile dog!" thundered the
Cavalier, and Sir Willmott was obliged to stand on his defence.</p>

<p>The feelings of the woman overcame those of the heroine,
and Constance shrieked for help, when she beheld the combatants
fairly engaged in a feud where the shedding of blood
appeared inevitable. Her call was answered, but not by words;
scarcely more than three or four thrusts had been made and
returned, when a stout gentleman, clad in a dark and tight-fitting
vest, strode nearly between them, and clashed the
tough blade of his broad basket-hilted sword upon their more
graceful, but less substantial, weapons, so as to strike them to
the earth. Thus, without speaking word or farther motion,
he cast his eyes, first on the one, then on the other, still holding
their weapons under, more, however, by the power of his
countenance, than of his arm.</p>

<p>"Put up your swords!" he said at length, in a low stern
voice&mdash;"put up your swords!" he repeated; then, seeing
that, though Burrell's rapier had leaped into its rest, De
Guerre retained his unsheathed, "put up your sword, sir!"
he said again in a loud tone, that sounded awfully through the
still twilight, and then stamped upon the ground with force
and energy: "the air is damp, I say, and good steel should
be kept from rust. Young men, keep your weapons in their
scabbards, until God and your country call them forth; then
draw according to the knowledge&mdash;according to the faith that
is in ye; but a truce to idle brawling."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>

<p>"I would first know who it is," demanded Walter, still in
fierce anger, "who breaks in upon us, and commands us thus?"</p>

<p>"Have you so soon forgotten Major Wellmore, young man?"
replied the stranger in his harshest voice: "I little thought
that he of the English graft upon a French stock would have
carried such brawling into the house of my ancient friend.&mdash;Sir
Willmott Burrell, I lament that the fear of the Lord is not
with you, or you would not use carnal weapons so indiscriminately:
go to, and think what the Protector would say, did
he find you thus employed."</p>

<p>"But, sir," said De Guerre, in no degree overawed by the
imperative manner of Major Wellmore, "I, at least, care not
for the Protector, nor am I to be baffled of my just revenge
by any of his officers."</p>

<p>"Wouldst fight with me, then?" inquired the Major, with
much good temper, and placing himself between the opponents.</p>

<p>"If it so pleasure you," replied the youth, abating not a jot
of his determination; "when I have made this treacherous
and false fellow apologise to the Lady Constance, and afterwards
to me, for his unproved and unprovoked words."</p>

<p>During the parley, Constance had remained fixed and immovable;
but a new feeling now seemed to animate her, as
she approached, and, clinging to Major Wellmore's arm for
support, spoke in an audible but tremulous voice,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Walter, I entreat, I command you to let this matter rest.
I shall not debase myself by condescending to assert, what Sir
Willmott Burrell ought, and does believe&mdash;that I came not
here to meet you by any appointment. I say his heart tells
him, at this moment, that such a proceeding would be one of
which he knows I am incapable."</p>

<p>"If any reflection has been made upon Mistress Cecil,"
observed Major Wellmore, "I will be the first to draw steel
in her cause. Sir Willmott, explain this matter.&mdash;Young sir,"
he continued, noting Walter's ire and impatience, "a soldier's
honour is as dear to me as it can be to you."</p>

<p>Burrell felt and appeared exceedingly perplexed; but with
his most insinuating manner, and a tremulous voice, he replied:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Mistress Cecil will, I hope, allow for the excess of affection
that gave rise to such needless jealousy. On consider<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>ation,
I perceive, at once, that she would not, could not, act
or think in any way unworthy of herself." He bowed profoundly,
as he spoke, to Constantia, who clung still more closely
to Major Wellmore's arm, and could hardly forbear uttering
the contempt she felt; at every instant, her truthful nature
urged her to speak all she thought and knew, to set Burrell at
defiance, and hold him up to the detestation he merited: but
her father, and her father's crime! the dreadful thought sent
back the blood that rushed so warmly from her heart in icy
coldness to its seat; and the high-souled woman was compelled
to receive the apology with a drooping head, and a spirit bowed
almost to breaking by intense and increasing anguish.</p>

<p>"And you are satisfied with this!" exclaimed the Cavalier,
striding up to her; "you, Constance Cecil, are satisfied with
this! But, by Him whose unquenchable stars are now shining
in their pure glory over our heads, I am not!&mdash;Coward!
coward! and liar! in your teeth, Sir Willmott Burrell! as
such I will proclaim you all through his majesty's dominions,
by word of mouth and deed of sword!"</p>

<p>"Walter, Walter!" exclaimed Constance, clasping her
hands.</p>

<p>"I crave your pardon, Lady," said Burrell, without altering
his tone; "but do not thus alarm yourself: my sword
shall not again be drawn upon a low and confirmed malignant.
Sir," turning from his opponent and addressing the stranger,
"heard you not how he applied the forbidden title of majesty
to the man Charles Stuart; shall I not forthwith arrest him
for high treason?&mdash;runneth not the act so, formed for the
renouncing and disannulling of the pretended title of the late
man's progeny?"</p>

<p>"Perish such acts and their devisers!" shouted the Cavalier,
losing all prudence in the excitement of the moment. "Let
the lady retire, while we end this quarrel as becomes men!"</p>

<p>"Heed him not, heed him not, I implore, I entreat you!"
exclaimed Constance, sinking to the earth at the feet of Major
Wellmore, by whom the hint of Burrell was apparently unnoticed;
"the lion takes not advantage of the deer caught in
the hunter's toils, and he is distraught, I know he is!"</p>

<p>"I am not distraught, Miss Cecil, though I have suffered
enough to make me so: what care I for acts formed by a pack
of regicides!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>

<p>"Young man," interrupted the old officer with a burst
of fierce and strong passion that, like a mountain torrent,
carried all before it, "<i>I</i> arrest you in the name of the Commonwealth
and its Protector! A night in one of the lone
chambers of Cecil Place will cool the bravo-blood that riots in
your veins, and teach you prudence, if the Lord denies you
grace."</p>

<p>He laid his hand so heavily on De Guerre's shoulder, that
his frame quailed beneath its weight, while the point of his
sword rested on the peaceful grass. Burrell attempted, at the
same instant, to steal the weapon from his hand: the Cavalier
grasped it firmly; while Major Wellmore, darting on the false
knight a withering look, emphatically observed, and with a
total change of manner,&mdash;</p>

<p>"<i>I</i> can, methinks, make good a capture without <i>your</i> aid,
kind sir; although I fully appreciate your zeal <i>in the cause
of the Commonwealth!</i>" The latter part of the sentence was
pronounced with a slow and ironical emphasis; then, turning
to De Guerre, he added, "I need not say to you that, being
under arrest, your sword remains with me."</p>

<p>De Guerre presented it in silence; for the result of his
interview with Constantia had rendered him indifferent to his
fate, and, although but an hour before it would have been only
with his life that his sword had been relinquished, he now
cared not for the loss of either.</p>

<p>Major Wellmore took the weapon, and appeared for a moment
to consider whether he should retain it or not: he decided
on the former, and in a cold, calm voice commanded his prisoner
to move forward. De Guerre pointed to Constantia,
who had neither shrieked nor fainted, but stood a mute statue
of despair in the clear light of the young spring moon, whose
early and resplendent beams fell in a silver shower on her
bared and beautiful head.</p>

<p>"I will take care of Mistress Cecil," said the insidious
Burrell.</p>

<p>As he spoke, Lady Frances, who, alarmed at the absence of
her friend, had come forth to seek her, bounded into the Fairy
Ring, and as suddenly screamed, and stood irresolute amid the
dread circle. The Major immediately spoke:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Lady Frances, pray conduct your friend: Sir Willmott
Burrell, we follow you to the nearest entrance."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>

<p>"And now," said Constantia, as her head fell on the bosom
of her friend, "he is in the lion's den&mdash;fully and for ever
destroyed!" Nature was exhausted: it was long ere she
again spoke.</p>

<h4>END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.</h4>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<h3><a name="VOLUME_THE_SECOND" id="VOLUME_THE_SECOND"></a>VOLUME THE SECOND.</h3>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_I" id="CHAPTER_I_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>

<div class="blockw"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And wit me warns to shun such snares<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As threaten mine annoy;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebb,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which would not be, if Reason ruled, or<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Wisdom weav'd the web.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Queen Elizabeth.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>While the headstrong Cavalier was confined in "the strong
room" of Cecil Place, he had ample leisure to reflect upon the
consequences of his rashness, and to remember the caution he
had received from Major Wellmore on the night of their first
meeting&mdash;to be guarded in his expressions, where danger
might arise from a single thoughtless word. He surveyed the
apartment with a careless look, as if indifferent whether it
were built of brick or of Portland stone, glanced upon the
massive bars of the iron-framed windows, and scarcely observed
that the walls were bare of tapestry, and that dampness
and decay had mottled the plastering into a variety of hues
and shades of colour. His lamp burned brightly on the table;
the solitary but joyous light seemed out of place; he put it
therefore aside, endeavouring to lessen its effect by placing it
behind a huge worm-eaten chair, over which he threw his
cloak. Thus, almost in darkness, with a mind ill at ease,
brooding on the events of the day, which had perhaps perilled
his life, although life had now become of little value, we leave
him to his melancholy and self-reproachful thoughts, and
hasten to the chamber of Constance Cecil.</p>

<p>It has already appeared that an early and a close intimacy
had subsisted between her and Walter De Guerre; but we
must leave it to Time, the great developer, to explain the circumstances
under which it originated, as well as those by which
it was broken off.</p>

<p>Lady Frances Cromwell had left her friend in what she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
considered a sound slumber; and sought her dressing-room
only to change her garments, so that she might sit with her
during the remainder of the night. Barbara, however, had
hardly taken the seat the lady had quitted, when her mistress
half arose from the bed, and called her by name in so hollow
a voice that the poor girl started, as if the sound came from a
sepulchre.</p>

<p>"The night is dark, Barbara," she said, "but heed it not;
the good and the innocent are ever a pure light unto themselves.
Go forth with courage and with faith, even to the
Gull's Nest Crag; tell Robin Hays that Walter De Guerre
is a prisoner here, and that, unless he be at liberty before sunrise,
he may be a dead man, as surely as he is a banned one;
for some covert purpose lurks under his arrest. Tarry not, but
see that you proceed discreetly, and, above all, secretly. It is a
long journey at this hour; the roan pony is in the park, and
easily guided&mdash;he will bear you along quickly;&mdash;and for
security&mdash;for you are timid, Barbara&mdash;take the wolf-hound."</p>

<p>Barbara had long known that a servant's chief duty is obedience,
yet she would just then have done errand to any one
rather than to Robin Hays; she however replied,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Please ye, mistress, the roan pony is easy to guide, if you
happen to be going the way he likes, and that is, ever from the
park to the stable, from the stable to the park; otherwise, like
the Israelites of old, he is a stiff-necked beast, whom I would
rather eschew than commune with. And the wolf-hound, my
lady, behaves so rudely to little Crisp, holding him by the throat
in an unseemly fashion, and occasionally despoiling him of a
fragment of his ears, toes, or tail, as it pleasures him, that I
had rather take black Blanche if you permit me&mdash;she can
soon find Crisp or Robin either."</p>

<p>"As you please, Barbara; only silence and hasten."</p>

<p>"My mistress," thus ran Barbara's thoughts as she wended
on her way through the night, "is a wonderful lady; so good,
so wise, so rich, yet so unhappy! I wouldn't be a lady for the
world!&mdash;it is hard fate enough to be a woman, a poor, weak
woman, without strength of limb or wisdom of head; and,
withal, a fond heart, yet afraid and ashamed to show its fondness.
If I was my lady, and my lady I, instead of sending
my lady to tell Robin Hays to let the poor gentleman out, I'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
just go and let him out myself, or send my lady (supposing
her the maid Barbara) to let him out, without telling anybody
about it. And I am sure she loves that poor gentleman; and
yet she, wise, good, rich, and wonderful, is just going, in the
very teeth of her affections, to marry that black Burrell! I
am very happy that I'm not a lady, for I'd die, that I would
ten times over, sooner than marry any one I didn't love. It
will kill her, I know&mdash;I feel it will: yet why does she marry
him? And she keeps such deep silence too.&mdash;Down, pretty
Blanche, and do not rouse your sleek ears: your ears, Blanchy,
are lady's ears, and so ought to hear nothing frightening&mdash;and
your eyes, Blanche, are lady's eyes, and should never see
any thing disagreeable.&mdash;What ails thee, doggy? Nay, wag
ye'r tail, and do not crouch so; 'tis but the shadow of a cow,
I think.&mdash;How my heart beats!"</p>

<p>The beating of the maiden's heart accelerated her speed, and
she ran with hasty and light footsteps a considerable distance
before either dog or girl paused for breath. At length they
did pause, and Barbara saw with much satisfaction, that she
had left far behind the shadow which caused Blanche and herself
so much alarm. She reached the Gull's Nest without any
misadventure, and now her object was to draw Robin forth
from the hostelry without entering herself. Through a chink
in the outer door (the inner being only closed on particular
occasions) she discovered Robin and his mother, and one or
two others&mdash;strangers they might be, or neighbours&mdash;at all
events she did not know them. Presently Crisp stretched his
awkward length from out its usual coil, and trotted to the door,
slowly wagging his apology for tail, as if perfectly conscious
of the honour of Blanche's visit. Miss Blanche, in her turn,
laid her nose on the ground and snorted a salutation that was
replied to by a somewhat similar token from master Crisp.
Robin, who was the very embodyment of vigilance, knew at
once there was something or someone without, acquainted and
on friendly terms with his dog, and he quietly arose and opened
the door without making any observation to his companions.
He was, indeed, astonished at perceiving Barbara, who put her
finger on her lip to enjoin silence. He immediately led her to
the back of the house, where none of the casual visiters could
see them, and she communicated her lady's message quickly
but distinctly. She would have enlarged upon the danger, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
expatiated on the interest she took in the cause of the Cavalier,
had Robin permitted her, but she saw he was too much distressed
at the magnitude of the information to heed the details,
however interesting they might have been at any other
time.</p>

<p>"But I don't understand it," at length murmured Robin;
"I can't see it: how could he possibly suffer Sir Willmott
Burrell to place him in confinement?"</p>

<p>"It was not he at all," replied Barbara; "it was Major
Wellmore, and he is at the Place now."</p>

<p>"Death and the devil!" exclaimed Robin, at the same instant
pressing his back against the wall beside which he stood:
it instantly gave way, and Barbara was alone&mdash;alone in that
wild and most dreary-looking place.</p>

<p>She summoned Blanche, but Blanche was far away over the
cliffs, exploring, under Crisp's guidance, the nooks and intricacies
of the hills and hollows. She would have called still
louder, but her quick eye discerned not now a shadowy figure,
but Sir Willmott Burrell himself, within a distance of two or
three hundred yards, and approaching towards her. She was
concealed from his sight by a projection of the cliff: but this
she never considered, alive only to the feelings his appearance
at once suggested. She had noted the spot where Robin had
disappeared, and, urged by terror, flung herself against the
same portion of the wall, with such success, that it gave way
before her, replacing itself so suddenly that, in an instant, the
light of the bright stars in the blue heavens was shut out, and
she stood in total darkness, within the recess that had so mysteriously
opened to receive her.</p>

<p>When she became a little collected, she distinctly heard the
sound of voices at no great distance, and groping about in the
same direction, discovered a narrow flight of stairs, which she
immediately descended, imagining that she was following the
course which Robin had pursued. Her progress was soon
arrested by a door, which she attempted to shake, but in vain;
she leaned against it, however, or rather sank down upon the
steps, worn out by fatigue of body and anxiety of mind. She
could not have lain there a moment, when the door opened, and
Robin literally sprang over her in his haste to re-ascend. She
started from her position on perceiving before her the well-remembered
figure of the Buccaneer, who was about to mount<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
also, evidently with as much eagerness, though with less activity,
than Robin Hays.</p>

<p>The sight of a stranger at their most secret entrance, even
though that stranger was a woman, sent Hugh Dalton's hand
to the pommel of his sword, but it was as quickly stayed by
Robin's cry of, "It is Barbara."</p>

<p>The Buccaneer had just time to catch the fainting form of
his daughter in his arms, and the wild and reckless seaman
was so overpowered by the unexpected meeting, that he
thought not of inquiring how she had obtained admittance.
We have observed that women in the inferior ranks of society
continue much briefer time in hysterics, swoons, and such-like,
than the highborn and well educated, who know how to
make the most of all matters of the kind. Barbara rapidly
revived, and as rapidly urged Robin to heed her message, and
to take her away, informing him in the same breath, that she
had pushed against that portion of the wall where he had so
strangely disappeared, because she had seen Sir Willmott Burrell
approaching the spot with determined speed.</p>

<p>"Listen at the secret door," exclaimed the Buccaneer.
"When he cannot find you above, he will seek you at the
only entrance he knows of: I need not say, answer not the
sign."</p>

<p>"Robin, Robin!" ejaculated Barbara, "take me, oh! take
me with you!&mdash;You are not, surely, going to leave me in
this horrid place, and with a stranger too!"</p>

<p>Poor Dalton! what painful and powerful emotions convulsed
his heart and features!&mdash;"a stranger!"&mdash;a stranger,
indeed, to his own child!</p>

<p>Robin quitted the place without replying to her entreaty;
and when the Buccaneer spoke, it was in that low and broken
voice which tells of the soul's agony.</p>

<p>"Why call me stranger?" he said, approaching, and tenderly
taking her hand; "you have seen me before."</p>

<p>"Yes, good sir, the night previous to my dear lady's death&mdash;it
is an ill omen to see strangers for the first time where
there is death. I thank you, sir, I will not sit. May I not
go after Robin?"</p>

<p>"Then you prefer Robin to me?"</p>

<p>"So please ye, sir; I have known Robin a long, long time,
and he knows my father: perhaps you, too, may know him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
sir; you look of the sea, and I am sure my father is a sailor.
Do you know my father?"</p>

<p>The gentle girl, forgetting her natural timidity under the
influence of a stronger principle, seized the hand of the Buccaneer,
and gazed into his face with so earnest and so beseeching
a look, that if Robin had not returned on the instant, the
Skipper would have betrayed the secret he was so anxious to
preserve until (to use his own expression) "he was a free man,
able to look his own child in the face."</p>

<p>"He is at the entrance, sure enough," said Robin; "but
it will occupy him longer to climb the rocks than it did to
descend them; we can take the hollow path, and be far on
the road to Cecil Place before he arrives at the summit."</p>

<p>"But what can we do with her?&mdash;She must not longer
breathe the air of this polluted nest," argued Dalton, all the
father <a name="Page_166t" id="Page_166t"></a><a href="#Page_166tn">overflowing</a> at his heart; "if we delay, Burrell may see
her: if so, all is over."</p>

<p>"I can creep along the earth like a mocking lapwing," she
replied. "Let me but out of this place, I can hide in some of
the cliff-holes&mdash;any where out of this, and," she whispered
Robin, "away&mdash;above all things away&mdash;from that fearful
man."</p>

<p>"To Cecil Place at once then, Captain; the delay of half
an hour may seal his doom. I will place Barbara in a nook
of the old tower, where nothing comes but bats and mice; and,
as it overlooks the paths, she can see from it the road that
Burrell takes, and so avoid him when returning."</p>

<p>Dalton looked at Barbara but for a moment, then suddenly
clasping her with rude energy to his bosom, he darted up the
stairs, holding open the door at the top, so that he might see
her forth in safety.</p>

<p>The terrified girl passed tremblingly before him; and wondered
not a little at the strong interest the wild seaman manifested
towards her. Only one way of accounting for it
occurred to her simple mind&mdash;that he had known her father;&mdash;the
idea was strengthened, when she heard him murmur,
"Thank God! she breathes once more the uncontaminated air
of heaven!" He strode a few hasty steps forward, then turned
back, and said emphatically to Robin,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Place her in safety, as you hope for salvation!"</p>

<p>"And am I to stay by myself in this horrid place, Ro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>bin?"
inquired Barbara, as he seated her in the window of a
portion of the old tower, from whence a large extent of country
was visible, steeped in the pale moonlight.</p>

<p>"Fear nothing," he replied; "I must away: only do not
leave this until you see&mdash;which you can easily do by the
light of the bright moon&mdash;Sir Willmott Burrell take his departure."</p>

<p>"And will that rude old sailor help the young gentleman
from his confinement?"</p>

<p>"He will, he will."</p>

<p>"One word more, Robin, and then my blessing be with you!
Did he know my father?"</p>

<p>"He did."</p>

<p>"But one syllable more: Did he love him?"</p>

<p>"So truly, that he loves you as if you were his own
child."</p>

<p>"Then," thought Barbara, in the fulness of her innocence,
"I am happy&mdash;for no one is loved, even by the wicked, who
is not good."</p>

<p>Her clear eye observed that Robin took the same path as the
Buccaneer; though, had she not known them, she could
hardly have recognised their figures, because of some disguise
they must have suddenly assumed. They had scarcely faded
from her sight, when she discovered the tall person of Burrell
standing at no great distance on the brow of the cliff, and
apparently surveying the adjacent landscape. He rapidly
approached the Gull's Nest; and soon after she heard the
shrill voice of Mother Hays, protesting over and over again,
that "Robin had been there not twenty, not fifteen&mdash;no, not
ten minutes past;&mdash;that she had searched every where, and
that he was nowhere to be found;&mdash;that she had not seen
Hugh Dalton for a long, long time; and that, to the best of
her belief, he had not touched the shore for many a day;&mdash;that
the men within were good men, honest men&mdash;one in
particular, who would be happy to serve him, as he seemed so
earnest to see Robin&mdash;Jack, true Jack Roupall, a tried,
trusty man:&mdash;could he be of any service, as that ne'er-do-good,
Robin, was out of the way ever and always when he was
wanted? To be sure, she could not even give a guess at
any thing his honour might want; but perhaps Jack might do
instead of Robin." It occurred to Burrell at the moment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
that Roupall might serve his purpose even better than Robin
Hays, for he was both a strong and a desperate man; and he
bade the old woman send him forth; telling her at the same
time, and in a significant tone, that he was well acquainted
with the talents and character of her guest.</p>

<p>The fragment of the tower in which Barbara was perched
was a small projecting turret-room, standing on the top of a
buttress, and had been, doubtless, used in the early ages, as a
species of sentry-box, from which a soldier could command a
view of the country and the coast. It was with feelings of
extreme terror that she perceived Burrell and Roupall close
beneath her, standing so as to be concealed from the observation
of any passenger who might go to or from the dwelling.
She drew her dark cloak over her head and face, leaving only
an opening to peep through, anxious to avoid, by every
means in her power, the hazard of a discovery. She could
gather from the conversation between the two, that Burrell
was describing to Roupall something that he must do, and
offering him a large reward for its completion; she listened
eagerly, and heard them frequently speak of Cecil Place and
Walter De Guerre. Her attention, however, was soon drawn
away by the appearance of a third person&mdash;unseen by the
others&mdash;creeping round a projecting corner, like a tiger about
to spring upon its prey, and then crouching close to the earth.
The form was that of a slight youth, clad in a tight-fitting
doublet and vest, and, it would seem, armed only with a dagger,
which, however, he carried unsheathed, and so openly that
the moonbeams danced upon its polished point, as lightning on
a diamond, whenever he changed its position in his hand
(which he did more than once). He crept on so silently that
neither were at all aware of his approach, but continued talking
and bargaining as before. Barbara felt that danger was at
hand; and yet, had she the inclination, she had not the power
to speak, but sat breathlessly and tremblingly awaiting the result.
Suddenly, but still silently, as though the figure were
a phantom, and the dagger air-drawn, the boy rose from the
ground, and held the weapon as if irresolute whether to
strike or not. The manner in which he stood fully convinced
Barbara Iverk that Burrell was the object of some intended
attack&mdash;she tried to shriek, but the voice choked in her
throat. As rapidly as this mysterious being had risen from,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
he sank into his former crawling attitude, and disappeared.
All this occurred in much less time than has been occupied in
relating it, and the poor maiden almost thought she had been
deceived by some supernatural appearance. She was soon
aroused from her painful state of voiceless terror by the words
of Burrell, who now spoke more loudly than at first.</p>

<p>"I will give him his liberty this very night, which of
course, under the circumstances I have mentioned, he cannot
fail to consider a most deep obligation&mdash;an act of disinterested
generosity. I will give it him secretly, of course;
and you meet him on his exit. As we go along, I will
settle the where&mdash;and then&mdash;the matter is easily concluded."</p>

<p>"Very easily for you, doubtless," retorted Roupall; "you
had ever the way, master, of keeping your neck out of the
noose. How much of the coin did you say?"</p>

<p>Barbara did not hear the reply.</p>

<p>"Why it's only one more. Is he young?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"I don't like young customers. It's a charity to put the
old out of the way; for, be they ever so well off, they must
be sick and weary of the world. But the young&mdash;I don't
like it, master."</p>

<p>"Pshaw! it's only saving him in time from that which
gives old men trouble; and life can go but once: besides, I
will not stand for the matter of a few broad-pieces. I care
not if I make the sum half as much more, provided it be done
safely."</p>

<p>"Will you give me your note of hand to it?"</p>

<p>"Do you take me for a fool?&mdash;or did you ever know me
to break my word?"</p>

<p>"I never took ye for the first, Sir Willmott, and, as to the
other, we've had no business between us lately. Half as
much more, you said?"</p>

<p>"Half as much more."</p>

<p>"Well, it is but one, and then&mdash;ah! ah! ah!&mdash;I'll reform
and turn gentleman. No, d&mdash;n it, I hate gentlemen,
they're so unprincipled; but you must double&mdash;double or
quits."</p>

<p>"Jack Roupall, you are an unconscionable scoundrel."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>

<p>"By the lady-moon, then, there be a pair of us."</p>

<p>Burrell muttered some reply that Barbara did not hear, but
again the grating voice of Roupall ascended.</p>

<p>"Double or quits; Lord, ye needn't be so touchy about a
little word of familiarity&mdash;such fellowship makes all men
equal."</p>

<p>"Well then, double, if so it must be; only remember,
Roupall, there is some difference between the employer and
the employed," was the knight's answer. And the high-born
and the low-born ruffian walked away together; and the
bright beams of the holy moon and the unsullied stars fell
upon them as gently, as if they had been good and faithful
ministers of the Almighty's will.</p>

<p>The two leading features of Barbara Iverk's character were,
fidelity and affection; all her feelings and actions were but
various modifications of these great principles&mdash;in every
sense of the word, she was simple-minded. After the men
had departed for some time, still she could hardly bring herself
to understand or believe the nature or extent of the crime
they meditated.</p>

<p>It was surely a most singular manifestation of God's providence,
she thought, which placed her there, that she might
overhear, and it might be prevent the great wickedness of
those evil men. She descended from the window with haste,
but with caution also, for the stones crumbled from beneath
her feet as she moved along. She had scarcely set her foot on
the grass turf, when the dog was at her side, whining and
fawning with delight at again meeting with her friend and
mistress. Barbara crossed the wild country, and gained the
park-wall without encountering any danger. When there,
she paused breathlessly under an oak, and would have given
worlds to see and speak to her friend Robin. Amid the deepness
of night, and among the foliage of the trees, she thought
she discerned the figure of a person creeping beneath the
boughs&mdash;now in shadow, and now casting his own shadow
upon what had shadowed him. This appearance terrified her
so exceedingly that she did not gain courage to proceed, until
she saw that he turned into a distant path; she then stole
slowly along under the shelter of the wall, and when she came
to a small gate which opened into the park, within view of the
mansion, she pushed through it, and just gained the lawn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
when the sound of a pistol, and a flash through the darkness,
terrified her so much, that she fell, faint and exhausted, on
the sward.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II_I" id="CHAPTER_II_I"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A mystery! ay, good, my masters.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;there's mystery<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a moonbeam&mdash;in a gnat's wing&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the formation of an atom&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An atom! it may be a world&mdash;a peopled world&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Canst prove that it is not a world? Go to,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We are all fools.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<i>Old Play.</i>
</div></div></div>

<p>Hugh Dalton and Robin Hays had hastily proceeded to
Cecil Place, discoursing, as they went along, upon the probable
consequences of their friend's arrest. Bitterly did the
Buccaneer comment upon the rashness and impetuosity so
frequently evinced by De Guerre.</p>

<p>"It is perfectly useless," he said, "attempting to curb
these boy heroes! the rushing blood must have its way until
arrested by age, not wisdom; the hot head must be cooled by
the ice of time, and not till then will the arguments or experience
of others be regarded as they merit."</p>

<p>"It is Burrell, I fear," retorted Robin; "there is but one
hope in that quarter&mdash;he cannot know him."</p>

<p>"But he may hear."</p>

<p>"How?"</p>

<p>"God knows; only I have ever observed that the keenness
of such men exceeds that of better and wiser ones."</p>

<p>"Ay, ay," said Robin; "but we must sharpen our wits in
due proportion: though, at present, I suspect it is arms we
shall want. I know the room well, and there is a lot of
creeping ivy and such plants under the window; the greatest
difficulty will be with the iron stanchions."</p>

<p>"The greatest difficulty, methinks, will be to escape from
the arrester; and you seem to think nothing of the danger I
run in trusting myself within the grasp of such a man."</p>

<p>"The Cavalier is worth all risks."</p>

<p>"I know it, Robin. Did I ever shrink from peril in such
a cause?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>

<p>"Faith, no!" replied the other with his usual chuckle;
"if God had willed you to be born a snail, you would have
crept out of your house, so careless are you in all things."</p>

<p>"Do you think there is aught of danger for Barbara?"
said the Buccaneer, his manner clearly showing that, if he did
not care for himself, there was something he did care for.</p>

<p>"If she is timid as a hare," replied Robin, "she is, as a
hare, heedful and light-footed; no fear for her. How your
heart clings to her, Captain!"</p>

<p>"So it does; and yet some strange shadow comes over me
when I think of her&mdash;as if I knew she would despise, perhaps
hate me&mdash;she has been brought up in such strict principles;
still, I would not have her less right-minded."</p>

<p>He paused, and they proceeded silently on their way,
Dalton pondering on the best method of procuring De Guerre's
liberty, and then thinking of his sweet and gentle child.</p>

<p>Nature may lie buried or be stifled for a time&mdash;an apathetic
temperament will seek to smother, a harsh one to bind,
a strong one to subdue it&mdash;but it overcomes them all; and
though a man's speech may run according to his learning,
and his deeds according to his habits, yet nature thinks and
speaks within him, often in direct opposition to the words that
fall from his lips, and the actions in which he may be
engaged. Thus it was with the Buccaneer; despite the fearful
course his outlawed life had taken, the remembrance of his
child would arise to his imagination, shaded by sorrow, or
sunned by happiness, according to his mood of mind&mdash;but
always as his child&mdash;the being upon whom his very existence
seemed to hang.</p>

<p>"There is little light from his window," said Robin, as
they came within view of the house; "let us over the fencing.&mdash;Hush!"
he continued, elevating his hand so as to command
the attention of his companion, at the same time bending
his ear to the earth. Dalton listened, but, it would seem,
heard no sound, for he exclaimed hastily,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Hush me no hush!&mdash;you are ever fancying something
or other out of the way."</p>

<p>Robin repeated the signal.</p>

<p>"What mummery!" said the Buccaneer; "I hear nothing,
and see nothing."</p>

<p>Robin laid himself on the ground, while the impatient and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
irritated seaman fumed and moved about, a curse whizzing
from between his teeth as ever and anon he looked at Robin,
and from Robin to the house.</p>

<p>"If you must have employment," said the Ranger at last,
in a low tone, "see to your arms. Are your pistols loaded
muzzle high?&mdash;are your weapons sharp?&mdash;Hush!"</p>

<p>The Buccaneer knew that these hints were not given in
wantonness, and calmly examined his fire-arms.</p>

<p>"The tramp of horses!" continued Robin, "and of heavy
ones too; but they are going from, not coming towards us.
Ah! heard ye not that?"</p>

<p>He raised himself from the ground, and the neigh of a
horse was borne to them on the blast. They both stood in
breathless silence, the Buccaneer with his hand suspended
over, but not touching, his sword-handle&mdash;Robin with open
mouth and extended hands, as if the very movement of his
limbs could destroy the quietness around, or impede the sound
they watched for. Again the neigh was repeated, but more
faintly, and evidently from a greater distance.</p>

<p>"Safe from one at least," said Robin, jumping in ecstasy,
but yet speaking in a subdued voice. "I would know the
neigh of that black steed amid a thousand; its tone is like
that of a trumpet, mightiest among its kind. I feel as if the
weight of a hundred stone was off my heart&mdash;don't you?"</p>

<p>Dalton replied not, for he was fearlessly striding towards
the house, not, as before, sneaking among the bushes.</p>

<p>"Let us to the window, Captain," said Robin.</p>

<p>"Not I," he replied. "What care I for any of them <i>now</i>?
I shall <i>demand</i> Walter from Sir Robert."</p>

<p>"You are foolhardy. What can be done quietly, ought to
be done quietly. If we cannot succeed so, why dare both Sir
Robert and Sir Willmott?"</p>

<p>"I believe you are right, though I hate sailing on a lee-shore.
The open, open sea, for my money! Hark ye!
Cecil <i>dare</i> not refuse me this."</p>

<p>"Or any thing else, I suspect&mdash;though I know not why,"
replied Robin, as he commenced climbing by the creeping
plants to the prison-window, beneath which they now stood.
"How delighted he will be to see my ugly face, poor fellow!"</p>

<p>Robin continued muttering broken sentences all the while
he ascended, having previously arranged with the Buccaneer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
that he was to remain below. "Ah! firm footing this old
ivy. There, now we are up!&mdash;Master Walter! Master
Walter!&mdash;He sleeps behind that screen, I warrant me,
little thinking of his faithful friends. So, so! the rust has
done its duty. Strong room! strong walls they mean; but
what signify strong walls without strong windows?&mdash;Good!
There goes another, and another&mdash;better still! And now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>He entered the chamber, passed to the front of the screen,
opened the large cupboard, cast his eyes upon the untrimmed
lamp, and then perceived that the door was slightly ajar; but
no vestige remained of Walter De Guerre, except his cloak,
that was flung over the chair. His first movement was to
close and bolt the door, and then call softly to the Buccaneer
to ascend.</p>

<p>"He is gone!" exclaimed Robin with a trembling voice,
as Dalton entered the room.</p>

<p>"Gone!" repeated the Skipper: "then is there treachery.
My brave boy, that I loved as my own son! By Heavens!
I'll rouse the house! Had it not been for my accursed plots,
he would not have come over. I'll have him delivered up to
me, did Sir Robert plan his destruction as skilfully as he
plotted that of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Hugh was prevented from finishing his sentence by the
sudden entrance of Sir <a name="Page_174t" id="Page_174t"></a><a href="#Page_174tn">Willmott</a> Burrell, who appeared in the
room they could not tell how, as the chair was still against
the door, and there were no visible means of admission except
by the window.</p>

<p>Dalton and the knight eyed each other with evident
astonishment, but the fiery Buccaneer was the first to speak.</p>

<p>"And you are here, Sir Willmott! and for no good, or
your face would not be so smooth, or your lip so smiling.
Where, sir&mdash;where, I say&mdash;is your prisoner?"</p>

<p>"My prisoner, good Captain! I had no prisoner."</p>

<p>"Death and d&mdash;n! Sir Willmott, dare not to trifle with
me. Where is the young man? where is Walter De Guerre?
You know; you <i>must</i> know. Why come you here silently,
secretly? Answer me, Sir Willmott Burrell. Where is the
young man?"</p>

<p>"Captain Dalton," replied Sir Willmott, "although your
anxiety about this malignant convinces me that you are not
the man my friendship thought you, yet I confess that I came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
here for the express purpose of forwarding his escape. Doubt
me if you will; but see, I am unarmed, and here is the secret
key for unfastening the grating, which I suppose you, and my
quondam servant, have so unceremoniously removed."</p>

<p>Dalton looked at him, and then at the key, which he took
from his hand and scrupulously examined.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell," he said, after a few moments' deliberation,
"why did you this? You are not one to do an
act of good&mdash;whatever you might of evil&mdash;for its own
sake."</p>

<p>"Why?" repeated Burrell.</p>

<p>"Ay, why? Your motive, sir&mdash;your motive?"</p>

<p>"Motive? What motive had you for bringing over this
fly-away Cavalier, and, when I questioned you, denying any
knowledge of the youth?"</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott, my question was first asked, and must be
first answered."</p>

<p>"Then, sir," replied Burrell, drawing himself up, "let it
be enough that such was my pleasure. Now, Captain, your
answer to my question."</p>

<p>"Your answer will save me the trouble," replied the Buccaneer,
with as much height, if not as much dignity of manner.
"Apply it in the same way."</p>

<p>"I must call you to account for this, as well as other matters;
but now, think that considering who sleeps under this
roof, it would be only wise to withdraw. It is somewhat upon
my mind, despite your well-feigned surprise, that you have
spirited away this fellow&mdash;if so&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Stuff, stuff!" interrupted the Buccaneer: "there has been
here a stronger spirit at work than either yours or mine; and,
as to calling me to account, you always know where I am to
be found."</p>

<p>"I sought you there to-night on this very errand," replied
the wily Sir Willmott, "but you were absent."</p>

<p>"Still I repeat, you know where to find me. And now for
my parting words. Observe, I dread no meeting with any;
you have more reason to tremble than I have, if all were known.
But now&mdash;see that no harm happen to the Cavalier, who,
but an hour since, occupied this chamber; for, by the God of
heaven! if but a hair of his head fall to the earth, I will hunt
you to your own destruction! Never tell me that you have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
no power, no control, over him or his destiny. All I say is,&mdash;see
to it. It would be better that you had been drowned,
like a blind kitten, at your birth, than that any harm happened
to Walter De&mdash;De&mdash;De&mdash;&mdash;" Dalton looked confused,
then, recovering himself, he glanced a fierce look at Sir Willmott,
and commenced his descent from the window, muttering,
"Devil! I forgot his name; couldn't he have taken an English
one? D&mdash;n all foreigners!" With this John-Bullish
exclamation, which seems so natural to the natives of "Old
England," the Skipper reached the ground. Nor was Robin
long in following his example: he cared not to tarry Sir
Willmott's questioning, and touched the earth sooner than his
friend, inasmuch as he sprang down, when midway, with his
usual agility.</p>

<p>They had not gone three steps on their path when Sir
<a name="Page_176t" id="Page_176t"></a><a href="#Page_176tn">Willmott's</a> voice arrested their progress.</p>

<p>"Hist, Dalton! hist!&mdash;here is the youth's cloak&mdash;put it
on, good Dalton, the night is raw; here it goes. Well caught,
Robin; make the Captain put it on; you can return it to the
Cavalier when you see him, which you doubtless will, and
soon&mdash;I entreat you put it on. The path by the lake leads
straight to the Gull's Nest. I wish, Robin, you could tarry
here till morning&mdash;I shall want you on business of importance."</p>

<p>Robin shook his head in denial. Dalton threw the cloak
over his shoulder, and almost mechanically took the path that
Burrell had pointed out. Sir Willmott immediately withdrew
from the window. They had not gone more than a hundred
yards when Robin looked back towards the house, and, by the
light of the moon, caught a glimpse of the Master of Burrell,
as if intent on their movements. He at the time took no
notice of this to the Buccaneer, but they no sooner arrived at
a spot where the branches of the trees overshadowed their
path, than Robin plucked the cloak from the shoulders of his
companion.</p>

<p>"Well, Robin!" exclaimed the Skipper in astonishment.</p>

<p>"It is not well," replied the manikin; "it cannot be well
when the devil turns nurse-tender. He would not have been
so careful of your health, if he thought your life would be of
long duration. And why point out this path?&mdash;it is not the
shortest; and if it were, what cares he for our legs? Wanting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
me to stay at the Place too&mdash;it's all ill. Besides, I saw him
watching us from the window: why should he watch us?
was it love, think ye? Go to, Master Dalton, you are not
the man you were: let us strike into another path; I will be
all ears and eyes, and do you keep your arms in readiness."</p>

<p>"You are right, Robin; you are right&mdash;right in one
thing, at all events," replied Dalton, leaning his arm against a
tree, and pressing his forehead with his hand; "I am not,
indeed, the man I was! The lion spirit is yet within me;
but, Robin, that spirit which never quailed to mortal authority,
is become weak and yielding as a young girl's heart, to the
still, but appalling voice of my own conscience. After every
effort there is a re-action:&mdash;the blood!&mdash;the blood, shed
through my instrumentality, and often by my own hand, rises
before me, like a crimson cloud, and shuts out all that is pure
and holy from my sight. It used not to be thus! My passions&mdash;my
whirlwind passions, that carried me forward for
so many years&mdash;are dead, or dying. It takes time to wind me
up to a brave action:&mdash;my joints are stiffening, and crack
within their sockets, when called upon to do their duty. The
very good I would, I cannot! This Walter, whom I love
next to my own Barbara&mdash;to find him in the lion's net!
That Jewish girl I sought, merely to save her from yon hell-hound's
grasp!&mdash;she unconsciously eludes my search; in
some shape or other she will be sacrificed. I am sick&mdash;sick
of villains and villany! With wealth enough to purchase
lands, broader and fairer than these we now tread upon, I
would thank God, night and day upon my bended knees, to
make me as one of the poor hinds, who has not wherewith to
purchase a morning meal&mdash;or as a savage&mdash;a wild untamed
savage&mdash;who hunts the woods for food!"</p>

<p>"You'd do foolishly then, Captain; under favour, very
foolishly," replied Robin, yielding to the Buccaneer's humour,
and yet seeking to calm it away. "Know ye not that every
rose has its own thorns, and every bosom its own stings?
Besides," he continued, faintly, "the wealth you speak of will
richly dower Barbara; make her a match for a gentleman, or
mayhap a knight!"</p>

<p>"Did you say a gentleman? No, no, I will never marry
her to one who would take her as so much ballast to her gold,
and scorn her as the Rover's daughter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>

<p>"But you would scorn a poor man for her?"</p>

<p>"Blessed poverty!" exclaimed the sailor; "how would I
hug it to my heart&mdash;make it joint partner with my child in
my affections, if it would only bring a fair unspotted name in
exchange for the gold it might take away. Blessed poverty!"</p>

<p>It would appear that Robin was too much occupied by his
own feelings to be on the alert as usual; for Dalton was the
first to perceive a man stealing along by the side of, but not
on, the path they had quitted; he pointed him out to Robin's
attention. In an instant the little Ranger commenced reconnoitring;
and came back without delay, to tell the Captain
that it was no other than Jack Roupall.</p>

<p>"Jack Roupall!" repeated Dalton, returning instantly to
the path they had quitted, saying aloud at the same time,
"Why, Jack, what sends you on this tack?"</p>

<p>Whether from some sudden tremor or astonishment, it
cannot be ascertained, nor could the ruffian himself account
for it, he discharged a pistol, evidently without aim, and
Robin as instantly struck it from his hand.</p>

<p>It was this report that had so terrified Barbara. But there
was another ear upon which it struck&mdash;in the solitude of that
wild room in Cecil Place. It sent the blood rushing to his
evil brain;&mdash;he clasped his hands in exultation; for the
death-sound was to him the voice of security; and he prayed&mdash;(that
such wretches are allowed to pray!)&mdash;that the bullet
was at that moment wading in the life-stream of the Buccaneer.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III_I" id="CHAPTER_III_I"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Brother of Fear, more gaily clad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That blow'st the chymic's and the lover's fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Leading them still insensibly on<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By the strange witchcraft of "anon."</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Cowley against Hope.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>To account for Walter De Guerre's sudden departure, we
must revert to the time when, silent and solitary, he shaded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
the glare of the night-lamp from his eyes, and threw himself
along the black oak form to meditate and mourn over events
that appeared to him, at least, now beyond his own control.</p>

<p>Whatever others may think as to our bringing on our own
misfortunes, we hardly ever agree in the hard task of self-condemnation&mdash;a
task of peculiar difficulty to the young
and the ardent. They may even be inwardly dissatisfied
with themselves, yet they care not to express it openly, lest
they may be thought little of;&mdash;a timidity natural in youth,
and arising, not unfrequently, from diffidence in its own
powers. Age may improve the understanding, but it chills
the affections; and though the young are ever fitter to invent
than to judge, and abler for execution than for counsel; yet,
on the other hand, they are happily free from that knowledge
of the world which first intoxicates, and then, too frequently,
leaves its votaries with enfeebled heads and palsied hands.
Had not Walter been schooled in adversity, he would have
been as haughty and as unyielding a cavalier as ever drew
sword in the cause of the unhappy Stuarts; but his boyhood
had been passed amid privations, and they had done the work
of wisdom. As in books, so it is in life, we profit more by
the afflictions of the righteous Job, than by the felicities of
the luxurious Solomon. The only break of summer sunshine
in his short but most varied career was the time he
had spent with Constance Cecil; nor had he in the least
exaggerated his feelings in saying that "the memory of the
days passed in her society bad been the soother and brightener
of his existence." He sorrowed as much at the idea that she
was sacrificing herself from some mysterious cause, as at the
termination his affection was likely to suffer. That so high
souled a being was about to make such a sacrifice from
worldly motives, was, he knew, impossible; and among the
bitterest of his regrets was the one, that she did not consider
him worthy of her confidence.</p>

<p>"I could give her up, almost cheerfully," he would repeat
to himself, "if her happiness depended on it; but I cannot
support the idea that she thinks me undeserving her esteem."
As to his arrest, he cared but little for it: at another time it
would have chafed and perplexed him in no small degree;
but Constance&mdash;the beloved Constance&mdash;the playmate of
his childhood&mdash;the vision of his boyhood&mdash;the reality of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
his maturer years, was alone in his mind. Often did he
wish he had not seen her in her womanly beauty; that he
had not spent a day beneath the roof <a name="Page_180t" id="Page_180t"></a><a href="#Page_180tn">where</a> he was now a
prisoner; that she had been any thing but worthy of the
passionate affection he endeavoured vainly to recall. Had
she been less perfect, he thought he could have been less
devoted; and yet he would not have her other than she was.
But for such a one to be the victim of Sir Willmott Burrell&mdash;a
traitor! a coward&mdash;the thought was insupportable.
After many contending ideas, he came to the resolution that,
cost what it would, he would put the case in all its bearings
to Major Wellmore&mdash;another mystery he vainly sought to
unravel, but who had evidently powerful interest with the
family at Cecil Place. True, he was a partisan of the Protector;
but, nevertheless, there were fine manly feelings
about his heart; and it was, moreover, clear that he was by
no means well inclined towards Sir Willmott Burrell. With
this resolution on his mind, bodily fatigue overcame even his
anxieties, and he fell into a deep slumber.</p>

<p>He had slept but for a short time, when he was suddenly
awakened by the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder; he
looked up, and by the dim light of the fading lamp saw it
was Major Wellmore who disturbed his repose. He started
at once from his couch; but the officer seated himself upon
an opposite chair, placed his steeple-crowned and weather-beaten
hat on the floor, and resting his elbows on his knees,
and his chin between the palms of his hands, fixed his keen
eyes upon the young Cavalier, who, when perfectly awake,
perceived that his <a name="Page_180at" id="Page_180at"></a><a href="#Page_180atn">visitor</a> was dressed and armed as usual.</p>

<p>"Is it morning, sir?" inquired De Guerre, anxious to
break the silence.</p>

<p>"No, sir," was the concise reply.</p>

<p>"The whole house sleeps," resumed Walter; "why
then are you up and dressed? and why am I disturbed?"</p>

<p>"You are mistaken, young man. Know you a pretty, demure,
waiting-gentlewoman, called Barbara?"</p>

<p>"Mistress Cecil's attendant?"</p>

<p>"The same:&mdash;she has but now left the house, to communicate,
I suppose, with your respectable friends at the Gull's
Nest, and devise means for your escape."</p>

<p>"If so, I am sure I know nothing of the foolish plan."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>

<p>"I believe you. There is another who slumbers not."</p>

<p>"What, Constantia!&mdash;is she ill?" inquired the Cavalier,
with an earnestness that caused something of a smile to
visit the firm-set lip of the hardy soldier.</p>

<p>"No; I know nothing of young ladies' slumbers; I dare
say she and her loquacious friend, Lady Frances, have talked
themselves to sleep long since."</p>

<p><a name="Page_181t" id="Page_181t"></a><a href="#Page_181tn">"Lady</a>Frances, I dare say, has," persisted Walter: "light
o' lip, light o' sleep."</p>

<p>"I spoke of neither of the women," said the Major,
sternly; "I allude to Sir Willmott Burrell&mdash;he sleeps
not."</p>

<p>"By my troth I am glad of it," exclaimed the Cavalier;
"right glad am I that slumber seals not the craven's lids.
Would that I were by his side, with my good steel, and
where there could be no interruption; the sun should never
rise upon his bridal morn."</p>

<p>"Ah! you would show your regard for Mistress Cecil, I
presume, by destroying the man she has chosen to be her
husband; such is the Malignant's love!"</p>

<p>"Love, sir! I have not spoken of love. But could Constantia
Cecil love a dastard like this Burrell? Listen!&mdash;I
thought to tell you&mdash;yet, when I look on you, I cannot&mdash;there
is that about you which seems at war with tenderness.
Age sits upon your brow as if it were enthroned on Wisdom&mdash;the
wisdom learned in a most troubled land&mdash;the wisdom
that takes suspicion as its corner stone; yet once, mayhap,
blood, warm and gentle too, flowed in those very veins
that time hath wrought to sinews; and then, sir&mdash;then
you looked on love and youth with other eyes:&mdash;was it not
so?"</p>

<p>"It may have been," replied the soldier: "speak on."</p>

<p>"In my early youth, nay, in very childhood, I was the
playmate of her who is now ripened into glorious womanhood.
I will not tell you why or wherefore&mdash;but 'tis a strange
story&mdash;my destiny led me to distant but far less happy
scenes: my heart panted to be near her once again; yet it
was all in vain; for, in truth, I was cast upon the waters&mdash;left&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Like the infant Moses, doubtless," interrupted the
Major; adding, "But found you no Pharaoh's daughter to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
succour and take pity? Methought there were many to become
nursing fathers and mothers to the spawn, the off-sets,
of monarchy."</p>

<p>"Sir!" exclaimed the Cavalier with emotion, "why this
needless insult? You told me to proceed; and now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I tell you to desist. What care I to hear of the love
you bear the woman Cecil? She is the betrothed of another
man; and were she not, think you I could wish her wedded to
one holding principles such as yours? Have not her gallant
brothers, boys fostered, nurtured in freedom, soared to taste
the liberty of heaven? Have they not yielded up their breath,
their life-blood in the holy cause? The saplings were destroyed,
although the Lord's arm was outstretched, and
mighty to save! And think ye I would see her, who is part
and parcel of such glorious flesh, wedded to one who yearns
for the outpouring of slaughter, and the coming again of a
race of locusts upon this now free land?"</p>

<p>"If Lady Constance would have broken the unjust contract,"
replied Walter, reasoning for once with something
like coolness, "I should not have thought of asking your
opinion, or consulting your wishes, Major Wellmore."</p>

<p>"And yet, had you been different, had the Lord given
unto you to discern the right, I could, I might, I would say,
have had sufficient influence to order it otherwise&mdash;that is,
if her affections be not placed on Burrell; for I hold it as a
fleshly and most carnal act to bestow the hand in marriage,
where the heart goeth not with it."</p>

<p>"If Mistress Cecil were asked," said Walter, "she would
not, I am sure, deny that the man is held by her in utter
abhorrence."</p>

<p>"I have heard of this," replied the veteran, "but look
upon the information most doubtingly. Constantia Cecil is
a truth-loving and a God-fearing woman, and I deem her to
be one who would die sooner than plight a false faith: it
would be difficult to find a motive strong enough to destroy
her sense of religion, or the rectitude springing therefrom."</p>

<p>"Ask yourself, acquainted as you are with both natures,"
persisted De Guerre, "if one like Mistress Cecil could love
such as Sir Willmott Burrell?"</p>

<p>"I grant the apparent impossibility of the case; but mark
ye, it is easier to believe in the existence of impossibilities,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
paradoxical as such a phrase may sound, than to fathom the
mind of a woman, when she pleases to make secret what is
passing within her, or when she has taken some great charge
into her heart. Howbeit, whether she loves Sir Willmott
or not, she is little likely to love one who seeks, like you, the
ruin of his country."</p>

<p>"The ruin of my country!" repeated the Cavalier.</p>

<p>"Even so: dissatisfied with present things in England,
you cannot deny that you hunger and thirst after a Restoration,
as the souls of the Israelites thirsted after the luxuries
of Egypt, and would have endured a second bondage to have
tasted of them again. Young man, you should know that
those who bring war into their country care little for its
prosperity."</p>

<p>"I shall not deny that I desire a change in this afflicted
kingdom," he replied; "but as to bringing war again into
England, those who first drew the sword should think of that."</p>

<p>Major Wellmore knit his brows, and looked fixedly at the
Cavalier. Then, after a few moments' pause, recommenced
the conversation, without, however, withdrawing his eyes
from their scrutiny.</p>

<p>"We will again talk of your own individual affairs, good
youth; for we are not likely to agree upon the political bearing
of this land. You believe that Mistress Constance is but
little affected towards the man she is about to marry?"</p>

<p>"Affected towards him!" repeated Walter, kindling at
the idea. "Unless affected by deep hatred, nothing else
affects her, as far as he is concerned. I could swear to the
truth of that conviction, on the Saviour's Cross&mdash;on the hilt
of my own sword, were it necessary."</p>

<p>"Which it is not," observed the Major. "But how reconcile
you that with the high opinion you entertain of the
lady?"</p>

<p>"I cannot reconcile it. If I could, I should feel almost
at peace with her and with myself. It is mystery all&mdash;except
that the accursed bridal will be the stepping-stone to
her grave! That is no mystery."</p>

<p>"You would prevent this marriage?"</p>

<p>"Yes, truly, were my heart's blood to rush forth in so
doing; if," he added sorrowfully, "its prevention could be
indeed accomplished;&mdash;but it is too late now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>

<p>"It is not too late," said the old officer, "if you will
listen calmly, and learn that there is no necessity for such
profaneness as you have used. Oaths and exclamations cannot
destroy facts, any more than sunbeams can dissolve iron:
so, avoid, I pray you, idle or wicked words, and listen. You
would prevent this marriage?"</p>

<p>"Most undoubtedly, were it possible; but I know, I feel
it is too late:&mdash;the damning&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Sir!" interrupted the Roundhead warmly, "I have just
cautioned you against the use of profane words; yet you
stuff them down my throat. I am crammed, sir, with your
blasphemy."</p>

<p>"Is this a time to stand on words?" inquired De Guerre,
with great quietude of manner. "We have different modes
of expression, but they tend towards the same end&mdash;at least
so you would have me believe. We have both in view the
happiness of Mistress Cecil."</p>

<p>"You speak truly," replied the other; "and having so
good an object to attain, it is meet that we use the worthiest
means to achieve it; a lily should not be trained and nourished
by a sullied hand."</p>

<p>The youth bowed, though, when he afterwards thought
upon the simile, he pondered on the strangeness that one like
Wellmore should seek metaphors from the flowers of the field.
But nature and its feelings are rooted in the heart of the
warrior and the statesman, as well as in that of the tenderest
maid who tends the sheep or milks the lowing kine; the
difference alone is that many things besides find place within
the worldling's bosom, while her breast is one sweet and gentle
storehouse for God and for his works.</p>

<p>"You would prevent this marriage?" reiterated the soldier.
Walter again bowed; but the gesture intimated impatience.</p>

<p>"You are opposed to the present system, and would have
it changed?" he continued.</p>

<p>"Where is the use of this repetition?" said De Guerre.
"You know all this, and from myself: imprudent I have
been, but not deceitful."</p>

<p>"And you would see the Protector of these realms brought
to the&mdash;&mdash; Can you not finish the sentence?"</p>

<p>"I would, and I would not, see him brought to the block,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
replied Walter, with manly frankness. "I come of a race
who loved the Stuarts; in some degree I have been cherished
by them. Yet, though a most desperate&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Out with it, sir," said the Major hastily, filling up the
pause in De Guerre's sentence. "Out with it! I am accustomed
to hear him abused."</p>

<p>"A most desperate villain; still there is a boldness&mdash;a
native majesty&mdash;a&mdash;&mdash; Dalton has so often praised his
bravery."</p>

<p>"Dalton! Did Dalton speak well of Cromwell?" interrupted
Wellmore.</p>

<p>"Yes, well, greatly of him, as an intrepid soldier, as a
being to wonder at. Yet he has no right to the high place
whereon he sits; and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You would pull him down?"</p>

<p>"I confess it."</p>

<p>"The time will come when I will discuss the merits of
this case with you," said Wellmore, after a pause; "albeit I
like not discussion; 'tis not a soldier's weapon; but you are
worthy of the effort. I like you, though you are mine
enemy, and that is more than I can say of many friends.
You know nothing of what the country suffered. You know
nothing of the sacrifices that man has made for its good.
Were not Cromwell and Ireton accused by their own party of
favouring the man Stuart? Was not Cromwell obliged to
say to Ashburnham and Berkeley, who came to him, as the
Parliament thought, on all occasions, and about all things,
'If I am an honest man, I have said enough of the sincerity
of my intentions; and if I am not, nothing is enough?' Was
he not overpowered by the people's clamours?&mdash;They would
have a king no longer; the name, sir, the very name was as
a foul stench in their nostrils; the time had arrived when the
lawgiver was to depart from Judah. Could he, or could any
man&mdash;ought he, or ought any man to fight against the Lord,
or the Lord's people?" He spoke thus far with strength
and energy, then suddenly pausing, he added, "But, as I
said before, there is time enough for this. As to yourself,
young man, if your love towards the lady be firm and true,
if your wishes for her welfare be pure and holy, if you are a
true patriot&mdash;behold! I will tell you&mdash;for this came I
hither&mdash;say that you will be one of the standing army of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
England! say but the word&mdash;to enjoy rank, opportunities
of distinction, honour, and Constance Cecil as your bride!"</p>

<p>He paused as for reply, but the Cavalier made none; he
only leaned his head against his hand, as if communing with
himself.</p>

<p>"She will be miserable," persisted the crafty soldier;
"inevitable misery will be her lot; and you can prevent it, if
you please." He fixed his eyes upon Walter, as if to read
the secrets of his soul; then, unsatisfied with the scrutiny,
continued&mdash;"Burrell, as you have observed, cannot make
her happy: so much beauty, so much worth!&mdash;you cannot
hesitate&mdash;your single arm could not accomplish the end you
aim at."</p>

<p>"Peace, tempter, peace!" exclaimed the Cavalier, bursting
as fearlessly and as splendidly from his repose as the sun from
behind a dark but yet silent thunder-cloud. "You might
have conquered," he continued in a more subdued tone, "had
not the knowledge of the love of Constantia Cecil saved me,
as it has often done. She would only loathe the man who
could change his principles from any motive but conviction.
Enough, sir&mdash;enough, sir! I know not who you really are;
but this I know, I would no more see her despoiled of her
rectitude than of her chastity. Had she been here, she would
have acted as I have done:&mdash;no, she would have acted better,
for she would not have hesitated."</p>

<p>The veteran remained silent for a few moments after this
burst of strong and noble feeling; he then slowly and deliberately
put on his hat, drew the thick buff gloves over his
muscular hands, resumed the cloak that had fallen from his
shoulder, and pointed to the door.</p>

<p>"Do you mean," inquired Walter, "that I am at liberty
to depart?"</p>

<p>"You are to go with me; but you are still to consider
yourself under arrest."</p>

<p>"To go&mdash;whither?"</p>

<p>"You go with me. You might have been at liberty; but
now&mdash;you go with me. And, one word more. Walk gently
if you value life, or what may be dearer than life. I am
not one to have my will disputed. You will learn as
much; but now, I say, walk gently. I wish not to disturb
this giddy household: they prate, like others of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
sort, of people's doings, and 'tis not meet to grant them opportunity."</p>

<p>"I am a man of desperate fortunes now," thought the
young Cavalier, as he followed his mysterious guide through
some winding and to him unknown passages of the mansion&mdash;"a
man of desperate fortunes, and care not where I go."</p>

<p>As they passed through the shrubbery, he saw distinctly
the rays of a lamp stream from Constantia's window. The
light fell on a clump of early roses that grew upon a flat and
ancient wall, the vestige of some old moat or turret. As they
passed nearly at its base, Walter sprang up and pulled one,
then shrouded it within his bosom, as he thought, unobserved
by his stern warder; but it was not so&mdash;the veteran noted
the little act, and, noting, understood it. There was a time
when he could feel and not define; that time was past, and
succeeded by the present, when he could define, but hardly
feel. In this instance, however, his memory did him good
service; and the remembrance of what his own course had
been came upon him with all the freshness of renewed boyhood,
so that he could have pressed his youthful and ardent
antagonist to his bosom. This sunbeam of the past was not
to continue, for he opened a wicket-gate leading into the park,
and blew one note, not loud, but clear, upon a whistle. In
an instant, as if the grass had produced men, Walter found
himself in the midst of mounted soldiers. He looked around
him in amazement, and even touched the nearest horse, to be
certain that it was not a dream! There they stood, the
moonbeams, broken by the overshadowing trees, coming down
in dappled spots upon the chargers and their iron-looking
riders: carved centaurs could not be more immovable.
True, Walter had been absorbed; yet was all this real!
There was for him, too, a stout steed, which he was twice
desired to mount ere he obeyed.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV_I" id="CHAPTER_IV_I"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Jointure, portion, gold, estate,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Houses, household-stuff, or land,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(The low conveniences of fate,)<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Are Greek no lovers understand.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Cowley.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"Verily the Lord scattereth!" was the exclamation of the
Reverend Jonas Fleetword, as he passed from one to another
of the apartments of Cecil Place, seeking for some one with
whom to hold converse, yet finding none. Sir Willmott Burrell
was abroad, even at an hour so early; Lady Frances
Cromwell closeted with Constantia; Sir Robert Cecil particularly
engaged; even Barbara Iverk was not to be found&mdash;and
the poor preacher had but little chance of either a breakfast
or a gossip, or, as he termed it, "a commune." In the
course of his wanderings, however, he at length encountered
Solomon Grundy, puffing and courtesying under the weight of
a huge pasty he was conveying, by a prodigious effort, to the
buttery.</p>

<p>"Ah, Solomon, my friend," said Fleetword, "of a truth it
is a pleasant thing to see thee."</p>

<p>"You mean that you behold something pleasant with me,"
retorted the cook; "and of a verity, your reverence&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You must not call me reverence; it is one of the designations
of the beast;&mdash;my voice is raised against it&mdash;against
the horned beast."</p>

<p>"This was a horned beast once," again replied Solomon,
observing that the preacher's eye was fixed upon the pasty;
"nature may be changed by cookery. It hath lost all the
sinful qualities that you talk about, and hath become most
savoury and nourishing food: doth it resemble the change
that, you say, takes place in the spirit?"</p>

<p><a name="Page_188t" id="Page_188t"></a><a href="#Page_188tn">"We</a> must not so mingle profane and sacred things," murmured
Fleetword, placing his forefinger upon the tempting
dish, with a longing and eager look; for he had walked far and
was fasting. "Is this one of the baked meats thou art preparing
for the coming festival?"</p>

<p>"What festival?" inquired the cook, surlily: "I know of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
no festival. Of a surety, have I laboured in my calling, to
furnish forth something worthy of this house; yet, from what
I hear, there will be few at this wedding to profit by my skill.
I little thought to see our dear young lady so wedded."</p>

<p>"Solomon, feasting is foolishness; it savoureth of the
mammon of unrighteousness: yet was Nimrod a mighty
hunter before the Lord, and Isaac loved seethed kid. Couldst
thou extract a morsel of meat from that compound, for of a
truth I am an hungered?"</p>

<p>"What! spoil my garnishing!" exclaimed <a name="Page_189t" id="Page_189t"></a><a href="#Page_189tn">Grundy,</a> "look
at the frosting of that horn, and the device, the two doves&mdash;see'st
thou not the doves?"</p>

<p>"Yea; but methinks thou mightest take away a portion,
without injury to the goodly fabric.&mdash;Behold!" and the
Reverend Jonas lifted, with the cook's long knife (which he
snatched in unbecoming haste from the girdle), the paste of
the edge of the gigantic pie, and stole a weighty slice of the
venison from beneath.</p>

<p>"Ah, ah!" grinned Solomon, evidently pleased at the distinction
bestowed upon his compost. "Is it not passing
good? But you taste not of the gravy&mdash;the gravy!"</p>

<p>"It is unseemly to dispose one's heart towards such luxuries;
though the saints stand in need of food no less than the
young ravens&mdash;only it should be in moderation."</p>

<p>The preacher gulped down a ladleful of the pottage, and
gasped for another, unmindful of his own precept, while the
gravy lingered on his lips.</p>

<p>"Such as that would soon make you another man," said
Solomon, glancing at Fleetword's slender and spindle shanks;
"there's nourishment in it."</p>

<p>"We all stand in need of regeneration, Solomon, and
should desire improvement, even as the hart panteth for the
water-brooks; be it improvement of body, or improvement
of mind. There was a wise King of Israel of thy
name."</p>

<p>"What! Grundy, sir? the Grundys were of Lancashire,"
said the gratified compounder of kitchen-stuff.</p>

<p>"Not Grundy; heard ye ever in Scripture of a name
like that?" retorted the preacher. "It was Solomon the
wise."</p>

<p>"I remember him now; he had a many wives. But you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
can call to mind, sir, when I only wanted to put away old
Joan, and marry Ph&oelig;be Graceful, you, sir, wouldn't let me.
But them old Christians had a deal more liberty."</p>

<p>"Peace, fool!" exclaimed Fleetword, somewhat in anger.
"Solomon was a Jew."</p>

<p>"A Jew!" repeated the cook&mdash;"I wonder at your holy
reverence to think of such wickedness; surely your reverence
does not want me to be like a Jew?"</p>

<p>"Solomon, thou art a fool&mdash;in bone, in flesh, in marrow,
and in spirit. Have I not told thee of the ungodliness of these
thoughts?" replied the preacher, as he finished his last morsel.
"But, unless I answer thee according to thine own foolishness,
I cannot make thee understand. Get me a flagon of
double-dub."</p>

<p>"With a toast in it?" demanded Grundy, slily peering out
at the corner of his eye.</p>

<p>"Thou canst comprehend <i>that</i>," replied Fleetword: "truly&mdash;truly,
the creature comforts have absorbed thy whole stock
of ideas. Thou art like a sponge, Solomon&mdash;a mere fungus.
Thou may'st put in the toast. And hark ye! if ye see Barbara,
tell her I would speak with her; not here&mdash;not here&mdash;that
would be unseemly&mdash;but in the oak parlour, or the
library, I care not which."</p>

<p>"Now do I wish for Robin Hays," muttered the shrewd
yet ignorant cook; "for he would expoundiate, which signifies,
make clear&mdash;why a parson must not meet a maid in the buttery.&mdash;But
he is not a parson&mdash;Then he is a man&mdash;But
not only a man, he must be something else, methinks. But
why not Barbara go to the buttery? Just in time, here comes
Robin; so I'll e'en ask him.&mdash;Give you good day, my Kentish
man; it was a pity you were not here last night, as you so love
a fray. The handsome youth, who had been staying on a
visit, was cooped up, because he and Sir Willmott fought about
my Lady Constance. And then the Major&mdash;he has been
here two or three times, and they call him Wellmore&mdash;although
worthy Jabez Tippet, the boatman, swears&mdash;no, not
swears&mdash;declares, that no such person ever crosses the ferry:&mdash;yet
is he dumb as a tortoise as to who does. Well, the
Major and the young gentleman went off in a flash of lightning,
or something of the sort; for Sir Willmott and my
master could not find him. And I asked Barbara about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
it! but marry, she knows nothing, and therefore says
nothing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Which proves her different from the other sex; for they
sometimes know next to nothing, yet say a great deal," retorted
Robin, sarcastically.</p>

<p>"Humph!" replied Grundy; "you look chuffish this
morning, Master Robin: have you got any thing ready for the
bridal?"</p>

<p>"Don't worry me," exclaimed Robin; "what care I for
bridals, or bridles either, unless I could fix one in your mouth?
Where's Barbara?"</p>

<p>"The very thing I want to know; for that holy man, the
preacher Fleetword, having communed with the pasty, would
fain commune with the maid&mdash;not in the buttery though.
And now, methinks, I had a question to put to you&mdash;Why
is it unseemly for a man to&mdash;&mdash;" The cook held up his hand
in his usual oratorical style, so that it stood out like a substantial
fan before his face, and touching the second finger of his
left with the forefinger of his right, was proceeding with his
inquiry, when he perceived that Robin had vanished! "Robin!
Robin Hays! oh! thou heedless, and most faithless person!
thou Jacky Lantern!" he exclaimed, and then followed, as he
thought, the passage that Robin had taken. It happened,
however, to be the opposite one, so that he received not the
required information.</p>

<p>Robin sought Barbara in every place where it was likely she
might be found, but without success; being unable to enter
the more private apartments of the dwelling, he applied to one
of the damsels of Lady Frances' suite.</p>

<p>"Oh, you seek Mistress Barbara, do you, young man?"
and she cast her eyes over Robin's mis-shapen figure with an
expression of contempt that could not be mistaken; then passed
her finger along the braid of hair that bounded the border of
a plain cap, made of the richest lace; pulled down her
stomacher, and apparently waited for the Ranger's reply.
Robin reddened to the eyes, for he could but impatiently brook
such personal scrutiny; and his annoyance increased when he
saw that his embarrassment was noticed by his courtly companion.</p>

<p>"We do not call her mistress here," he said at length;
"but I pray you tell me where she is&mdash;I mean the Lady Constantia's
attendant, little Barbara Iverk."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>

<p>"I know who you mean perfectly well," replied the pert
woman in authority; "we of the court are not thick-headed,
as you of the country may be, so I will explain fully to
your&mdash;&mdash;" she tittered rudely and loudly; but Robin's pride
was nettled, and he heeded it not; "to your&mdash;&mdash;but I
wouldn't laugh, if I could help it. Barbara wished to know
how the attendants were dressed when my Lady Mary was
married so very lately to my Lord Fauconberg; and, as we of
the court always carry our wardrobes with us, and the simple
girl being my size&mdash;she hath a marvellously fine person for
one country-bred&mdash;I dressed her as was fitting in my robes:
a white striped silk petticoat, and a white body made of foreign
taffeta, the sleeves looped up with white pearls, no cap upon
her head, but a satin hood just edged with Paris lace. 'Od's
Gemini! young man, if you had but seen her. Then all of a
sudden her lady wanted her to get some flowers, and she had
only time to throw on her cardinal and run for <a name="Page_192t" id="Page_192t"></a><a href="#Page_192tn">them.</a>"</p>

<p>"Then she is in the garden?"</p>

<p>"By the Fairy Ring, I take it; for there the best flowers
grow."</p>

<p>Robin did not tarry to thank the court damsel for her information,
but bounded right away to the garden, cursing the
rude laugh that again insulted him.</p>

<p>As he drew near the Ring, he heard a faint shriek. His
quick ear knew at once that it came from the lips of Barbara;
and bursting through the trees, he was in an instant by
her side.</p>

<p>It will take many words to describe what had passed in a
single moment.</p>

<p>Barbara, dressed as Lady Frances' woman had described,
was on her knees before a slight, sallow youth, who held an
unsheathed dagger in one hand, and spoke in a language that
was a mixture of some foreign tongue and most imperfect
English. Barbara, pale and trembling, evidently did not understand
a word the other said, yet knelt with hands and face
upturned, while the boy brandished the weapon, as if in the
act of striking. As his dark eye flashed upon his victim, it
caught sight of the Ranger, who rushed from the thicket to
her side. With a piercing cry, the boy sprang away into an
almost impenetrable underwood, that skirted the portion of the
Fairy Ring most distant from the house. Barbara no sooner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
saw Robin than she attempted to rise; but she was unequal to
any further exertion, and sank fainting on the grass.</p>

<p>When she recovered, she found herself in the same spot,
with her head on Robin's shoulder. Her spirits were relieved
by a burst of tears; and, withdrawing her head, she wept
plentifully in her hands, heedless of the drops that crept
through her small fingers, and fell abundantly on the white
silk petticoat the waiting-maid so highly prized. Robin had
always thought her beautiful, but he had never avowed it to
himself so decidedly as now. Her long, luxuriant hair, no
longer twisted and flattened under her Puritan cap, flowed over
the simple, but, to Robin's eyes, superb dress in which she was
arrayed; the drapery rather added to, than lessened, the pure
and holy look which is the soul and essence of virgin loveliness;
and he never felt his own worthlessness so much, as
while thus contemplating Barbara at the very moment when
she was a thousand times dearer to him than ever.</p>

<p>She was the first to speak, as passing her hand over her
eyes, then looking up between their long silken lashes, smiling
as a young child at the danger that was past, and retaining
only the remembrance of it, because it brought to her
gentle and affectionate mind another proof of Robin's attachment
and protecting care, she stretched out her hand, all gemmed
as it was, and sobbed, even while smiling,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Dear, good Robin! he would have killed me. Are you
quite sure he is gone? Come near me, Robin; he will not
come back while you are here. I am sure he mistook me for
some one else, for&mdash;" she spoke in a low tone, "I saw him
once before, Robin Hays," still lower, "at the Gull's Nest
Crag, only last night."</p>

<p>"I knew the little rascal was after no good; and to pretend
dumbness too!"</p>

<p>"Dumbness!" repeated Barbara. "Did he pretend to be
dumb?&mdash;and do you know him?"</p>

<p>"I do know that he, in some degree, stole his passage over
in &mdash;&mdash; But no matter; I'll clip his wings, and blunt his
dagger, I warrant me; he shall play no more such pranks.
To frighten <i>you</i>, my Barbara!&mdash;what could be the motive?
serious injury he could not intend."</p>

<p>"Ah, Robin!" said Barbara, shuddering, "you did not
see his eyes as I did, or you would not say so; such eyes!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
Ah, I should have been bitterly frightened had I not prayed
this morning. Dear Robin, why do you not pray?"</p>

<p>Robin looked at her and sighed&mdash;"Could you understand
nothing of what he said?" inquired he.</p>

<p>"I heard him repeat the name of Burrell, and that of my
dear lady, two or three times; but what he meant I cannot
fathom. Oh, but he had a wild and terrible look! Why
should he seek to harm me?"</p>

<p>"Why, indeed!" echoed Robin; "it must be seen into,
and that immediately. I'll speak anon of it to Dalton."</p>

<p>"To Dalton!" in her turn echoed the girl&mdash;"Oh! that
fearful man&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"There is no one under the sun who has more love for you
than he has&mdash;than Hugh Dalton."</p>

<p>"I am sure he knew my father."</p>

<p>"He did, indeed: but question me no farther now, sweet
Barbara; make your mind quite easy, the outrage shall not be
repeated. Perhaps the boy is crazed. Let's think no more
of it, my gentle girl. I must bid you farewell."</p>

<p>"Farewell, Robin! Why&mdash;wherefore? Tell me, where
are you going? When do you return? How long do you
stay?"</p>

<p>"Now, if I were a king, and one that woman could look
upon and love, I would give the half, the whole of my kingdom,
to be sure she feels as earnestly as she speaks," thought
Robin. She perceived the coldness of his look, and continued,
though with a changed expression,&mdash;</p>

<p>"What ails you? Have I angered you? Will you be
thus wayward with your poor Barbara?"</p>

<p>"My Barbara!" he repeated bitterly, and he touched the
Frenchified hood that hung over her shoulders: "my Barbara!
would these trappings become any one that belonged to
such a thing as me? Rare contrasts we should be! Methinks
such bravery does ill adorn a simple Puritan; one professing
such principles should don a plainer robe. Gems, too, upon
your sleeves!&mdash;is not a bright, but modest eye, a far more
precious jewel? If it can be outshone by any other ornament,
it is worth nothing."</p>

<p>He turned from her as he spoke, and tears again gathered
in her eyes.</p>

<p>"Robin," she said in a broken voice, "it was Mistress<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
Alice put them on, to show me the proper tiring for a bower-maiden
at a great festival&mdash;such as my lady's ought to be.&mdash;But
I will take them off&mdash;all off, if you like them
not."</p>

<p>"Nor sigh for them again?"</p>

<p>"Sigh for such as these!" she repeated, looking on her
finery with disdain. "No, Robin, young as I am, I have
learned better things. The linnet would look ill tricked out
in parrot's feathers. Not but I think the bravery becoming,
though, perhaps, not to me;&mdash;surely no, if you like it not!
But whither are you going? only tell me that. Alas! that
dark and black-browed boy has so confounded me, that I know
not what I say. The last night's fray has sore distressed me
too:&mdash;you know it all."</p>

<p>"Hush, Barbara! 'Tis of that I would speak; it is that
which takes me from you&mdash;but only for a few days&mdash;it
cannot be very long;&mdash;yet I must find out where he is. I
know the hands his wilfulness has thrown him into, but I
think they will save him from worse treachery. Nevertheless,
I must to London, and, if I cannot find him there, I must
elsewhere seek him out. If any ask for me, you will remain
silent; and, dear girl, if chance should throw you in Dalton's
way, (it is likely he may be here in a few days, perhaps before
I return,) speak him kindly and gently; bear with him,
as you have borne with me."</p>

<p>"That is impossible," interrupted Barbara, "for there
is no reason why I should do so. He was never kind to
me."</p>

<p>"But the time is coming when he will be kind. And now
adieu, Barbara. I desired much to remain; but I cannot. I
imagined I might be useful to Mistress Constance, but I could
not; it rests not with me."</p>

<p>"I am very sorry you are going, Robin; for now, when I
think of it, my heart is heavy within my bosom; I know not
why it should be so. You are sure you can prevent that wild
bad boy from frightening me again?"</p>

<p>"Quite sure. I'll lock him up within the Crag till my return."</p>

<p>"Thank you, Robin; but he will be kindly treated."</p>

<p>"To be sure he will."</p>

<p>"Thank you again;&mdash;but still the weight is here&mdash;<i>here</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
on my heart. Do you think it would be very wrong to wear
this dress at my lady's bridal?"</p>

<p>Robin smiled at the earnestness and simplicity that characterised
this child of nature.</p>

<p>"Oh, no; but if you love such, I can get you far finer
garments."</p>

<p>"Can you indeed?" she exclaimed joyfully:&mdash;"But no,"
she added in a sadder voice, "no bravery for me after this
bridal. I dreamed a dream last night. Do you believe in
dreams, Robin? Listen: I thought we were all standing at
an altar in the ruined chapel."</p>

<p>"Who? All?" inquired the Ranger, eagerly.</p>

<p>"My lady and that man, and&mdash;&mdash;" she paused.</p>

<p>"Who?" again inquired Robin.</p>

<p>"Why you: 'twas but a dream, you know," she added,
blushing to the temples. Then, as the colour faded from her
calm face, even more quickly than it came, she continued,
"And we all looked so beautiful! and I thought you so like
the Cavalier Walter, and I felt so peaceful and happy. But
just as you touched my hand, there came a mist between us&mdash;a
dense and chilling mist, that made the marrow curdle in
my bones, and my joints stiff and iron-bound; and a voice, a
low mournful voice, like the wail of a dying bird, said,
'Come!'&mdash;and I attempted to answer, 'Not yet;' but my
tongue felt frozen to my teeth, and my teeth were as icicles
within my lips; and I was enshrouded in the mist. Then
suddenly a pang shot through my heart, as if it were the dart
of death, and I would have screamed, such was its agony;
but still my tongue was frozen! And I suffered, I cannot
tell you what: when suddenly a soft breath breathed upon
my cheek, and it felt warm and soothing, and a voice&mdash;sounding&mdash;I
may as well tell it all, Robin&mdash;so like yours,
said, 'Pray.' And as I prayed&mdash;not in words, but in spirit,
the pain departed from me, and the blood flowed again
through my veins; and gazing upwards, I found that I was
not in the ruined chapel, but in the presence of the blessed
Saviour! He looked upon us&mdash;upon us both&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Stop, Barbara!" exclaimed Robin, whose imagination,
at all times easily worked upon, now became absolute torture,
"for mercy, stop! It was but the dream of a weak girl."</p>

<p>For the first time since she had grown to woman's estate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
he pressed her to his bosom, and then silently walked with
her to the little gate that led to the garden.</p>

<p>"Let Crisp stay with me. Bright-eye and he agree better
than usual," said Barbara with a quiet smile.</p>

<p>"I will," replied Robin, adding, as he turned away, "Trust
in the God you worship, and put no faith in dreams."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V_I" id="CHAPTER_V_I"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tell men of high condition<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That rule affairs of state,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their purpose is ambition,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Their practice only hate;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And if they once reply,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Then give them all the lie.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tell Wit how much it wrangles<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In tickle points of niceness&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tell Wisdom she entangles<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Herself in over-wiseness;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And when they do reply,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Straight give them both the lie.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Joshua Silvester.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Robin had, doubtless, good reasons for the hint he had given
Barbara, that she might soon again see the Buccaneer, and
that she would do well to use that forbearance towards him
which she had so kindly and so invariably practised towards
the Ranger. After leaving her, as we have stated, in safety
at one of the entrances to Cecil Place, he proceeded to the
Gull's Nest. His first inquiries were concerning the boy who
had contrived to steal a passage on board the Fire-fly from
France to England, and who had pretended dumbness. How
the youth got on board his vessel, Dalton could not imagine;
although, when the discovery was made, his feigning the infirmity
we have mentioned succeeded so well, that the Buccaneer
absolutely believed he could neither hear nor speak, and
sympathised with him accordingly. The indignation of Dalton
was quickly roused by the outrage described by Robin Hays:
he was, moreover, much exasperated that such a deception
should have been successfully practised on himself. Nothing
is so sure to anger those who duly value their penetration, as
the knowledge that they have been duped by those they con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>sider
inferior to themselves: indeed, the best of us are more
ready to pardon bare-faced wickedness than designing cunning;&mdash;we
may reconcile ourselves to the being overpowered
by the one, but scarcely ever to the being over-reached by the
other.</p>

<p>Springall had quitted Cecil Place the morning after his
encounter with Major Wellmore, of whom he persisted in
speaking as "the strong spectre-man;" and neither Robin's
entreaties nor Dalton's commands could prevail on or force
him again to take up his abode within the house.</p>

<p>"I know not why I should remain," he said; "the girls
flout and laugh at my 'sea-saw ways,' as they call them;
and though Barbara is a trim craft, well-built and rigged too,
yet her quiet smile is worse to me than the grinning of the
others. I'll stay nowhere to be both frightened and scouted:
the Captain engaged me to weather the sea, not the land, and
I'd rather bear the cat a-board the Fire-fly, or even a lecture
in the good ship Providence, than be land-lagged any longer."</p>

<p>He was present in the room at the Gull's Nest when Robin
recounted to the Buccaneer the peril in which Barbara had
been placed; and the young sailor speedily forgot the meek
jesting of the maiden in the magnitude of her danger.</p>

<p>"The black-eyed boy has not been near the house all day,"
added Springall, "and my own belief is, that he's no he, but
a woman in disguise. My faith on it, Jeromio's in the secret,
as sure as my name is Obey Springall! Jeromio understands
all manner of lingoes, and would be likely to consort with any
foreigners for filthy lucre: he has ever ventures of his own,
and this is one."</p>

<p>"There may be wisdom in thy giddy pate," observed the
Buccaneer thoughtfully. "God help me! dangers and plots
gather thickly around, and my wits are not brightening with
my years."</p>

<p>"Marry, it's no woman," observed Mother Hays; "I
could not be deceived&mdash;it's a dark-browed boy," lowering her
voice, "very like what Prince Charlie was, as I remember
him, but with rather a Jewish look for a Christian prince."</p>

<p>"Robin," said Dalton, taking the Ranger aside, "if this
most loathsome marriage cannot be stayed&mdash;if what I mean
to do should fail&mdash;my daughter must seek another home and
another protector. Were Miss Cecil to become the wife of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
Sir Willmott Burrell, under <i>their</i> roof Barbara should not
bide&mdash;the kite's nest is a bad shelter for the ring-dove."</p>

<p>"Where would you take her?&mdash;who would protect her?"
inquired Robin earnestly.</p>

<p>"Faith, I know not. I'll to Sir Robert Cecil this day&mdash;speak
to him about some matters of our own, and then be
guided by circumstances as to the disposal of my daughter.&mdash;My
daughter! that word sends the blood to and from my
heart in cold and then in hot gushing streams! But, Robin,
you must not tarry; close watch shall be set for this dangerous
imp, to prevent farther mischief; and if Springall's conjecture
should be right&mdash;yet it is most wild, and most improbable!&mdash;What
disguise will you adopt in this pursuit of
our heedless friend?"</p>

<p>"As yet, I know not; I must suit it to the times and to
the persons I encounter; a pedlar's will do me best at present;
a pack is a fitting nook for concealment. Dear Captain, look
well to Jeromio; he never meant you honest."</p>

<p>"I believe you are right, Robin; and yet why should I
quarrel with men's honesty? they have as good a right to
label mine with the foul word 'spurious.' This damning
thing within my breast, that saints call conscience, how it has
worked me lately! Poison is nothing to it: but it will soon
be over, if the boy were safe, and my own Barbara would but
pray for me, after the fashion of her mother." He paused,
then striking his forehead violently, as if to banish thought,
continued, "You go to London straight?"</p>

<p>"Ay, sure, and have secreted the invoices you spoke of, for
the good merchant beyond St. Paul's, who ordered the rich
velvets, counting, perhaps, upon a coronation."</p>

<p>"I hope he has a better chance of selling them than that
affords. Noll will hardly dare it; his name&mdash;Protector&mdash;gives
as much power, and 'tis as a fencing-master's guard,
ever at hand to turn aside the sneers against his ambition.
Thought'st thou of the pearls for my Lord Fauconberg's rich
jeweller?"</p>

<p>"Ay, master, they are safe; those I will myself deliver;
though, from what the journals say, his Lordship has small
need of new trimming. 'Twas the public talk, when you made
me act the respectable character of spy in Sir Willmott Burrell's
service&mdash;at the court, sir, they talked of nothing else<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>&mdash;how
the King of France, with his own hands, made him a present
of a gold box, inlaid with diamonds, that had upon the
lid, on the outside, the arms of France, composed of three large
jewels, and, in the inside, the monarch's own picture;&mdash;the
Cardinal Mazarine, too, gave him a dozen pieces of the richest
Genoese velvet; and then his Lordship, not to be outdone,
made him a gift of equal value;&mdash;and then, I forget me what
was the next&mdash;and the next&mdash;and the next&mdash;and the
next; but it was mighty fine trafficking, that I know."</p>

<p>"Ay, Robin, 'nothing for nothing' is the statesman's
motto. Now, give you good speed and success! You can
send to me almost from any part of the kingdom in a few
hours. Spare no efforts for <i>his</i> freedom&mdash;Jack Roupall's
confession proves but too truly, that Sir Willmott is sworn
against his life; and, till that ruffian is done for, or quieted,
there is no safety for Walter. I have sent Jack on private
work to the West; so he is out of the way&mdash;that's one comfort.
Great interest have I in the boy; next to my own child,
there is nothing I love so much. And now, Robin, farewell!"</p>

<p>When Robin bade adieu to his mother, she began to weep
and wail, after the natural custom of mothers, high and low.
"Ah! you are ever on the rove; ever on the wander! You
will be on your ranges, some of these odd days, when I depart
this life; and then you'll never know what I have to tell
you."</p>

<p>"If it were any thing worth telling, you would have told it
long ago; for a woman cannot keep a secret, that we all know."</p>

<p>"Ah, boy! boy! God bless you, and good-by! I wonder
will that wench, Barbara, think to send me a bit of the
bride-cake? I warrant I have a sweet tooth in my head still,
albeit I have but two." And after some more idle talk, and
much caressing, they parted.</p>

<p>"My poor old mother!" thought Robin Hays, "she does
excellently well as a mother for me; but think of such as Barbara
calling her by such a title!" And he whistled on his
way, though not "for want of thought;" his feelings and
affections were divided between Barbara Iverk and Walter De
Guerre.</p>

<p>We must now proceed with Hugh Dalton a second time to
Cecil Place. His interview with the baronet was of a nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
very different from that with which our narrative commenced.
Sir Robert seemed as if the weight of a hundred years had
been pressed upon his brow; indeed, Time could not have so
altered any man. It was not the deed of Time that made the
eye vigilant, even in its dimness&mdash;the hand, though trembling
almost to palsy, fumble with the sword-handle&mdash;that racked
the poor, withering, and shrinking brain, within its multiplied
cabinets, by a thousand terrors&mdash;such was not the work of
Time. How different was his, from the hoary, but holy age,
that ushers an aged, and it may be a worn, but godly and
grateful spirit, to an eternity of happiness!&mdash;when the records
of a good man's life may be traced by the gentle furrows that
nature, and not crime, has ploughed upon the brow&mdash;the
voice, sweet, though feeble, giving a benison to all the living
things of this fair earth&mdash;the eye, gentle and subdued, sleeping
calmly within its socket&mdash;the heart, trusting in the present,
and hoping in the future; judging by itself of others,
and so judging kindly (despite experience) of all mankind,
until time may have chimed out his warning notes!</p>

<p>A thousand and a thousand times had Sir Robert cursed the
evil destiny that prompted him to confess his crime to his
daughter; and his curses were more bitter, and more deep,
when he found that Sir Willmott Burrell had played so
treacherous a part, and inveigled him under total subjection.</p>

<p>"And is it Sir Willmott Burrell who is to procure me a
free pardon and an acknowledged ship? Trust my case to
Sir Willmott Burrell!" growled Dalton, as he sat opposite the
enfeebled baronet: his hands clenched, his brows knit, and
his heart swelling in his bosom with contending feelings.
"Trust my case to Sir Willmott Burrell!" he repeated. "And
so, Sir Robert Cecil, you have sold your soul to the devil for
a mess of pottage, a mess of poisoned pottage! You have not,
you say, the poor power of obtaining the most trifling favour
for yourself. But I say again, Look to it; for, by the God in
heaven, I will have my suit or my revenge."</p>

<p>"Revenge has come!" groaned forth the unfortunate man.
"Is it not enough that my child, that high-souled, noble
creature, knows of my guilt! All this day, and yesterday too,
she would not see me. I know how it is&mdash;I am as a leper
in her eyes."</p>

<p>"Your daughter!&mdash;your daughter know your crime!" said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
the Buccaneer: "How, how was that?&mdash;Who told, who
could have told her such a thing?&mdash;who had the heart?&mdash;But
stay!" he continued, with his rude but natural energy,
the better feelings of his nature coming out at once, when he
understood what the baronet must have endured under such
circumstances:&mdash;"stay, you need not tell me; there is but
one man upon earth who could so act, and that man is Sir
Willmott Burrell.&mdash;The villain made a shrewd guess, and
fooled ye into a confession. I see through it all!&mdash;And are
you so mean a coward?" he continued, turning upon Sir
Robert a look of ineffable contempt&mdash;"are you cowardly enough
to sacrifice your daughter to save yourself? I see it now; the
secret that Burrell has wormed from you is the spear that
pushes her to the altar; and you&mdash;<i>you</i> suffer this, and sell
her and her lands to stay his tongue! Man, man, is there no
feeling at your heart? Have ye a heart? I&mdash;I&mdash;a rude,
untaught savage, whose hands are stained with blood, even to
the very bone; who have been as a whirlwind, scattering
desolation; over the deck of whose vessel has floated the pennon
of every land, working destruction as a pastime; I, myself,
would brand myself as a brigand and a Buccaneer&mdash;scorch
the words, in letters of fire, on my brow, and stand to
be gazed upon by the vile rabble at every market-cross in England,
sooner than suffer <i>my</i> humble child to sacrifice the least
portion of herself for me!"</p>

<p>Dalton paused for breath; Sir Robert Cecil hid his face
from the flashing of his angry eye.</p>

<p>"Dalton!" he said at length, "I cannot do it, honoured
as I have been, bearing so long an unspotted name, venerated
at the court, praised by the people! Besides, I am sure Sir
Willmott loves her; his whole conduct proves&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"&mdash;Him to be what I have often declared him, and will
again once more&mdash;a double-distilled villain!" interrupted
the Buccaneer with renewed energy. "But what is this to
me?" he added, stopping abruptly in the midst of his sentence&mdash;"What
have I to do with it? My revenge upon you
both is certain, unless my own purpose be accomplished&mdash;and
it shall be accomplished for my child's sake. I will find
out Sir Willmott, and tell him so to his teeth. Sir Robert
Cecil, farewell! You, I suppose, are a courtly, a gentlemanly
father! Pity that such should ever have children!" and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
gathering his cloak around him, he left the room without uttering
another word.</p>

<p>We may omit our account of the interview between the
Buccaneer and Sir <a name="Page_203t" id="Page_203t"></a><a href="#Page_203tn">Willmott</a> Burrell; merely observing that it
had the effect of chafing both in no ordinary degree.</p>

<p>"If I did but dare show myself at Whitehall," muttered
Dalton, as he quitted the room in which he had conversed with
his base opponent, "how I should be revenged! Nay, the
delight I should feel in giving their deserts to both would
make me risk my life, were it not for my girl's sake; but my
pardon once obtained, sets me at liberty in England&mdash;Let
them look to it, then."</p>

<p>As he loitered in one of the passages leading to the back
entrance, Barbara crossed his path. At first she did not
recognise him, for in the day-time he wore many disguises;
and his present one was, a Geneva band and gown, covered
with a long cloak of black serge. Having coldly returned his
salutation, she turned into a closet to avoid further parley;
but he followed, and shut the door. Barbara, who on all
occasions was as timid and as helpless as a hare, trembled from
head to foot, and sank on the nearest seat, her eyes fixed upon
the Skipper and her quivering lip as pale as ashes.</p>

<p>"Barbara," he said, "you are afraid of me&mdash;you are
afraid of me, child," he repeated, almost angry with her at the
moment, although the feeling was so perfectly natural.</p>

<p>"Robin told me not to be afraid," she replied, at last; and
then looking about for a chair, pointed to one at the farthest
corner of the small room. "There is a seat, sir!"</p>

<p>"I see you want me to be as far away from you as possible,
Barbara," he replied, smiling mournfully.</p>

<p>"Not now," she said, rising, and moving nearer, until she
stood at his side and looked into his face, pleased at the
softened expression of his features; "I am not, indeed, afraid
of you now, sir. The first thing I did not like you for, was
for offering me money; the second&mdash;but I beg your pardon"
(bowing her head)&mdash;"I make too free, perhaps?"
Dalton, gratified at any mark of confidence, encouraged her to
go on&mdash;"The second was&mdash;your name;&mdash;I heard of a
daring man called Hugh Dalton&mdash;a ruthless, cruel man&mdash;a
man of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Speak out, Barbara; you cannot anger me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>

<p>"A man of blood!" and she shuddered at her own words.
"But I am sure one thing Mistress Cecil said was true&mdash;
'that we are not to put faith in all we hear.' Now, I believe
all she says, and all Robin Hays says; and he speaks so kindly
of you. And another thing, sir, makes me think so well of
you is&mdash;that you knew my father&mdash;Nay, I am sure you
did," she continued, laying her hand on his arm and looking
into his countenance, which he turned away to conceal his
emotion. "I am certain you did, Robin told me as much,
and Mistress Constance did not deny it; and now that you are
here, so gentle, and so kind, I am sure you will tell me. Do,
dear, good sir. Did you not know my father? my poor dear,
dear father!"</p>

<p>All Dalton's resolutions of silence, all his resolves melted
into airy nothings at the sound of that sweet soft voice. Tears,
the only tears of pleasure that had for years moistened the
cheek of the reckless Buccaneer, burst from his eyes: he could
not speak; he felt weak as a new-born infant; his limbs
trembled; he would have fallen to the ground, had not the
feeble girl supported him. In a moment she perceived and
understood the whole truth, and exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"You&mdash;you are my father!"</p>

<p>"And you do not shrink? Do not turn away from me,"
he said fondly. "How like your mother you are, now that
your eyes are filled with love, not fear!"</p>

<p>"And my mother loved you?" she inquired.</p>

<p>"Ay, girl. Why do you ask?"</p>

<p>"Because," replied Barbara, laying her head on his bosom,
as, if, like a young bird, she had found a home and peace
within the parent nest, "because, if my mother loved you,
you cannot be a bad man; and I am satisfied."</p>

<p>The most beautiful feature in Barbara's character was, as
we have said, her trustfulness; she had no idea of guilt. She
heard of crime as a thing abroad in the world, but she could
never identify it with persons: her mind was a compound of
feeling and affection; and with the beautiful and earnest simplicity
of truth, she perfectly believed that her father could
not be wicked.</p>

<p>"I will tell my lady how my mother loved you, and then
she will know you cannot be the wild man we took you for."</p>

<p>"Tell her nothing, sweet, about me. In a little time I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
shall be able to take you to a proper home; only mark this,
you must never go to the home of Sir Willmott Burrell."</p>

<p>"Ah! he is very wicked, I have heard; and yet you see
how wrong it is to believe evil of any one; but I know that he
is evil, if ever man was," was the maid's reply, reverting
almost unconsciously to her father's situation.</p>

<p>"Let us talk of nothing evil, Barbara, during the few moments
I can remain with you now. Remember, you are to
tell your lady nothing about me."</p>

<p>"I do not see how I can help it."</p>

<p>"Why?"</p>

<p>"Because she has ever told me to tell her all things, and I
have obeyed. Ah, sir&mdash;father, you know not how good she
is to me, and how she cries, dear lady! Ever since this marriage
has been fixed upon, she has wept unceasingly."</p>

<p>The Buccaneer felt at the moment as all parents must feel
who desire to preserve their children in innocence, and yet
themselves lead vicious lives. To the wicked, lies are as necessary
as the air they breathe, as common for use as household
stuff. Had Barbara been what is now termed a clever girl,
the Buccaneer might have employed her, not as an agent of
falsehood&mdash;<i>that</i> his delicate love of his child would have prevented&mdash;but
as an instrument, perhaps, to work some delay in
a wedding that humanity, independent of one or two new and
latent causes, called upon him to prevent; but in any plot
where finesse was necessary, he saw that Barbara would be
perfectly useless; and before taking his departure, he only
told her she might, if she pleased, inform Mistress Cecil, but
at the same time begged of her not to repeat to any one else
that he had been there. This Barbara promised to do; and
on the assurance that he would soon return, and enable her to
show her lady that, instead of being the wild man they both
took him for, he was a very peaceable (how the Buccaneer
smiled at the word!) person, she suffered him to depart, and
then went into her little room, to arrange her ideas, and mingle
thanksgivings that she had found a father, with prayers for his
safety.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI_I" id="CHAPTER_VI_I"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But now, no star can shine, no hope be got,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Most wretched creature, if he knew his lot,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet more wretched far because he knows it not.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The swelling sea seethes in his angry waves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And smites the earth that dares the traitors nourish.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Giles Fletcher.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The Buccaneer failed not to inquire relative to the pretended
dumb boy, but without success: he appeared to have vanished
suddenly from before their eyes, and had left no trace behind.
After despatching one or two trusty messengers on some particular
embassies, Dalton concealed himself in the secret recesses
of the crag until the evening fell sufficiently to enable him to
get off to the Fire-fly without attracting the observation of any
stragglers, or persons who might be on the watch for him or
his vessel, which he had left, as before, under the superintendence
of Jeromio, with strict orders to move about off Shelness
Point, and the strand at Leysdown, and to be ready, on a
particular signal, to heave-to and cast anchor nearly opposite
the Gull's Nest. Three times had Dalton lighted his beacon
on the top of the ruined tower, and three times extinguished
it: the signal was at length answered, although not according
to his directions, which were light for light. The Buccaneer
was, however, satisfied; descended by the private stair to the
shore, and pushed off his little boat, having called in vain for
Springall, whom he had left at Gull's Nest in the morning.</p>

<p>The motion of the oars was but a mechanical accompaniment
to his thoughts, which wandered back to his child, to his next
beloved, Walter, and to the events through which his chequered
life had passed during the last year. Strong as was
now Hugh Dalton's affection for his daughter, it is doubtful if
it would have had force enough to make him relinquish so
completely his wandering and ruthless habits, and adopt the
design of serving for a little time under the banner of the
Commonwealth, before he completely gave up the sea, had not
his declining constitution warned him that at fifty-five he was
older than at thirty. He had grown a wiser and a better man
than when, in middle age, he ran full tilt with his passions at
all things that impeded his progress or his views. A long
and dangerous illness, off the Caribbees, had sobered him more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
in one little month, than any other event could have done in
years. Away from bustle and excitement, he had time for reflection,
and when he arose from his couch, he felt that he was
no longer the firm, strong man he had been. The impressions
of early life, too, returned: he longed for his child, and for
England; but when he remembered her mother, he could not
support the idea that Barbara should know him as he really
was. Still his restless mind suggested that occupation would
be necessary, and his busy brain soon fixed upon the only way
by which honourable employment could be obtained. England
had been, for a long series of years in a perturbed and restless
state, and Dalton had made himself well known, both by his
ingenuity, energy, and bravery: he had been useful as a
smuggler, and imported many things of rich value to the Cavaliers&mdash;trafficking,
however, as we have seen, in more than
mere contraband articles.</p>

<p>Sir Robert Cecil, as we have shown, was not always the
possessor of Cecil Place; and the secret of whatever course he
had adopted, or crime he had committed, to obtain such large
possessions, was in the keeping of Hugh Dalton.</p>

<p>Cromwell had not at all times watched as carefully over the
private transactions of individuals, as he was disposed to do
during the later years of his Protectorate. Persons obnoxious
to the Commonwealth had frequently disappeared; and though
Oliver's system of espionage was never surpassed, not even by
Napoleon, the Cromwell of modern years, yet it had been his
policy to take little or no note of such matters: uniting in
himself the most extraordinary mixture of craft and heroism
that ever either disfigured or adorned the page of history.</p>

<p>Dalton and such men were no longer necessary to bear from
the shores of England the excrescences of royalty. Time, the
sword, or stratagem had greatly thinned their numbers; yet
many recent events proved that loyalists were imported, and
assassins hired, and let loose in the country by contraband
ships; until, at length, the Protector was roused, and resolved
to check the pirates and smugglers of our English strands, as
effectually as the gallant and right noble Blake had exterminated
them on the open sea.</p>

<p>No one was better acquainted with the character, the deeds,
and misdeeds of Hugh Dalton, than the all-seeing Cromwell;
and so firm a heart as the Protector's could not but marvel at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
and admire, even though he could neither approve nor sanction,
the bravery of the Fire-fly's commander. Dalton knew this,
and, in endeavouring to obtain an authorised ship, acted
according to such knowledge. He felt that Cromwell would
never pardon him, unless he could make him useful; a few
cruises in a registered vessel, and then peace and Barbara, was
his concluding thought, whilst, resting on his oars, he looked
upon his beautiful brigantine, as she rode upon the waters at a
long distance yet, the heavens spangled with innumerable stars
for her canopy, and the ocean, the wide unfathomable ocean,
spreading from pole to pole, circling the round earth as with
a girdle, for her dominion.</p>

<p>It was one of those evenings that seem "breathless with
adoration;" the gentleness of heaven was on the sea; there
was not a line, not a ripple on the wide waste of waters; "the
winds," to use again the poet's eloquent words, "were up,
gathered like sleeping flowers." There was no light in the
vessel's bow&mdash;no twinkle from the shore&mdash;no ship in sight&mdash;nothing
that told of existence but his own Fire-fly, couching
on the ocean like a sleeping bird.</p>

<p>"There is a demon spirit within her," whispered Dalton to
himself; "the sight of her sends me wild again. Devil that
she is! so beautiful! so well proportioned! Talk of the
beauty of woman!&mdash;But I'll look to her no more&mdash;I'll think
of her no more!"</p>

<p>He again applied himself to the oar, and was pulling steadily
towards the ship, when his eye rested upon something
black and round in the water. Again he paused in his exertions,
and lay-to: the substance floated towards him. He
would have shouted, but&mdash;no sailor is ever free from superstitious
qualms of one sort or another&mdash;he remained silent,
fixing his eye steadily upon the object. At last it came close,
quite close to the boat; and in another instant, Springall was
seated in the prow.</p>

<p>"Good God! Spring, what's the matter? are you mad?
Has anything occurred yonder?" exclaimed Dalton, somewhat
alarmed.</p>

<p>"Hush!" replied the panting youth; "I can hardly
breathe yet." The Skipper was going to pull towards the
ship; but the youth laid his hand on that of his master, and
ejaculated, "Wait!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>

<p>Dalton complied, and when Springall could speak, he communicated
what astonished the Buccaneer in no small degree:&mdash;He
said that, having hunted about for the strange blade to
no purpose, he tacked off towards the ship, and told Jeromio
his master had found that the boy was no boy, but a girl in
disguise; that he therefore desired Jeromio to tell him who
she really was, as he had secreted her on ship-board, knowing
perfectly well she was neither deaf nor dumb:&mdash;That Jeromio
said, as the master had fished it up, there was no use in
making any bones about the matter; for how it happened was,
that when they were lying off St. Vallery, this girl, whom he
believed to be a Jewess, offered him a large sum of money if
he would secrete her on board, at all events until the ship
sailed, and if&mdash;after concealment was impossible&mdash;he would
not betray her. She stipulated to be landed upon the Kentish
coast; and Jeromio added, that he was sure she had a design
upon the life of somebody, and it might be easily guessed who,
as she prevailed on him to show her the use and management
of fire-arms, and had, besides, a dagger, which she usually
carried in her bosom:&mdash;That, as she wrote English very imperfectly,
she had bribed him to write a letter to Mistress Cecil,
saying that, before God, she was the wife of Sir Willmott
Burrell, and that if she (Mistress Cecil) persisted in marrying
him, she would be revenged!&mdash;That he (Jeromio) kept back
this letter, because he feared his hand-writing might eventually
lead to a discovery that he had been the means of bringing her
to England.&mdash;Springall detailed this intelligence in much less
time than it has occupied us to repeat it; and then pausing,
added,&mdash;</p>

<p>"But the worst is yet to come. Jeromio&mdash;Master, I was
right about that fellow!&mdash;had hardly finished this account,
when a boat hove out, and, at first, we thought it was you, but
presently who should come on board but Sir Willmott Burrell,
as large as life! Well, Jeromio was precious frightened, as
you may suppose, and said it was to inquire after the Jewess;
but he took the Italian into your cabin, and&mdash;I can't but own
I was vastly anxious to know what they were saying&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The greatest villain in the world dislikes to be thought a
listener, on the same principle that men would rather be
accused of crime than cowardice&mdash;of vice than folly; poor
Springall stopped and stammered until commanded to go on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>

<p>"It was a fine day, and, thinking I should like a bath, I
let myself down close by the cabin window with a rope. The
window was open, and as I hung half in and half out of the
water, I could hear every syllable they said, the sea was so
calm. Not a word about the Jewess; but that precious villain
was listening to a proposal made by the other villain to seize
you, this very night, in your own ship, and murder you outright!
It's true, master, as I'm alive! Then Jeromio said
it would be better to deliver you up, as a rover, to the government;
but Sir Willmott made reply, <i>that</i> might answer <i>his</i>
purpose, but it would not do for <i>him</i>. Then he promised him
a free pardon, and tempted him with the riches of the Crag,
and other things;&mdash;and, as well as I could understand, they
fully agreed upon it. And then, for fear of discovery, I was
mounting up, when the rope, as ill-luck would have it, broke,
and I went tilt splash into the water! Well, Jeromio looked
out, and swore at me; but it mattered not: I scrambled up,
resolving, as you may suppose, to keep a good look-out; but
that double devil, Sir Willmott, was at it again, and would
have it that I was listening, and so I was clapped under
hatches; and hard enough I found it to steal off to you."</p>

<p>"The villain!" exclaimed the Buccaneer. "But the thing
is impracticable; there are not more than ten or a dozen of her
crew ashore: my brave fellows would never see their captain
murdered!"</p>

<p>"On what pretext I know not, but he has, during the
afternoon, sent the long-boat off with the truest hands aboard.
I heard the men talking, as they passed backwards and
forwards, that Bill o' Dartmouth, Sailing Jack, Mat Collins,
and the Fire-fly rovers, as we used to call them&mdash;those boys
who had been aboard with you in foreign parts&mdash;had gone
ashore by your orders; and I know there are five or six&mdash;those
Martinicos and Sagrinios, and the devil's own O's, that
are 'fore and aft in all things with Jeromio. There's no
putting faith in any of them, seeing they have a natural
antipathy towards us English. So, now, let us put back, sir."</p>

<p>"Put back!" repeated Dalton, casting a look of scorn upon
poor Springall; "the man's not born who could make me put
back!&mdash;The ship's my own&mdash;and the sea, the broad sea we
look upon, is mine, as long as I have strength to dip an oar in
its brine, or wit to box a compass! Avast! avast! boy; you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
know not what you speak of when you talk to Hugh Dalton of
putting back!"</p>

<p>"They'll murder us both!" said Springall, in a mournful,
and almost a reproachful tone.</p>

<p>"My poor boy!" replied Dalton looking in his face, and
poising on high the oar he had so vigorously dipped in the
blue wave&mdash;"My true-hearted boy! it would be, indeed, a
bad recompense for your devotedness, to lead you into the
tiger's den;&mdash;for myself, I have no fear;&mdash;I will put you
on shore, and return."</p>

<p>"Never, master!" exclaimed the lad. "There is no one
in the wide world I care for but yourself. To serve you, I
would venture all. No, no, master, I may be but a poor weak
boy in some things, but in this I am a man. I will never
leave you while I have power to serve you."</p>

<p>"And you will not repent it," observed the Buccaneer;
the spirit of former days rallying round his heart at the idea
of danger, which ever appeared to him the path to glory:
"you will not repent it&mdash;in a right cause too. What can I
have to fear? I know that the instant I show myself among
them, they will return as one man to their duty; and <span class="smcapc">IF THEY
DO NOT</span>&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>As they neared the vessel, they perceived that not more than
five or six of their comrades were, like shadowy things, pacing
the deck. Jeromio himself, however, they noted, waiting to
receive them.</p>

<p>Dalton, who was vigilant as brave, had previously thrown
his boat-cloak over Springall, so that he might not be recognised,
and handed him a cutlass and pistol. Whether the
appearance of two, when he only expected one, or whether the
natural dread with which he always, despite himself, regarded
his captain, overpowered Jeromio, we may not guess; but as
the Buccaneer strode up the ladder, his penetrating look
steadily fixed upon the wily Italian, his quick eye perceived
that twice he attempted to level a pistol; while his more
cowardly accomplices crowded behind him. Had the villain
possessed courage enough to fire as Dalton was ascending, his
life would in all probability have been the sacrifice; but once
upon the deck of his own ship, he was indeed a sea-king!
For an instant he stood proudly before Jeromio; then, presenting
his pistol to the head of the Italian, who trembled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
violently, he said as calmly as if he were in the midst of
friends,&mdash;</p>

<p>"One moment's prayer; and thus I punish traitors&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>There was a breathless silence; one might have heard a pin
drop upon the deck; the very air seemed to listen within the
furled sails. Jeromio's pistol fell from his grasp; he clasped
his hands in agony, and falling before the Buccaneer, upon his
knees, uttered a brief prayer, for well he knew that Dalton
never recalled a doom, and he felt that all had been discovered!
In another instant a flash passed along the ship, and danced
in garish light over the quiet sea! The bullet shattered a
brain ever ready to plot, but never powerful to execute. With
unmoved aspect Dalton replaced the weapon, and planting his
foot upon the prostrate dead, drew another from his belt.
Springall was still by his side, ready to live or die with his
commander.</p>

<p>"Come on! come on!" said Dalton, after surveying the
small and trembling band of mutineers, as a lion of the Afric
deserts gazes upon a herd of hounds by whom he is beset.
"Come on!" and the sentence sounded like the tolling of a
death-bell over the waters, so firmly yet solemnly was it pronounced,
as if the hearts of a thousand men were in it.
"Come on! Are ye afraid? We are but two. Or are ye
still men; and do ye think upon the time when I led ye on to
victory, when I divided the spoil of many lands among ye?
Ye are friends&mdash;countrymen of this&mdash;that was a man; yet
if ye will, ye shall judge between us. Did I deserve this
treachery at his hands? Can one of ye accuse me of injustice?"</p>

<p>A loud, a reiterated "No," answered this appeal, and the
mutineers rushed forward, not to seize on, but to lay down
their weapons at the feet of their captain.</p>

<p>"Take up your arms," said Dalton, after casting his eye
over them, and perceiving at a single glance that they had
truly delivered them all. "Take up your arms: ye were
only beguiled; ye are too true to be really treacherous."</p>

<p>This most wise compliment operated as oil on the tumultuous
sea: the ship-mob fancied they were acting according to the
dictates of reason, when they were really under the influence
of fear, and then they aroused the tranquillity of the night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
shouting long and loudly for the Fire-fly and the brave Buccaneer!</p>

<p>Although Jeromio had cunningly despatched several of
Dalton's most approved friends in the long-boat to the shore
on some pretended business, yet others had been secured
below; and, when they were liberated, they created great and
noisy jubilee at what they jestingly called "the Restoration."
Springall had orders to distribute among them, and without
distinction, abundance of rum, while Dalton retired to his
cabin, still unmoved, to pen some despatches, which he deemed
necessary to send to the main land that night.</p>

<p>When he returned on deck, the revellers had retired, and
the watch was set. Many of the stars that had witnessed the
events we have recorded had sunk, and others had risen in
their stead. The midnight air was chill and cold; Jeromio's
body lay where it had fallen, stiffening in its gore; for no one
cared to meddle with it till the Skipper's pleasure was known
as to how it was to be disposed of. Dalton gazed upon it but
for an instant, and then ordered that a man named Mudy, the
black, and butcher of the ship, should attend him.</p>

<p>"Here, Mudy," he exclaimed, "chop me off that rascal's
head&mdash;quick, do it!" The brute carelessly performed his
task. "Now roll the carcass in a sail, and, being well leaded,
throw it overboard. Wrap me the head in a clean napkin; I
would fain make a present to Sir Willmott Burrell&mdash;a wedding
present he may think it, if he will. The head to which
he trusted will serve the purpose well. I will not send you,
Springall, on this errand," he continued, laying his hand gently
on the shoulder of the trembling boy, who sickened at the disgusting
sight. "Go to your hammock; you shall not sleep
there many nights more. You are too good for such a life as
this!"</p>

<p>He then directed two of his men to row to land, and leave
the parcel at the gate of Cecil Place. He also gave them other
packets to deliver, with orders to those of his crew who were
still on shore; and then, his ship being under sail for another
division of the coast, like a mighty but perturbed spirit, he
paced the deck till morning.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII_I" id="CHAPTER_VII_I"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I am not prone to weeping as our sex<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Commonly are; the want of which vain dew<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Perchance shall dry your pities; but I have<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Worse than tears drown.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It is curious to note how differently persons known to each
other, and, it may be, endeared by the ties of relationship, or
the still stronger ones of friendship, are occupied at some precise
moment, although separated but by a little distance, and
for a brief space of time. Life is one great kaleidoscope, where
it is difficult to look upon the same picture twice; so varied
are its positions, and so numerous its contrasts, according to
the will of those who move and govern its machinery. While
the hand of the Buccaneer was dyed in blood, his child was
sleeping calmly on her pillow;&mdash;Sir Robert Cecil pondering
over the events of the day, and drawing conclusions as to the
future, from which even hope was excluded;&mdash;Sir Willmott
Burrell exulting in what he deemed the master-stroke of his
genius;&mdash;and Constance Cecil, the fountain of whose tears
was dried up, permitted Lady Frances Cromwell to sit up with
her, while she assorted various letters, papers, and other matters,
of real or imaginary value, of which she was possessed.
Within that chamber one would have thought that Death was
the expected bridegroom, so sadly and so solemnly did the
bride of the morrow move and speak. She had ceased to discourse
of the approaching change, and conversed with her friend
only at intervals, upon topics of a trifling nature; but in such
a tone, and with such a manner, as betrayed the aching heart;
seldom waiting for, or hearing a reply, and sighing heavily, as
every sentence obtained utterance. Her companion fell into
her mood, with a kindness and gentleness hardly to be expected
from one so light and mirthful.</p>

<p>"I am sure," she observed, "I have deeper cause for grief
than you, Constantia; my father is so obstinate about Mr.
Rich. He treats his family as he does the acts of his parliament,
and tries to make use of both for the good of the
country."</p>

<p>Constantia smiled a smile of bitterness; Lady Frances little
knew the arrow, the poisoned arrow, that rankled in her bosom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p>

<p>"Oh, I see you are preserving Mrs. Hutchinson's letters.
How my sister Claypole esteems that woman! Do you think
she really loves her husband as much as she says?"</p>

<p>"I am sure of it," was Constantia's reply, "because he is
worthy of such love. I received one letter from her, lately;
she knew that I was to be&mdash;to change my name&mdash;and kindly
(for the virtuous are always kind) wrote to me on the subject;
read over these passages."</p>

<p>Lady Frances was about to read them aloud, but Constantia
prevented her.</p>

<p>"I have read it over and over, dearest, though wherefore I
hardly know; my lot is cast in a way so different from that
she imagines. The precepts are for the promotion of happiness,
which I can never expect to enjoy&mdash;never to be cited as
an example of connubial excellence. I shall leave no record
that people in after years will point at, and say, Behold, how
lovingly they lived together! But read it, Frances, read it:
to you it may prove salutary, for you will be happy in your
union, and with one whom you can love."</p>

<p>The Lady Frances took the letter with a trembling hand,
and read as follows:&mdash;</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p style="text-align: right">"Richmond, 1657, the 2d day of June.</p>

<p>"Your letter, which I had the happiness to receive some
time since, my dear young friend, notwithstanding its melancholy
theme, afforded me real satisfaction. It is true that
your loving mother has been removed; but blessed is the
knowledge which instructs you that she and all her excellences
came from God, and have now but been taken back to their
own most perfect source; that you are parted for a moment, to
meet again for eternity! Her soul conversed so much with
God while it was here, that it rejoices to be now freed from
interruption in that hallowed exercise. Her virtues were recorded
in heaven's annals, and can never perish: by them
she yet teaches us, and all those to whose knowledge they shall
arrive. 'Tis only her fetters that have been removed; her
infirmities, her sorrows that are dead never to revive again&mdash;nor
would we have them: we may mourn for ourselves that
we walk so tardily in her steps, that we need her guidance and
assistance on the way. And yet, dearest Constance, but that
the veil of tearful mortality is before our eyes, we should see
her, even in heaven, holding forth the bright lamp of virtuous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
example and precept, to light us through the dark world we
must for a few years tread.</p>

<p>"But I have heard tidings lately, and from the Lady Claypole
too, of which, methinks, to your mother's friend, you
have been over chary. Ah! maidens care not to prate of their
love affairs to matrons. Silly things! they would go their own
course, and think for themselves! without knowing how to go,
or what to think! The besetting sin of youth is&mdash;presumption:
but it is not your sin, my gentle girl; it was some
species of modesty withheld your pen&mdash;yet I heard it. My
husband, albeit not a very frequent guest at Whitehall, pays
his respects there sometimes, mainly out of his duty and regard
to the Lady Claypole; for he is no scorner of our sex, and
holds it a privilege to converse with wise and holy women.
She informed him, and not as a matter of secrecy, that you
would soon be wedded to Sir Willmott Burrell; and, although
we know him not, we readily believe that he is a good and
honest gentleman, commanding our esteem, because beloved of
you&mdash;the which, I pray you, advise him of&mdash;and say we
hope he will number us among his friends. I never doubted
your wisdom, Constantia, and those cannot wed well who
do not wed wisely. By wisely, I do not mean that longing
after foolish gain and worldly aggrandisement, which vain
women, alas! covet more than the enjoyment of their lives
and the salvation of their souls. I would have a woman seek
for her husband one whom she can love with an ardent, but not
idolatrous passion; capable of being a firm, consistent friend;
who has sufficient knowledge and virtue to sit in council within
her bosom, and direct her in all things. Having found such,
the wife should desire and strive to be as a very faithful mirror,
reflecting truly, however dimly, his own virtues. I have been
long wedded, and, thank God, most happily so. We have
become as a proverb among our friends; and matrons, when
they bless their daughters at the altar, wish them to be as
happy as Lucy Hutchinson. Had your blessed mother lived,
my advice might have been almost impertinent; but now, I
am sure you will not take it ill of a most true friend to speak
a little counsel: my words may be but as dew-drops, yet there
is a spirit within you that can convert them into pearls. But
counsel ought to be preceded by prayer&mdash;and I have prayed&mdash;Will
you take ill the supplication? I know you will not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>

<p>"I am also sure that you will not consider unacceptable the
prayer I am about to transcribe in this my letter. It was
written by my dear husband, some time after the exceeding
goodness of God made us one; and we feel much comfort and
encouragement in repeating it each morn and eve, ere the cares
and turmoils of the day are come, or when they have departed.
May it have a like influence on you, my sweet friend! May
your destiny be as mine!</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"'O Lord, divine uniter of true hearts! Grant to thy servants an
increase of that blessed gift of grace which is wrought into the soul
by thy regenerating Spirit, that so the whole creature may be resigned
unto thy will, human love be subservient to that which is
heavenly, and all its thoughts, hopes, and actions be directed to thy
glory, with whom is its source, and from whom its blessing cometh:
Two pray unto thee as one, one in heart, one in interest, one for time,
one for eternity. So may it ever be, O Lord! our Maker and our
guide, our protector and our friend. We bless and thank thee for the
comfort we have found in each other, for the worldly prosperity to
which virtue, trustfulness, and faith in thy care have conducted us;
for the mutual esteem, confidence, and affection that sway and direct
our frail natures, but, above all, for the sure and certain knowledge
that when our mortal shall have put on immortality, we shall be one&mdash;undivided,
inseparable, and eternal.'</p></div>

<p>"'Tis brief, Constantia, but long supplications too often
lose in spirit that which the heart cannot make up in words.
Prayer should be the concentrated essence of Humility, perfumed
by Hope, and elevated by Faith; but you know all
this as well as I. I would not presume to instruct, or give
you advice upon any point, save this most blessed or most
miserable one (to a mind like yours it can have no medium)&mdash;marriage!
Many young females are beguiled by evil counsel,
and thus commence in a careless or obstinate course, which
leads them into the thorny path of discontent, and consequent
wretchedness. And, first of all, do not fancy that petty tyrannies
become a bride. It is the habit of the bridegroom to yield
to such like; but, trust me, he loves you not the better for
weak fantasies, unless he be a fool; and I pen no lines for
fools, or fools' mates. I have no sympathy with a woman
weak or wicked enough to wed a fool. In the honeymoon,
then, study your husband's temper; for the best of men&mdash;and
women too&mdash;carry (it may be unconsciously) a mask during
the days of courtship, which, if not taken off, wears off, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
you must strive to know him as he really is; remembering
that though lovers may be angels, husbands are only mortals.
Looking within at the imperfection of our own nature, we learn
to make allowance for the faults they may possess.</p>

<p>"For my own part, my only wonder has been how a man,
like Colonel Hutchinson, could so kindly pity my infirmities,
and correct them after such a fashion that his blame has ever
sounded sweeter in my ears than the praise of the whole world
besides. He has looked upon my errors with an indulgent
eye, and not suffered them to detract from his esteem and love
for me, while it has been his tender care to erase all those
blots which made me appear less worthy the respect he every
where pays me.</p>

<p>"One thing, although I hardly need recall it to a mind like
yours, is, above all else, necessary to be remembered&mdash;that a
maiden has only her own honour in keeping, but a wife has
her husband's as well as her own. It was a fine saying that of
the ancient Roman: 'The wife of C?sar must not be suspected.'
Suspicion is too often, as the plague-spot, the intimater
of a disease, which may either break out, or be suppressed by
care or circumstances; but still the intimation has gone forth.
Reserve is the becoming garment for the wedded wife&mdash;that
sweet reserve springing from holy love, which the chastened
eye, the moderated smile, the elevated carriage&mdash;all betoken;&mdash;a
something which a pure heart alone can teach, and that
a sullied woman never can assume. Study the accomplishments
your husband loves with continued assiduity: he may
delight in seeing the beauties of his estate miniatured by your
pencil, or the foliage of a favourite tree doomed to perpetual
spring on your obedient canvass; or, peradventure, delight
more in the soft touching of your lute or harpsichord: whatever
it may be, study to do it quickly, and cultivate your taste
unto his pleasure. I say, do it quickly, in the early days of
marriage, because habit is a most tyrannical master. Then,
when your affections and your customs tend to the same end,
and are, moreover, guided by the all-powerful hand of duty,
and under the especial control of godliness, I have little doubt
that you will make all that a wife should be.</p>

<p>"I would fain counsel you on the custom of a neat and becoming
attire; but I have observed that you ever habit yourself,
from an innate consciousness of what is just and becoming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
in your station, and that not from any caring for occasion or
love of display. A tall and stately figure, like yours, becomes
well the rich satins of France, and the still richer velvets of
Genoa; yet I prefer to see a British woman adorned by the
artisans of her own land, and I have lately seen some articles
of such manufacture of most rare beauty. As to your jewels,
consider your husband's desire; if he care for them, deck yourself
with much attention, and wear those that please him best.
Your mother's diamonds were of the finest water, as befitted
her rank, and I am sure you will never carry counterfeits,
whether of gems or of gold. I have heard of those who affect
the vanity of great expenditure at small cost, and I hold them
in contempt; for every thing about a woman should emblem
her own heart, and be pure, even as she is pure. Simplicity
in dress is ever in harmony with beauty, and never out of
place; yet are there state times when it is expected that the
high-born carry bravery, as the horses bear high and waving
plumes&mdash;to make the pageant grand; and though his Highness,
at first, deemed it expedient to lessen such extravagance,
yet my dear husband assures me that his children lack nothing
worthy the state of princes.</p>

<p>"But all these matters must be left to the discretion of your
judgment, which, if well-tempered, will direct them in a fitting
manner; always remembering, the most seemingly insignificant
point that contributes the smallest atom to domestic
happiness is worthy the attention of a truly wise and peace-loving
female. It is better not to be concerned about trifles;
but some men, and men not of particularly small minds either,
are very anxious as to things which appear of no moment: in
that case, the best way is to humour them, and then, by introducing
some strong motive, wile them on to better: this must
be done skilfully, or it will fail of success. A woman's first
desire should be her husband's goodness; her next, his greatness.
Matrimony is a bondage, but one that carries with it
the protection which is as necessary to a woman as the air she
breathes; with a tender husband, after a little time, she will
find the chains so overgrown by affection, which is the woodbine
of the moral garden, that, instead of being enslaved, behold,
she finds peace, love, and safety within the charmed
circle.</p>

<p>"I commenced a letter, my sweet friend, yet, I fear me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
have written an homily; but forgive it, Constance, and take it
as it is intended.</p>

<p>"I hear the Lady Frances is with you. I pray you call
me to her remembrance. She is a lively but honourable lady,
and I should be glad that Mr. Rich found favour in the sight
of her father; for I do believe her heart has been fixed, at
least more fixed upon him than upon any other, for some time.
We have been passing a few days in this dear spot&mdash;the nest,
I may well call it, of our affections. My husband, in the days
of his bachelorhood, had been cautioned to take heed of Richmond,
as a place so fatal to love, that never any disengaged
young person went thither who returned again free; and I
wonder not at it, for there is a sober and most happy beauty in
its very aspect, that tranquillises and composes the thoughts to
gentleness and affection. We have visited our old music-master,
at whose house we both boarded for the practice of the
lute! He was so pleased to find I still studied! observing
that many married ladies relinquished it soon; and he praised
my husband's execution on the viol in no small degree.</p>

<p>"Adieu, my dear young friend. We crave earnestly to be
kindly thought of by him whom your soul 'delighteth to
honour!' May the blessing of the Lord dwell within your
house, and sanctify all things for your good! Such is the
prayer of your true and loving friend,</p>

<p style="text-align: right">"<span class="smcap">Lucy Hutchinson.</span></p>

<p>"My husband, who is indeed a most kind counsellor in all
things, says that I ought to tender any assistance I can offer,
seeing that I am near London, and you may require sundry
habits befitting a bridal; if so, command my services as
fully as you do my affections."<br /><br /></p></div>

<p>Lady Frances placed the letter on Constantia's writing-table,
and for some time offered no observation on its contents.</p>

<p>"Is not she a beautiful model for a married woman?"
inquired Constantia.</p>

<p>"It was very good of her to remember a giddy pate like
me," replied Frances; "and I do confess that she is one of
my perfections, though in general I hate your pattern-women,
where every thing is fitted and fitting&mdash;women of plaster and
parchment&mdash;to cut one's character by; who are to be spoken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
of, not to; who can make no excuse for people's failings, because
they think they are themselves exempt from fault; who
study devout looks, and leer at their lovers from under their
hoods&mdash;hole-and-corner flirts, yet held up as pattern-women,
bless the term! to innocent and laughter-loving
maidens like myself, who having no evil to conceal, speak
openly, and love not the conventicle."</p>

<p>"But Mrs. Hutchinson is none of these," interrupted Constance.
"She is pure in heart&mdash;in word&mdash;in look. She
really has nothing to conceal; she is all purity and grace, and
with her husband shared for years the friendship of the illustrious
Selden and Archbishop Usher."</p>

<p>"Well, I am willing to admit all this," retorted Frances,
eager to catch at any thing to divert her friend's melancholy.
"But, for all that, I never could feel easy in the society of
your very wise people; it is not pleasant to know that those
you are speaking to regard you as a fool, though they may be
too well-bred to tell you so. And now I remember a story
about Selden that always amused me much. When he was
appointed among the lay members to sit in the Assembly of
Divines at Westminster, one of the ministers, with all the
outward show of self-sufficient ignorance, declared that the
sea could not be at any very great distance from Jerusalem;
that as fish was frequently carried from the first to the last
place, the interval did not probably exceed thirty miles! and
having concocted this opinion, he gave it forth, as it had been
one of the laws of the Medes and Persians, which altereth
not! Well, the Synod were about to adopt this inference,
when Selden quietly observed, that in all likelihood it was
'salt fish!' Was not that excellent?"</p>

<p>"Yet his wit, in my estimation, was his least good quality.
Methinks the Commonwealth has reason to be most proud of
two such men as John Selden and Archbishop Usher."</p>

<p>"But the glory has departed from Israel," was Frances'
reply, "for they are gathered to their fathers."</p>

<p>"The sun may be shorn of its beams," said Constantia,
with something of her former energy of manner, "but it is
still a sun. Cromwell is the Protector of England!"</p>

<p>That was the rallying point of Lady Frances' feelings, and
she embraced her friend with increased affection.</p>

<p>"I love you more than all," said the kind girl, "for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
your appreciation of my father; I only hope that posterity
may do him equal justice. But why, I ask again, dear Constance,
have you not permitted me to speak to him about this
wedding? You reap sorrow, and not joy, of the contract.
Well, well," she continued, perfectly understanding Constantia's
mute appeal for silence, "I will say no more, for I ought
to be satisfied with the privilege of being thus enabled to disturb
the solitude you consider so sweet."</p>

<p>"How lessened," exclaimed Constance, "I must appear
in the eyes of all good and wise people! How they will jeer
at the lofty Mistress Cecil selling herself&mdash;for&mdash;they know
not what!"</p>

<p>"Lessened!" repeated Frances; "on the contrary. You
certainly do sacrifice yourself to fulfil this contract; but that
deserves praise. Besides, Burrell is a man whom many admire."</p>

<p>"There, talk not of it, Frances&mdash;talk not of it: henceforth,
the world and I are two&mdash;I mix no more in it, nor
with it."</p>

<p>"Now, out upon you for a most silly lady!" retorted Lady
Frances. "It may be my fate, despite the affection I bear
<i>poor</i> Rich (I like the linking of these words), to wed some
other man&mdash;one who will please my father and benefit the
state. Is not the misery of being chained to a thing you
loathe and detest sufficient cause for trouble, without emulating
bats and owls! No, no; if I must be ironed, I will cover
my fetters with flowers&mdash;they shall be perfumed, and tricked,
and trimmed. I shall see you gay at court, dear Constance.
Besides, if you are to be married, you must not twine willow
with your bridal roses&mdash;that will never do."</p>

<p>There was no smile upon Constantia's lips at her friend's
kind and continued efforts to remove the weight that pressed
upon her heart.</p>

<p>"This is the last night that I can dare trust myself to speak
of Walter. Frances," she said, after a long pause, "I have
no fears for his personal safety, because I know with whom he
left this house: but, one thing I would say; and if, my dearest,
kindest friend, I have not prated to you of my sorrows&mdash;joys,
alas! I have not to communicate&mdash;it is because I must
not. With all the childish feeling of a girl you have a
woman's heart, true and susceptible, as ever beat in woman's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
bosom. I know you have thought me cold and reserved; an
iceberg, where nothing else was ice:&mdash;true, I am chilled by
circumstances, not by nature. I am sure you can remember
when my step was as light, and my voice as happy, though not
as mirthful, as your own: but the lightness and the mirthfulness
have passed:&mdash;only, Frances, when the world dyes my
name in its own evil colour, I pray you say&mdash;&mdash;" She paused
as if in great perplexity.</p>

<p>"Say what? Surely all the world can say is, that you did
what thousands of devoted girls have done before you&mdash;married
to fulfil a contract," observed Lady Frances, who well
knew that some deadly poison rankled in her heart, and almost
overturned her reason.</p>

<p>"True, true," repeated Constance&mdash;"I had forgotten; for
I am, as you may see, bewildered by my misery. But one
thing, dear Frances, you can surely do:&mdash;take this poor trinket&mdash;it
perplexed you once&mdash;and if ever you should meet the
Cavalier who parted lately in such company, give it him back.
That simple girl, poor Barbara, found it to-day within the
Fairy Ring, and brought it me:&mdash;it is the only memento I had
of him," she continued, placing it in Lady Frances' hand&mdash;"the
only one&mdash;there, put it away. And now, dear Frances,
since you will companion me through this last night of liberty,
go, fetch your lute, and sing me all the songs we learned together;
or talk in your own sweet way of those we knew,
esteemed, or jested at."</p>

<p>"When I do sing, or when I talk, you do not listen," replied
the youngest of Cromwell's daughters, taking down her
lute and striking a few wild chords: "your ears are open but
their sense is shut."</p>

<p>"Forgive me; but, even if it is so, your music and your
voice is a most soothing accompaniment to much bitterness; it
is a pretty fable, that of the nightingale resting her bosom on
a thorn, while warbling her finest notes."</p>

<p>"It proves to me that the nightingale who does so is a most
foolish bird," retorted Frances, rallying, "inasmuch as she
might select roses, instead of thorns, and they are both soft
and fragrant."</p>

<p>"And fading," added Constance: "you perceive I heard
you."</p>

<p>"Your heart, my dear friend," replied Lady Frances, "only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
echoes one tone, and that is a melodious melancholy. Shall I
sing you 'Withers' Shepherd's Resolution,'&mdash;my father's
rhyming 'Major-general,' who lorded it so sturdily over the
county of Surrey? For my own part, I like the spirit of the
man, particularly as it comes forth in the third verse." And
with subdued sportiveness she sung:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Shall a woman's virtues move<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Me to perish for her love?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or her well deservings knowne,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Make me quite forget mine owne?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Be she with that goodness blest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which may merit name of best;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If she be not such to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What care I how good she be?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Great or good, or kind or fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will ne'er the more despair;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If she love me, this believe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will die ere she shall grieve.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"If she slight me when I wooe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I can scorne and let her goe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If she be not fit for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What care I for whom she be?"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>"Do you not admire it, Constantia?" she said.</p>

<p>"Admire what?"</p>

<p>"Why, the conceit of the song."</p>

<p>"I fear I did not heed it. I was thinking of&mdash;of&mdash;something
else."</p>

<p>"Shall I sing it again?"</p>

<p>"Not to-night, dearest: and yet you may; methinks it is
the last night I shall ever listen to minstrelsy&mdash;not but that
there is philosophy in music, for it teaches us to forget care;
it is to the ear what perfume is to the smell. How exquisite
is music! the only earthly joy of which we are assured we
shall taste in heaven. Play on."</p>

<p>Lady Frances again sung the lay, but with less spirit than
before, for she felt it was unheeded by her friend, and she laid
the lute silently on the ground when she had finished.</p>

<p>"Do you know," said Constance, after a time, "I pity your
waiting lady, who was married to Jerry White, as you call
him, so unceremoniously."</p>

<p>"Pity her!" repeated Lady Frances, with as disdainful a
toss of her head, as if she had always formed a part of the
aristocracy. "Pity her! methinks the maid was well off to
obtain the man who aspired to her mistress."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>

<p>"But she loved him not," observed Constantia, in a sad
voice.</p>

<p>"Poor Jerry!" laughed Lady Frances, "how could she love
him; the Commonwealth jester; wanting only cap, bells, and
a hobby-horse, to be fool, <i>par excellence</i>, of the British dominions?
And yet he is no fool either; more knave than fool,
though my father caught him at last."</p>

<p>"It was a severe jest," said Constantia.</p>

<p>"Why, it was&mdash;but verily I believe my father thought
there was danger of having two fools at his court, instead of
one. It was after this fashion. Jerry presumed a good deal
upon the encouragement his Highness had given him&mdash;for the
Protector loves a jest as well as any, when there is nobody by
to repeat it to the grave ones: and his chaplain, Jerry White,
chimed in with his humour, and was well-timed in his conceits;
and this so pleased my good father, that he suffered him
much in private about his person. So he fell, or pretended to
fall, desperately in love with my giddy self. It was just at the
time, too, when Charles Stuart made his overtures of marriage,
that so caught my mother's fancy; and my imagination was
marvellously moved by two such strings to my bow&mdash;a prince
and a preacher&mdash;a rogue and a fool:&mdash;only think of it, Constantia!
However, Jerry grew much too tender, and I began
to think seriously I was going too far; so I told my sister
Mary, and I am sure she told my father; for, as I was passing
through a private anteroom at Whitehall, his reverence was
there in ambush, and commenced his usual jargon of love and
dove, faithfulness and fidelity, gentleness and gentility, and at
last fell upon his knees, while I, half laughing, and half wondering
how his rhapsody would end, as end it must&mdash;Well,
there! fancy Jerry's countenance, clasped hands, and bended
knees! and I pulling my hood (I had just returned from a walk)
over my face to conceal my merriment, trying to disengage my
hand from the creature's claws&mdash;when, I really don't know
how, but there stood my father before me, with a half smile on
his lip, and his usual severity of aspect.</p>

<p>"'My chaplain at prayers! you are mighty devout, methinks,'
he said, in his coldest voice. Jerry stammered, and
stumbled, and entangled his leg in arising with the point of my
father's sword; and then my father's choler rose, and he
stormed out, 'The meaning, sir, the meaning of this idolatrous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
mummery? what would ye of my daughter, the Lady Frances
Cromwell?' And Jerry, like all men, though he could get
into a scrape, had not much tact at getting out; so he looked
to me for assistance&mdash;and I gave it. 'He is enamoured,
please your Highness,' said I, with more wit than grace, 'of
Mistress Mabel, my chief lady.' Then, having got the clue,
Jerry went on without hesitation: 'And I was praying my
Lady Frances that she would interfere, and prevent Mistress
Mabel from exercising so much severity towards her faithful
servant.' 'What ho!' said his Highness, 'without there!&mdash;who
waits?' One of the pages entered on the instant. 'Send
hither,' he commanded, 'Mistress Mabel, and also that holy
man of the Episcopal faith, who now tarrieth within the house.'
Jerry looked confounded, and I trembled from head to foot.
Mabel, with her silly face, entered almost at the moment.
'And pray, Mistress Mabel,' said my father, 'what have you
to say against my chaplain? or why should you not be married
forthwith to this chosen vessel, Jeremiah White?' And Mabel,
equally astonished, blushed and courtesied, and courtesied and
blushed. Then my father, flinging off his hat and mailed
gloves, ordered the Episcopalian to perform the ceremony on
the instant, adding, he would take the place of father, and I
that of bridesmaid. It was like a dream to us all! I never
shall forget it&mdash;and Jerry never can; it was most wonderfully
comic&mdash;Only imagine it, Constance!"</p>

<p>Lady Frances had been so carried away by her mirthful
imagining, that she had little heeded her mournful friend; nor
was it till her last sentence&mdash;"Only imagine it, Constance!"&mdash;that
she looked fully upon her.</p>

<p>"Hush!" murmured Constantia in a hollow tone; "hush!"
she repeated.</p>

<p>"Merciful Heaven! what is it?" inquired Frances, terrified
at her earnestness.</p>

<p>"Hush!" again said Constantia: adding, "Do you not
hear?"</p>

<p>"Hear? I hear nothing but the tolling of the midnight
bell&mdash;'Tis twelve o'clock."</p>

<p>"It is," said Constantia, in a voice trembling with intense
suffering; "it is twelve o'clock&mdash;&mdash;My wedding-day is
indeed come!"</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII_I" id="CHAPTER_VIII_I"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When all the riches of the globe beside<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flow'd in to thee with every tide;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When all that nature did thy soil deny,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The growth was of thy fruitful industry;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When all the proud and dreadful sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And all his tributary streams,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A constant tribute paid to thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Extended Thames.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Cowley.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The country through which Robin travelled on his journey to
London presented an aspect very different from that which it
now assumes. Blackheath was noted for highwaymen; and
there was a fair and reasonable chance of being robbed and
murdered between Greenwich and London. The Ranger never
paused from the time he set out until he found himself under
a portion of the long brick-wall that still divides the richly
ornamented park from the arid and unfertilised heath. He sat
down beneath its shadow, and regaled himself with a morsel of
ship-biscuit and a mouthful of brandy; then undid the fastening
of his wallet, and selected from amid its contents a neatly
and skilfully made hump, which, having previously removed his
coat, he dexterously transferred to his shoulder, and then
donned a jacket into which the hump fitted with extraordinary
exactness. He next drew from his bosom a small hand-glass,
and painted and dyed his face with different preparations, so
that even Barbara would have failed to recognise her friend
and admirer. Having placed a patch over one eye, and stuck
a chin-tuft of black hair under his lip, he seemed satisfied
with his appearance, replaced the glass and sundry other things
in his sack, then, with his usual agility, mounted one of the
overhanging trees, and concealed it amid the branches. As he
resumed his journey, he might have been taken for a gipsy
minstrel, for suspended round his neck was a small cracked
gittern, retaining only two strings. This, as if in mockery of
his assumed misfortune, he had rested on the hump, while the
riband, which was of bright scarlet, encircled, like a necklace,
his swarthy neck, that was partially uncovered. In his steeple-crowned
hat was stuck a peacock's feather; and any passenger
would have been puzzled to ascertain whether the motley deformed
being was a wit or a fool.</p>

<p>"Now"&mdash;thus ran his thoughts&mdash;"Now do I defy any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
of the serving-men at Whitehall to recognise their play-fellow,
Sir Willmott Burrell's valet, in the gipsy-looking rascal into
which I have, of myself, manufactured myself! Verily, Robin,
thou art a most ingenious fellow! Apt at contrivances&mdash;even
nature is thy debtor, for thou hast increased her deformity! I
could gain no tidings of the Cavalier in my own proper person&mdash;of
that I am certain; because the people there will either not
know, or be so effectually cautioned&mdash;there would be no use
in fishing in such water. Ah! your heart's blood Puritans will
never defile themselves by questioning such as me. 'Slife, I
think Old Noll himself could hardly make me out! I wonder
what would Barbara say now, if she were to behold me in this
disguise! I should not like her to see me, and that's the
truth; for no man likes to look worse than he is to his mistress,
and, the devil knows, I can ill spare my beauty! My
<i>beauty</i>!" he thought again, and then chuckled one of his vile
laughs, the most decided indicators of a scornful and bitter
temper.</p>

<p>Robin did not pursue the high London road, but struck
across the Park; and his love of fine scenery induced him to
pause at the top of Greenwich Hill, and look around on the
richness and beauty of the prospect. Flowing to the right,
the broad and glorious Thames turned its liquid mirror to the
skies, and reflected every passing cloud upon its translucent
bosom. But our noble river had more than clouds to shadow
it;&mdash;the treasures of the universe floated for us upon its
wave&mdash;the spoils of conquered and humbled nations left their
track along its shores; Spain, France, and either India&mdash;the
whole world, rendered us homage and paid us tribute, and
proud was our own Father Thames to bear that homage and
that tribute to his favoured city. Well might the great cupola
of St. Paul erect its heavy but majestic head, and peer forth
through the first beams of day upon the rich and blessed river!
Robin felt his heart swell within his bosom when he looked
down upon the waters and the land of which every Englishman
is so justly proud. "It is my own country!" was
his emphatic ejaculation, as he gazed on this picture of
English wealth and English cultivation. The little village of
Greenwich, straggling at the foot of the hill, approaching
closely to the palace, and then wandering along the great Dover
and London road, formed a more pleasant object than it does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
now that it has been magnified into a great and populous town.
Many wooden cottages nested under the Park walls, and sent
their smoke curling through the foliage of the fine trees that
formed a bold, rich back-ground. The palace, extending its
squares and courts along the river's brink, gave an air of dignity
to the whole scene; while the tinkling music of the sheep-bells,
echoing from the heath, lent to it a soft and harmonising
effect. On the river, in the extreme distance, an English vessel
was towing up some of the Spanish prizes which the
gallant Blake had forwarded to their future home: they trailed
the water heavily and gloomily, like captives as they were; and
their dismantled and battered aspect afforded ample subject for
discourse to a group of old sailors, who, though not yet possessed
of their Palace-Hospital, found many convenient dwellings
in the village, and added not a little to the picturesque
appearance of the hill, as, congregated in a small party, they
handed a rude spy-glass from one to another,</p>

<p class="center">"And told how ships were won."</p>

<p>"Ah!" said one veteran, "I heard old Blake myself say,
soon after his Highness was made the same as a king, and
many lubberly scoundrels put up their backs at it&mdash;'Boys,'
says he, and, my eyes! how nobly he does stand upon the deck
o' his own ship, the Triumph!&mdash;'Boys,' says he, 'it isn't
for us to mind state affairs, but keep foreigners from fooling
us.' D&mdash;n it, <i>that</i>'s what I call English."</p>

<p>"So it is," continued another, whose weather-beaten body
was supported on a pair of wooden legs, and who had just
joined the little party of which Robin made one; "so it is,
Jack, and what <i>I</i> call English, worth ten books full of other
lingo; wasn't I with him in Fifty-three, when, with only
twelve vessels, he beat Van Tromp, who had seventy ships of
the line and three hundred merchantmen under convoy? and
hadn't the Triumph seven hundred shot in her hull? Well,
though it was there I lost my precious limbs, I don't grudge
them, not I: it's as well to go to the fish as to the worms,
and any how we have the king's pension."</p>

<p>"Jemmy," said a waggish-looking sailor, with only one eye
and half an arm, twirling some tobacco in his mouth at the
same time&mdash;"Jemmy, it's rum talking about royalty&mdash;you
forget&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>

<p>"It's no such thing as rum talking, Terry; I don't mind
who governs England&mdash;she's England still. It warms my
blood, too, to think of the respect paid the Union Jack by all
nations. When our admiral, God bless him! was in the road
of Cadiz, a Dutch fellow didn't dare to hoist his flag; so, ye
see, the Dutch knows what's what, though both men and ships
are heavy sailors."</p>

<p>"Yes," chimed in the first speaker, "that was the time
when his health was drunk with a salute of five guns by one
of the French commanders: and it's noble, so it is, to see
the order he keeps those Algerines in. Why, if in searching
the Sallee rovers they found an English prisoner aboard, they
sent him off to Blake as civil as possible, hoping to get favour.
But that didn't hinder him from peppering both the Dey of
Algiers, and the infidel rascal at Tunis."</p>

<p>"I hear that the burning of the Spanish ships in the
Road of Santa Cruz was the most wonderful thing ever done,"
observed he of the wooden legs; "and it's desperate bad news
that he's taken on for sickness; for sure am I, that the Protector
will never have so faithful a friend, or so good a servant.
And so I told the sergeant, or whatever you choose to
call him, of the Ironsides, who stopped at the Oliver's Head,
down below yesterday, to bait horses, or some such thing:&mdash;says
I, 'If Blake goes, let your master look to himself.'&mdash;But
I hate all soldiers&mdash;lubberly, sulky, black-looking fellows&mdash;no
spirit in them, particularly now, when it's the fashion not to
drink, or swear, or do any thing for divarsion&mdash;ugh!" And
the old man's ire against the "land-lubbers" grew so hot,
that he turned away, and stumped stoutly down the hill.
Robin was not tardy in following, nor long in getting into
conversation, though the remembrance of the "land lubbers"
still rankled in the old man's mind.</p>

<p>"Here's a most excellent glass," said Robin, pulling a pocket-glass
from his vest, and showing it to the sailor; "you can
count the very shot-holes in the vessel they are towing up."</p>

<p>The sailor took it with a sneer of incredulity and a glance
of distrust at the speaker, but neither were of long duration.</p>

<p>"Yes," said he, after gazing through it attentively for some
minutes; "yes, that is something like what I call a glass.
'Gad, it makes me young again to see those marks&mdash;every
bullet had its billet, I warrant me. The eye you have left,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
my friend, does not look, though, as if it wanted such a
helper."</p>

<p>"Nor does it," said Robin; "and, as a token of the great
honour which I bear to the wooden walls of Old England, you
are welcome to keep it."</p>

<p>"Keep your glass, sir!" repeated the wooden-legged hero;
"no; you don't look like one who could afford to make such a
present. But I'll buy it, I'll buy it, if you'll let me&mdash;that I will."</p>

<p>"I'd rather you would take it," replied Robin with much
courtesy, and in a well-feigned foreign accent; "for though I
am a poor wanderer, one of another country, trying to pick up
a little by my skill in music, and from those charitable Christians
who pity my deformity, yet I love the very look of a
sailor so much, that I would give even my gittern to a true son
of the sea."</p>

<p>"Say you so, my boy?" shouted the old tar, "then d&mdash;n
me now if I do take it, nor I'll not buy it either; but I'll
swop for it any thing I have, and then, d'ye see, we'll have
something to remember each other all our days."</p>

<p>"The sailors of England," pursued the crafty Robin, "are
never seen but to be remembered&mdash;feared on sea and loved on
land."</p>

<p>"You're the best-hearted foreigner I ever fell in with,"
said the old man; "so let us make full sail for the Oliver's
Head, and settle the matter there; perhaps you'll give us a
taste of your calling," touching as he spoke the cracked gittern
with the point of his stick. "My eyes! how Ned Purcell
will stare at this glass! His own! why his own an't a fly-blow
to it."</p>

<p>"The Oliver's Head" was a gay hostelry by the road-side,
with what was called in those days a portraiture of the Protector
swinging from a post which stood on the slip of turf
that skirted the house. It was kept by a bluff landlord and a
young and pretty landlady, young enough to be her husband's
daughter, and discreet enough to be an old man's wife with
credit and respectability. There were benches all round the
house, one side of which looked towards the river, and the
other out upon the heath, and up the hill; and a pleasant view
it was either way; but the sailor chose the water-prospect, and
established himself and Robin on a small separate bench that
was overshadowed by a green and spreading cherry-tree.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
Having settled the exchange, which ended in Robin's receiving
a small Spanish dagger in exchange for his glass, the seaman
insisting on his taking a glass of another sort; to which
Robin was by no means averse, as he had not yet been able to
obtain the desired information relative to the Ironsides.</p>

<p>While they sat under the cherry-tree, however, the wished-for
opportunity occurred.</p>

<p>"What a pity it is," observed Robin, "that they don't cut
canals through the country, and do all the business by water
instead of land. They do it, you know, in Venice."</p>

<p>"There'd be sense and reason in that," replied the sailor
in great glee. "I never could see much use in the land at
any time."</p>

<p>"And then we should have all sailors and no soldiers," continued
Robin.</p>

<p>"Ah!" said the sailor, "I doubt if the Protector could
ever be brought to see the good of that; he's mortally fond of
the army."</p>

<p>"You had some of his own Ironsides here yesterday, you
said?"</p>

<p>"Ay, they were after something or other, I'll answer for
that; for though they never go the same road twice, if they
can by any means help it, yet they have been about the place,
and round the neighbourhood, very much lately. I did hear
that Noll was after some smuggling, or devilrie, down a little
beyond Gravesend. He never can let a thing alone when once
he gets scent of it."</p>

<p>"Was there any one, any prisoner, or chap of that sort,
with them last night, or yesterday?" Robin ventured to ask.</p>

<p>"No, not that I saw or noticed," said the sailor.</p>

<p>"Yes, there was," replied the landlady, who had been leaning
over the hatch-door, listening to their conversation, and
scrutinising the person of her new guest. "There was a
young gentleman, not like a prisoner either, only I fancied
under some restraint; and I brought him a better stoup of
wine than I brought the rest. Poor gentleman! he seemed
downhearted, or like one crossed in love."</p>

<p>"Crossed in a fiddlestick!" said the bluff old landlord:
"your woman's head is ever running on love."</p>

<p>"Then it does not run on you, I am sure," retorted Robin.
"Your stick would get no music out of any fiddle."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>

<p>"I could make as good music out of a currycomb, as you
out of that cracked thing that sits perched on your hump&mdash;like
a monkey on the back of a dromedary."</p>

<p>"Get your currycomb, and we'll make a wager of it," replied
Robin, unslinging his gittern, while some of the old
sailors crowded round the challenger, and voted it a fair challenge.</p>

<p>"Ugh!" grunted forth the bluff landlord, turning away.
"When I play, it shall be against a Christian Englishman,
and none of your foreign jigmaries."</p>

<p>"Play, play, nevertheless," said the young landlady, handing
Robin at the same time a measure of fine ale; then stooping
as if to untie the knot that fastened the gittern, she whispered
in his ear. "And there was one who, with a few others,
left the party, rode on, and took no refreshment. I knew him
well; but if the youth be a friend of yours, depend upon't
he's kindly thought of, for the leader put a broad-piece into
my hand as he passed, and told me to see that the Cavalier
was properly attended to."</p>

<p>"Took they the London road?" inquired Robin.</p>

<p>"Ay; though 'tis hard to say how long such as they continue
on any path."</p>

<p>"What are you doing, Maud?" inquired the rough landlord,
who had just returned, and was lounging against the
door-post.</p>

<p>"There! I have broken the string that went round his
neck," she said aloud, without heeding the question. "I
must get you another."</p>

<p>When she returned with a flaming red riband, that glared
in cruel mockery at the shabby gittern, she contrived to add,
"I have a brother in the Ironsides, and he said he thought
they were bound for Hampton Court; but it might have been
only his fancy."</p>

<p>It was a quaint but pretty sight under that green Kentish
cherry-tree, and upon the bank of that beautiful river, to see the
weather-cock Robin in his motley dress, the long peacock's
feather ever and anon lifted from his hat by the fresh breeze
that came from the water, while he sung with sweet and
animated voice a song that suited well the tastes and feelings
of his hearers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, the sailor's home is the boundless sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The sea, the sea, the sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He loves it best when waves are high,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a fierce nor'-wester shakes the sky.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh, the sea, the sea, the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, the sailor's home is the home for me!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Away we go, o'er our own blue sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The sea, the sea, the sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We are ocean lords, for the winds obey,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the raging billows own our sway.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh, the sea, the sea, the sea!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let my home be the sailor's home&mdash;the sea!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"A proud man well may our captain be,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The sea, the sea, the sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But our noble ship a bride shall be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To five hundred men as good as he.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh, the sea, the sea, the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis a fitting mate for the brave and free!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Give the land to slaves, but give us the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The sea, the sea, the sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our hopes, our joys, our bed, and our grave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are above or below the salt-sea wave.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Oh, the sea, the sea, the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hurrah for the sailor's home&mdash;the sea!"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Then leaning over the hatch-door, her rosy cheek half-resting
on the rough shoulder of her rough husband, was the
pretty Mistress Maud, the personification of rustic English
beauty; then the picturesque grouping of the old and worn,
but still gallant and manly sailors&mdash;our friend of the wooden
legs a little in the fore-ground, supported by the quizzical
seaman, and a tall stiff bony-looking "Black Sal" of a woman
on the other, whose complexion was contrasted by a
snow-white cap, somewhat pointed at the top, which hardly
concealed her grizzled hair. She was both exhibiting and
admiring in dumb show the telescope so lately in the possession
of our friend Robin; while Ned Purcell, a little dumpy,
grey-headed mariner, who had heretofore been considered the
owner of the best glass in Greenwich, was advancing, glass in
hand, to decide which was really the best without farther
parley. As Robin was obliged to sing his song twice, we may
be excused for having given it once, though certainly it received
but little advantage from the miserable accompaniment
of the wretched instrument that had just been so gaily adorned
by the hands of Mistress Maud.</p>

<p>When the song was fairly finished, Robin arose to depart,
for he had been long anxious to proceed on his way, though
the scene we have described, and the conversation we have
recorded, had passed within the compass of an hour. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
all pressed him to remain. Even the bluff landlord tempted
him with the offer of a pint of Canary, an offer he would not
himself under any circumstances have declined. Robin, however,
bade them a courteous farewell; but he had hardly
reached the outskirts of the village, when he heard a light
step, and felt a light hand press upon his shoulder. He
turned round, and the blithe smile of mine hostess of the
Oliver's Head beamed upon his painted face.</p>

<p>"Robin Hays!" she said, "I would advise you never to
sing when you go mumming; you did well enough till then;
but, though the nightingale hath many notes, the voice is aye
the same. The gentleman you were speering after, dropped
this while making some change in his garments; and it looks
so like a love-token, that I thought, as you were after him,
you would give it him, poor youth! and my benison with it."</p>

<p>"Yes," replied the Ranger, taking from her the very lock
of hair which the Cavalier had severed, with his own hand,
from among the tresses of Constantia. "I'll give it him when I
can find him; yet, had you not better wrap it up in something?
It pains the heart to see such as this exposed to the air, much
less the eyes of any body in the world." Maud wrapped it in
a piece of paper, and Robin placed it carefully in a small
pocket-book.</p>

<p>"The devil's as bright in your eyes still, Maud, as it was
when you won poor Jack Roupall's heart, and then jilted him
for a rich husband. I did not think any one would have
found me out."</p>

<p>"If I did sell myself," replied the landlady, "I have had
my reward"&mdash;the colour faded from her cheek as she spoke&mdash;"as
all will have who go the same gait. But ye ken,
Bobby, it was not for my ain sake, but that my poor mother
might have a home in her auld age&mdash;and so she had, and
sure that ought to make me content." The tears gathered in
her eyes, and the Ranger loudly reproached himself for unkindness,
and assured her he meant no harm.</p>

<p>"I am sure o' that; but when any one evens Jack to me,
it brings back the thought of my ain North to my heart, and
its words to my tongue, which is no good now, as it becomes
me to forget both."</p>

<p>"God bless you, Maud!" said Robin, shaking her affectionately
by the hand: "God bless you! and if any ask after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
the Ironsides, see you say nothing of the young gentleman,
who is as dear to me as my heart's blood; and do not tell to
any, even of our own set, that I passed this way; for it's
hard to tell who's who, or what's what, these times."</p>

<p>"So it is," replied the dame, smiling through tears;
"and now God be wi' ye, Robin!" And presently he heard
her voice carolling a North country ballad, as she returned to
her own house.</p>

<p>"Now is her heart in her own country," muttered the
Ranger, "though her voice is here; and those who did not
know her little story would think her as cheerful as the length
of a summer's day; and so she ought to be, for she performed
her duty; and duty, after all, when well performed, seems a
perpetual and most cheerful recompense for care and toil, and,
it may be, trouble of mind and pain of heart."</p>

<p>Robin having obtained the clue to the secret of which he
was in search, wended his way towards the metropolis. The
steeples of a hundred churches were soon in sight.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX_I" id="CHAPTER_IX_I"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But yonder comes my faithful friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That like assaults hath often tried;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On his advice I will depend<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Whe'er I shall win or be denied;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, look, what counsel he shall give,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That will I do, whe'er die or live<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Henry Willoby.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Robin, when he arrived in London, loitered away an hour
around Whitehall and the Park, before he proceeded farther,
and easily ascertained that the Protector was then at Hampton
Court; as to who went with him, how long he would remain,
or when he would return, he could receive no intelligence; for
the best of all possible reasons&mdash;the movements of his Highness
were secrets even from his own family.</p>

<p>There was much talk, however, and considerable speculation
among all classes of people, as to whether he would yield
to the eager entreaties of a certain party in the parliament,
who were urgently pressing forward a motion, the object of
which was, that Cromwell should exchange the title he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
heretofore borne, and adopt the more time-honoured, but,
alas! more obnoxious one, of King. Some of the more rigid
sects were busily discoursing in groups, respecting Walton's
Polyglott Bible, and the fitness or unfitness of the committee
that had been sitting at Whitelock's house at Chelsea, to consider
properly the translations and impressions of the Holy
Scriptures. Robin received but surly treatment at the palace-gates,
for minstrelsy was not the fashion; and he almost began
to <a name="Page_237t" id="Page_237t"></a><a href="#Page_237tn">think</a> the disguise he had selected was an injudicious one.
He hastened on to the city, along the line of street now called
the Strand, but which was then only partially skirted by
houses, and delivered Dalton's invoices to the merchant beyond
St. Paul's, who had need of the Genoa velvets; then proceeded
to the dealer in jewels, by whom the pearls had been
commanded. Here it appeared no easy matter to gain admission;
but a few words mysteriously pronounced to a grave-looking
person, whose occupation was half porter, half clerk,
removed all obstacles, and he found himself in a dark, noisome
room, at the back of one of the houses in Fenchurch Street&mdash;at
that time much inhabited by foreign merchants, who were
generally dealers in contraband goods, as well as in the more
legitimate articles of commerce.</p>

<p>As soon as the wayfarer entered, he disburdened himself of
his hump, and from between its folds produced strings of the
finest pearls and heaped them on the table. The dealer put
on his glasses, and examined them separately, with great care,
but much rapidity; while Robin, like a good and faithful
steward, kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the jewels, never
losing sight of them for a single moment, until his attention
was arrested by a person entering and addressing the merchant.
Robin immediately recognised the stranger as the old Jew,
Manasseh Ben Israel, whom he had seen at Sir Willmott
Burrell's.</p>

<p>"Excuse me, I pray you, for a few moments, good Rabbi,"
observed the merchant, who was now occupied in entering the
number, size, and quality of the pearls in a large book.</p>

<p>"I cannot wait, friend," was the Jew's quick reply, "for
I am going a journey, and the night draws on darkly."</p>

<p>"Whither, sir, I pray you?"</p>

<p>"Even to Hampton House," replied Ben Israel, "to
commune with his Highness, whom the God of Abraham<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
protect!&mdash;and I am sorely perplexed, for my own serving-man
is ill, and I know not whom to take, seeing I am feeble
and require care, unless you can lend me the man Townsend:
Samuel assures me he is a person of trust."</p>

<p>"Townsend is, unhappily, gone on secret business to a long
distance, set off not an hour since: would that I had known
it before!"</p>

<p>"There is no lack of servants," continued the Rabbi, "but
there is great lack of faithfulness. I know not what to do, for
I must see his Highness to-night."</p>

<p>"If it so please you," said little Robin, eagerly stepping
forward, "I will go with you; I am sure this gentleman can
answer for my fidelity, and I will answer for my own fitness."</p>

<p>The Rabbi and the merchant looked at each other, and then
the latter observed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I can well answer for this young man's trust-worthiness,
seeing he has been engaged to bring me goods such as these,
from secret sources, the nature of which you understand, excellent
Ben Israel. But what know you of the service befitting
a gentleman's servant?"</p>

<p>"I have been in that capacity, too," replied little Robin
Hays.</p>

<p>"With whom?" inquired Manasseh.</p>

<p>"With one I care not much to name, sirs, for he does
me no credit," was Robin's answer; "with Sir Willmott
Burrell."</p>

<p><a name="Page_238t" id="Page_238t"></a><a href="#Page_238tn">The</a> old man shuddered, and said in an agitated voice&mdash;"Then,
indeed, you will not do for me on this occasion."</p>

<p>"Under favour," persisted Robin, "I know not the occasion,
and therefore cannot judge, if I may speak so boldly;
but I have seen you before, sir, and can only say, that
knowing all his man&oelig;uvres well, I am just the person to be
trusted by his enemy."</p>

<p>"Young man," said the Jew, severely, "I am no man's
enemy; I leave such enmity as you speak of to my Christian
brethren. I ask only justice from my fellow mortals, and
mercy from my God."</p>

<p>"But, sir, I thought you had sustained some wrong at the
hands of Sir Willmott Burrell, from your visit at such an hour,
and your manner on that night."</p>

<p>"Wrong! ay, such wrong as turns a father's hair grey, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
veins dry, and scorches up his brain." The old man paused,
for his feelings had overpowered him.</p>

<p>"I know none more faithful than Robin Hays," urged the
pearl-merchant; "and now that I call to remembrance, the
time he served that same knight, (who, I hear, is going to repair
his fortunes by a wealthy marriage,) I think he did well
as a lackey; though, to own the truth, I should fancy him
more in his place, and to his liking, as the servitor to a bold
Buccaneer."</p>

<p>"Buccaneer!" repeated Ben Israel&mdash;"What Buccaneer?"</p>

<p>"Oh!" said the merchant, smiling, "Hugh Dalton&mdash;the
fairest man in the free trade."</p>

<p>"Hugh Dalton!" repeated the Jew, slowly: then adding,
after a lengthened pause, "Art cunning in disguises?"</p>

<p>"As cunning as my body will permit," replied Robin.</p>

<p>"You have seen my faithful Samuel?"</p>

<p>"I have, sir."</p>

<p>"Then array thyself on the instant as much after his dress
and fashion as is possible."</p>

<p>Robin hastily and right cheerfully obeyed this command;
and, in less than half an hour, was rolling along the road to
Hampton Court, in the guise of a serving Jew.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X_I" id="CHAPTER_X_I"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Vengeance will sit above our faults; but till<br /></span>
<span class="i4">She there do sit,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">We see her not, nor them.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Dr. Donne.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It is hardly necessary to direct the reader's attention to the
quickness and ingenuity at all times displayed by Robin Hays,
or the facility with which he adapted himself to any circumstance
or situation that was likely to favour or further his designs.
The moment the Rabbi had stated his intention of
visiting Hampton Court, he perceived that, as a Jewish servant,
he might have abundant opportunities of ascertaining the
precise condition of the Cavalier: fortunately for his purpose,
the mention of Hugh Dalton's name at once decided Ben Israel
in granting his request.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p>

<p>The Jew had received intimation that the noted and well-known
commander of the Fire-fly had been lying off St. Vallery,
and making many inquiries relative to his daughter, who
had at length been traced on board his cruiser by her continental
friends. "Doubtless," thought the Rabbi, "I may be
enabled to draw forth, or bribe forth, from this his associate,
whatever knowledge he may possess of the views and objects
which they contemplate as regards my most wretched daughter."
In pursuance of this plan he commenced a series of examinations
as they journeyed towards Hampton Court; which
Robin, with all his dexterity, would have found it difficult to
parry, if he had had any intention or desire so to do. Suddenly
it occurred to the Ranger that the pretended dumb boy
was no other than Ben Israel's daughter, and he frankly mentioned
his suspicions.</p>

<p>The old man at first shrank from the supposition with extreme
horror. "It was impossible," he said, "that his child should
so far forget her birth and station, as to degrade herself by assuming
male attire;" but Robin reminded him that when a
woman loves, as she must have done, and has once sacrificed
her duty, perhaps her honour, all obstacles become as nought.
The Jew groaned heavily, and remained long silent; she was
his only, and his beloved one; and, though the Jewish laws
were strict, even unto death, against any who wedded with
strangers, yet he loved her despite her disobedience, and the
more he thought, the more resolved he became to punish the
betrayer of her innocence and faith.</p>

<p>Robin was also greatly distressed; the fear of some evil
occurring to Barbara took forcible possession of his mind.
Why should this girl, if indeed Jeromio's charge was actually
a girl, why should she menace Barbara? What had Barbara
to do with the foul transaction? Could it be possible, that,
from her being tricked out with so much finery, the stranger
mistook the maid for the mistress; and with impotent rage,
was warning or threatening her, in an unknown tongue, against
a marriage with Burrell! He could not comprehend the matter;
and the more he was at fault, the more anxious he became.
He, in his own mind, reproached even the Buccaneer
for imparting to him only half measures.</p>

<p>"Had I known," thought Robin, "the true particulars
about Sir Willmott's affairs, of which I am convinced, from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
many circumstances, Dalton was in full possession, I could
have assisted in all things, and prevented results that may hereafter
happen." There was another idea that had lately mingled
much with the Ranger's harassed feelings&mdash;Constantia's
intended marriage. Robin was satisfied that a strong regard,
if not a deeply-rooted affection, existed between Walter De
Guerre and Barbara's kind mistress; and he thought that
Hugh Dalton's manifesting so little interest on the subject was
not at all in keeping with his usually chivalrous feelings towards
woman-kind, or his professed esteem and affection for
his young friend. He knew that the Buccaneer's heart was
set upon attaining a free pardon; and he also knew that he
had some powerful claim upon the interest of Sir Robert Cecil;
he knew, moreover, Dalton's principal motive for bringing
over the Cavalier; but with all his sagacity, he could not discover
why he did not, at once and for ever, set all things right,
by exhibiting Sir Willmott Burrell in his true colours. Robin
had repeatedly urged the Buccaneer on this subject, but his
constant reply was,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I have no business with other people's children; I must
look to my own. If they have been kind to Barbara, they
have had good reason for it. It will be a fine punishment,
hereafter, to Sir Willmott; one that may come, or may not
come, as he behaves; but it will be a punishment in reserve,
should he, in the end, discover that Mistress Cecil may be no
heiress." In fact, the only time that the Buccaneer felt any
strong inclination to prevent the sacrifice Constantia was
about to make, was when he found that she knew her father's
crime, but was willing to give herself to misery as the price of
secrecy; then, indeed, had his own pardon been secured, he
would have stated to the Protector's face the deep villany of
the Master of Burrell. Until his return on board the Fire-fly,
and his suppression of the mutiny excited by Sir Willmott and
the treachery of Jeromio, he had no idea that Burrell, base as
he knew him to be, would have aimed against his life.</p>

<p>The Buccaneer was a brave, bold, intrepid, careless man;
more skilled in the tricks of war than in tracing the secret
workings of the human mind, or in watching the shades and
modifications of the human character. His very love for his
daughter had more of the protecting and proud care of the
eagle about it, than the fostering gentleness with which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
tender parent guards its young; he was proud of her, and he
was resolved to use every possible means to make her proud of
him. He had boasted to Sir Robert Cecil that it was his suspicions
made him commit "<i>forged</i> documents to the flames,"
at the time when the baronet imagined that all proofs of his
crimes had been destroyed; but, in truth, Dalton had mislaid
the letters, and, eager to end all arrangements then pending, he
burned some papers, which he had hastily framed for the purpose,
to satisfy Sir Robert Cecil. When in after years it occurred
to him that, if he obtained those papers he could wind
Sir Robert to his purpose, he searched every corner of the Gull's
Nest Crag until they were discovered; so that, in fact, he
owed their possession to chance, and not to skilfulness. Even
the boy Springall had seen through the Italian's character; but
Dalton had been so accustomed to find his bravery overwhelmingly
successful, and consequently to trust to it almost implicitly,
that his fine intellect was suffered to lie dormant, where
it would have often saved him from much that he endured. If
he had thought deeply, he would have seen the impropriety of
trusting the Fire-fly at any time to Jeromio's command, because,
as he had found him guilty of so many acts of treachery
towards others, he should have known, that it only needed
sufficient bribery, or inducement of any other kind, to turn
that treachery upon himself.</p>

<p>His last interview with Sir Robert Cecil had made him
aware that the baronet had really lost the greater part of the
influence he once maintained at Whitehall; and since he had
been so much off and on the English coast, he had heard enough
to convince him that Cromwell granted few favours to those
who had not much usefulness to bestow in return. Sir Robert
was broken in intellect and constitution: he had no son to whom
the Protector could look for support in case of broil or disturbance,
and the Buccaneer was ignorant of the strong and friendly
ties that had united the families for so long a series of years.
He had fancied that fear would compel Sir Willmott Burrell
to press his suit; but the atrocious attempt upon his life assured
him that there was nothing to expect from him but the
blackest villany. When, therefore, he despatched, with all the
ferocity of a true Buccaneer, the head of Jeromio as a wedding-present
to Sir Willmott, he at the same time transmitted
to the Protector, by a trusty messenger, the Master of Bur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>rell's
own directions touching the destruction of the Jewish
Zillah, and stated that if his Highness would grant him a free
pardon, which he had certain weighty reasons for desiring, he
believed it was in his power to produce the Rabbi's daughter.
His communication concluded by entreating that his Highness
would prevent the marriage of the Master of Burrell, at all
events until the following week.</p>

<p>His envoy had particular orders neither to eat, drink, nor
sleep, until he had found means of placing the packet in the
hands of the Protector. Dalton having so far eased his
mind, bitterly cursed his folly that he had not in the first instance,
instead of proceeding to St. Vallery in search of the
Jewess, informed Ben Israel of the transaction, who would at
once have obtained his pardon, as the price of his daughter's
restoration and Burrell's punishment.</p>

<p>It will be easily conceived that on the night which Burrell
expected to be the last of the Buccaneer's existence he neither
slumbered nor slept. The earliest break of morning found
him on the cliffs at no great distance from the Gull's Nest
Crag, waiting for the signal that had been agreed upon between
Jeromio and himself, as announcing the success of their
plan. There was no speck upon the blue waves between him
and the distant coast of Essex, which, from the point on which
he stood, looked like a dark line upon the waters; neither was
there, more ocean-ward, a single vessel to be seen. He remained
upon the cliff for a considerable time. As the dawn
brightened into day, the little skiffs of the fishermen residing
on the Isle of Shepey put off, sometimes in company, sometimes
singly, from their several anchorings. Then a sail
divided the horizon, then another, and another; but still no
signal told him that treachery had prospered. At length the
sun had fully risen. He then resolved upon hastening to the
Gull's Nest, with the faint hope that some message from
Jeromio might have been forwarded thither. Time was to him,
upon that eventful morning, of far higher value than gold;
yet above an hour had been spent in fruitless efforts to learn
the result of an attempt on which he knew that much of his
future fate depended. He had not proceeded far upon his
course, when he was literally seized upon by the Reverend
Jonas Fleetword, who ever appeared to the troubled and plotting
Sir Willmott in the character of an evil genius.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>

<p>"I have sought thee as a friend," observed the simple-minded
man,&mdash;"as a petitioner, I had almost said, so earnest
was the lady about it&mdash;from the Lady Frances Cromwell, to
beg that the bridal, which even now, according to thy directions,
he of the Episcopalian faith was preparing to solemnise,
might be delayed until evening, in consequence of Mistress
Cecil being somewhat ill at ease, either in body or in mind, or, it
may be the Lord's will, in both;&mdash;very ill of a surety she is."</p>

<p>"This is trifling," exclaimed Burrell in anger. "She
asked delay, and I granted till this morning. I can brook no
such vain excuse."</p>

<p>"Of a verity," quoth Fleetword, "thy reply is, as I deem
it, given in a most unchristian spirit. Thy bride elect is ill;
and instead of a shower (which is emblematic of tears) cometh
a storm, which (in poetic language) signifieth anger!"</p>

<p>"Forgive me, sir," replied Burrell, who perceived that the
delay, under such circumstances, however dangerous, must be
granted; "but it is natural for a bridegroom to feel disappointed
when there arises any postponement to his long looked-for
happiness, particularly when there be reasons strong as
mine against it."</p>

<p>Fleetword little comprehended the meaning of this last sentence;
but drawing forth a pocket Bible, which on more than
one occasion had given much trouble to Sir Willmott Burrell, he
told him he had considered that admirable portion of the Scripture
touching the duty of husband and wife, so well set forth
therein, and that he had composed a discourse thereon, which
he meant to deliver unto them after the holy ceremony, but
that he would now expound much upon the subject, as they
journeyed homeward.</p>

<p>"I am not going direct to Cecil Place," was Burrell's excuse;
"I am looking after one Robin Hays, who dwells somewhere
near, or at, a place called the Gull's Nest Crag: he was
once my servant, and I desire to see him."</p>

<p>"It is even one with me," replied Fleetword; "I know
the lad Robin, too; so I will go with thee, and read the while.
I covet a holy exercise; and for it every time, yea, and every
place, is fitting."</p>

<p>Most cordially did Burrell wish the good preacher&mdash;no matter
where; but his wishes availed nought, for he remained
close to his side, holding forth, without intermission, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
same monotonous tone, that sounded like the ding-dong, ding-dong
of a curfew-bell to the knight's bewildered ear.</p>

<p>Yet this was not the only source of embarrassment Sir
Willmott was that morning doomed to encounter. We have
elsewhere had occasion to mention an old tower that supported
Gull's Nest, in which Barbara Iverk found shelter the evening
she did her lady's errand to the Crag: as Burrell and his
companion turned the corner by this tower, Zillah Ben Israel,
still habited as a boy, but wearing a tunic of cloth that reached
below her knee, stood before him!</p>

<p>Had a spectre sprung from the earth, Sir Willmott could
not have regarded it with greater astonishment or dismay. He
would have passed, but she still stood in his path, her head uncovered,
and her black luxuriant hair braided around it, displaying
to full advantage her strikingly beautiful but strongly
marked Jewish features: her eyes, black and penetrating,
discovered little of gentle or feminine expression, but sparkled
and fired restlessly in their sockets: her lips curled and
quivered as she sought words, for some time in vain, in which
to address the false, base knight.</p>

<p>Fleetword was the first to speak.</p>

<p>"In the name of the Lord, I charge thee, avoid our path,
young maniac! for, of a truth, there is little sobriety, little
steadiness, in thy look, which savoureth neither of peace nor
contentment. What wouldst thou with my friend?&mdash;This is
his bridal-day, and he has no leisure for such as thee."</p>

<p>"The devil take thee with him, thou everlasting pestilence!"
exclaimed Burrell to the preacher, fiercely, forgetting
all moderation in the excess of his passion; for at the word
"bridal" a change as awful as can be imagined to shadow the
face of woman rested on the countenance of Zillah. "Avoid
me, both of ye!" he continued; "and you, young sir, who so
eagerly rush upon your own destruction, avoid me especially:
the time for trifling is past!"</p>

<p>During this burst of rage, the Jewess kept her eyes steadily
fixed upon Burrell, and held her hand within the bosom of
her vest. When he paused, she addressed him at first in
broken English, and then finding that she could not proceed
with the eagerness and fluency her case required, she spoke in
French.</p>

<p>She first appealed to her seducer's honour; referred to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
marriage with her; called to mind his protestations of affection,
and used all the entreaties which a woman's heart so naturally
suggests, to arouse his better feelings on her behalf. All was
in vain; for Burrell parried it all, managing to recover his self-possession
while she exhausted herself with words. She then
vowed that, if he failed to render her justice, she would, as
she had threatened at a former time, throw herself, and the
proofs she possessed of his villany, at the Protector's feet, and be
his ruin. Sir Willmott then sought to temporise, assured her
that it was necessity obliged him to forsake her; and would
have persuaded her to meet him or go with him into the house,
where, he assured her, he could perhaps arrange&mdash;perhaps&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"No," she replied, in the less strong, but more poetic language
of France, "I will go under no roof with you, I will
exchange no token, no pledge with you. I believe you would
follow me to the death; and if you fail to do me justice, I
will pursue you to the same, and not you alone. No woman
but myself shall ever rest upon your bosom. I swear by the
God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, that I will have
vengeance, though my nation should spill out my blood as a
sacrifice before the Lord for my iniquities, the next hour!"
She shook back her head as she pronounced the vow, and her
hair, loosened from its confinement, cloaked her slight figure
with a robe of darkness.</p>

<p>"Acknowledge your marriage with me before this holy man,"
she continued: "although he is a Christian, I have heard
that he is honest&mdash;and I will leave you for a time."</p>

<p>"Peace, Zillah!" interrupted Burrell; "there was no marriage.
It is a fable of your own invention&mdash;you have no
proof."</p>

<p>"Have I not?" she replied, and, with woman's luckless
imprudence, she drew forth a small packet and held it for an
instant towards him. That instant was enough: he snatched
the documents from her hand, and held them before her with
the exultation of a demon. His triumph, however, was but
short-lived, for Fleetword, who comprehended what had passed,
was sufficiently alive to its importance to seize the papers from
the Master of Burrell before he had the least idea that the
preacher would have dared such an act. Sir Willmott stood
amazed at his presumption: but instantly Fleetword drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
forth the basket-hilted sword we have before noticed, and with
more real intellect, and excellent feeling, than a cavalier would
have believed he possessed, exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell! When Solomon sat in judgment
in Israel, he despised not the cause even of the worst. It hath
been given me to understand the tongues of many lands&mdash;not
by the intervention of the Holy Spirit, but by the industry and
labour of my poor brain, aided, as all just and fitting things are,
by the blessing of the Lord! If what this person says is true,
it would be most unseemly for you to become the husband of
Mistress Constantia Cecil; if it is not true, why the person
must fall by its (for of a truth I cannot determine the sex)&mdash;its
own falsehood! But keep off, Master of Burrell! Jonas
Fleetword can fight for the truth by strength of hand as well
as of voice; the documents shall be heard of at the seat of
judgment in our New Jerusalem."</p>

<p>Sir Willmott, thus run down on all sides, had now recourse
to stratagem. After a brief pause, during which both Zillah
and the preacher, as if having come to the same determination,
kept silence, he said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Well; perhaps it is best. Will you, Zillah, go with me
to Cecil Place?"</p>

<p>"No!" was her reply. "I will meet you there; but I
frankly tell you, I will not trust myself in your company under
any roof, unless it be with many persons."</p>

<p>"Then come there at seven o' the clock this evening&mdash;and
I swear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I have no faith in your oaths&mdash;but I will trust to this
man; and if he assures me that the accursed marriage shall
not take place until I hold commune with the woman you
would wed&mdash;safe, and undisturbed commune&mdash;I will leave
you until night."</p>

<p>"Then I assure you of it," replied Fleetword; "and let this
convince you of my truth, that I love the sweet lady, Constance
Cecil, too well, to see her shadowed even by such dishonour
as your words treat of.&mdash;Sir Willmott, Sir Willmott! you have
shown the cloven foot!"</p>

<p>"Look out on the waters, Sir Willmott Burrell," shouted
the Jewess, in her wild voice: "look out on the waters, and
see the sail and the signal of the brave Buccaneer!"</p>

<p>Burrell looked anxiously, and earnestly; but he could per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>ceive
nothing of which she spoke. When he turned towards
the spot where Zillah had stood&mdash;she was gone!</p>

<p>"All this is of the evil one," said Fleetword, after peering
among the old walls, and approaching his nose so closely to
the larger stones, that it might be imagined he was smelling,
not looking at them.&mdash;"Whither has the creature escaped?"</p>

<p>"Verily, I know not," was Burrell's reply. "Best come
with me into the Gull's Nest; I would speak with Robin."</p>

<p>The unsuspicious preacher did as he was desired.</p>

<p>Sir Willmott inquired for the Ranger. His mother said,
truly, "He was gone a journey."</p>

<p>"For Hugh Dalton?"</p>

<p>"He had joined his ship."</p>

<p>He then managed privately to ask for the secret key of a
place called "the Cage," where contraband goods, not wanted
for ready sale, were generally deposited. It had no communication
with any of the private chambers, except by a narrow
passage, which, leading to no other place, was seldom traversed.
Into this cage he managed to get Fleetword, saying, "It was
one of the ways out;" and while the preacher was looking
round with much curiosity, he turned the key, placed it safely
in his vest, and, without saying a word to Mother Hays, who,
at such an early hour was just beginning to be very busy, left
the Gull's Nest with much self-congratulation.</p>

<p>"Stay safely there but till another morning, poor meddling
fool!" he murmured; "and then, for your sweet Constantia's
sake, you'll keep my secret, and resign these cursed papers."</p>

<p>It is not to be imagined that Sir Willmott Burrell would,
upon any account, have suffered Zillah to make her appearance
at Cecil Place. His existence seemed now to hang upon her
destruction; but instruments were wanting: Roupall had been
sent out of the way by Hugh Dalton, and tidings were in vain
expected of or from Jeromio. The slight relief afforded by
the imprisonment of Fleetword was speedily succeeded by a
state of mind bordering on madness.</p>

<p>Stopping for a few moments at the lodge of Cecil Place, he
warned the old porter not to admit, but to detain, any person,
man or woman, who might inquire for him, no matter under
what pretext entrance might be demanded; for he assured the
old man there was a deranged youth, who pretended to have
known him abroad, and who, he was informed, had used un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>accountable
threats against him. Sir Willmott, moreover,
enforced his instructions by a handsome present, and was proceeding
to the house, when the gate-bell rang, and a man,
habited as a travelling merchant, presented a parcel, directed
"For Sir Willmott Burrell. These&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Burrell commanded the messenger into the lodge room; the
stranger, after some hesitation, entered. Sir Willmott briefly
dismissed the old porter, and undid the packet; when, lo! the
matted and gory head of the Italian, Jeromio, rolled at his
feet. There it lay, in all the hideous deformity of sudden
and violent death! the severed throat, thickened with gouts of
blood! the dimmed spectral eyes starting from their sockets!
the lips shrinking from the teeth of glaring whiteness&mdash;there
it lay, looking up, as it were, into the face of the base but
horrified associate. His utterance was impeded, and a thick
mist came over him, as he sank into the old porter's chair.</p>

<p>"What does this mean?" he said at length to the man,
whom he now recognised as one of the sailors of the Fire-fly.&mdash;"What
means it?"</p>

<p>"A wedding present from Hugh Dalton, is all I heard
about the matter," returned the fellow, quietly turning a morsel
of tobacco in his mouth, and eyeing the knight with ineffable
contempt.</p>

<p>"You must give information of this most horrible murder&mdash;you
witnessed it&mdash;it will make your fortune," continued
Sir Willmott, springing from the seat, and, like a drowning
man, seizing even at a straw. "I can take your deposition&mdash;this
most foul murder may make your fortune&mdash;think of that.&mdash;What
ho!" he would have called the porter, but the man
prevented him, and then burst into a laugh, wild as a wild
sea-wave.</p>

<p>"Lodge informations! You a law-maker! May I never
spin another yarn, but ye are precious timber! Shiver and
blazes! haven't ye with your palaver and devilry worked
harm enou' aboard our ship, but ye want me to be pickled up,
or swing from the yard-arm! No, no, master; I'll keep
off such a lee-shore. I've no objections in life to a&mdash;any
thing&mdash;but ye'r informations. Ah! ah! ah! what sinnifies
a hundred such as that," and he kicked at the bloody head,
"or such as you," pointing to Sir Willmott, "in comparison
to the bold Buccaneer! Look here, master&mdash;whatever ye'r<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
name be&mdash;they say the law and the pirates often sail under
false colours; and blow me but I believe it now, when sich
as you have to do with one of 'em. Bah! I'd cry for the
figure-head of our ship, if she had sich a bridegroom."</p>

<p>"You shall not escape me, villain!" exclaimed Sir Willmott,
rendered desperate by his adverse fortunes, and springing
towards the seaman.&mdash;"But stay," he added, drawing back,
"you," hesitatingly, "you are honest to your captain: well,
there is something you could do for me, that&mdash;&mdash;" He paused&mdash;and
the sailor took advantage of the pause to say,&mdash;</p>

<p>"A farewell and foul weather to ye, master! Look, if
you could make ye'r whole head into one great diamond, and
lay it at my feet, as that carrion lies at yours, may I die on
a sandbank like a dry herring, if I'd take it to do one of the
dirty jobs ye're for ever plotting!"</p>

<p>Oh, what a degrading thing it is to be scoffed at by our
superiors! How prone we are to resent it when our equals
meet us with a sneer! But when the offscouring of society,
the reptiles that we could have trodden under foot, may
rail at and scorn us with impunity, how doubly bitter, how
perfectly insupportable must it be! The very ministers of
evil scouted him, and sin and misery thought him too contemptible
to deal with! Burrell gnashed his teeth and struck
his temples with his clenched fist&mdash;the room turned round&mdash;the
bloody head of Jeromio uplifted itself to his imaginings,
and gibbered, and cursed, and muttered, and laughed at him
in fiendish merriment! If Zillah could have seen Burrell at
that moment, she would have pitied and prayed for him: the
strong man trembled as a weak girl in the shiverings of a
mortal fever&mdash;his heart shuddered within his bosom&mdash;he lost
all power of reasoning, and it was not until huge drops of
perspiration had forced their way along his burning brow, that
he at all recovered his faculties. He gazed around the small
apartment; but the man was gone. The lodge window that
looked on the road was open, and the knight's first effort was
to reach it. The pure air of heaven, breathing so sweetly
upon his pale and agonised countenance, revived him for the
moment, and his energetic mind in a short space was restrung
and wound up to fresh exertion. He resolved to set some of
his own people to watch about the grounds, in case Zillah
should attempt to obtain entrance; and though he felt assured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
they would do but little for him, yet he knew they would do
much for gold, and that he resolved they should have in
abundance. The marriage once over, he fancied himself safe&mdash;safe
from all but the Buccaneer. Hope is strong at all
times, but never more so than when we are roused from despair.
He turned from the window, and his eye fell on the
bloody head of the traitor Jeromio. He knew that, if the
porter saw it, there would be an outcry and an investigation,
which it was absolutely necessary, under existing circumstances,
to avoid; for old Saul was one of those honest
creatures who hold it a duty to tell all truth, and nothing
but truth, to their employers. He therefore wrapped it carefully
in the napkin in which it had been originally enveloped,
and then covered it over with his own kerchief. After another
moment of deliberation, he summoned the old man, and directed
him to bear it to the house.</p>

<p>"But where is the stranger, sir?" inquired Saul.</p>

<p>"Oh, he passed from the window, to save you the trouble
of unclosing the gate."</p>

<p>It was fortunate for Sir Willmott Burrell that age had deprived
Saul of more faculties than one.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI_I" id="CHAPTER_XI_I"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where though prison'd, he doth finde,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hee's still free, that's free in minde;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in trouble, no defence<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is so firm as innocence.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Wither.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>When the poor preacher found that Burrell was really gone,
and had left him a prisoner, without the remotest prospect of
escape, he felt (to use his own expression) "rather mazed,"
and forthwith applied his hand to the lock, with the vain hope
of extricating himself as speedily as possible: he found, however,
the entrance closed firm and fast, and, moreover, of so
solid a construction, that, with all his effort, he was unable to
move it in the slightest degree. He would have welcomed
the idea that the Master of Burrell did but jest; yet there had
been that about his demeanour which excluded all thought of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
merriment, and Fleetword felt his limbs tremble beneath him
when he reflected on the desperate character of the man with
whom he had to deal. "The Lord can make a way for safety
even from this den," he muttered, "yea, even from this fastness,
which, of a truth, is most curiously fashioned, and of
evil intention, doubtless." The little light that was admitted
into the cell came through an aperture in the cliff at so great
a height from the floor that it could hardly be observed, even
if it had been left unprotected by a ledge of stone that projected
a considerable distance under the opening, which was
scarcely large enough to permit the entrance of a sufficient
quantity of air. The atmosphere was therefore dense and
heavy, and the preacher drew his breath with difficulty. The
chamber, we should observe, was directly over that in which
we have heretofore encountered the Buccaneer; for the interior
of the cliff was excavated in various parts, so as more
nearly to resemble the formation of a bee-hive than any other
structure. It was filled, as we have stated, with a variety of
matters, for which either there was no immediate demand, or
that time had rendered useless. Of these, Fleetword piled a
quantity one over the other, and standing tiptoe on the topmost
parcel, succeeded in peeping through the aperture, but
could perceive nothing except the broad sea stretching away
in the distance until it was bounded by the horizon. As he
was about to descend, one of the packages rolled from under the
rest, and the hapless preacher came to the ground amidst a
multitude of bales of cloth, logs of ebony, cramps, and spoiled
martin-skins, and found himself half in and half out of a box
of mildewed oranges, into which he had plumped, and which
repaid the intrusion by splashing him all over with their pulpy
and unpleasant remains. It was some time before he could
extricate himself from this disagreeable mass, and still longer
before he could cleanse off the filthy fragments from his garments.
When he had done so, however, his next care was to
bestow the papers he had rescued from Burrell into some safe
place. "The Lord," he thought, "hath, at his own good
pleasure, given Satan or his high priest dominion over me, and
it may be that I shall be offered up upon the altar of Baal or
Dagon as a sacrifice; but it shall be one of sweet-smelling
savour, untainted by falsehood or dissimulation. Verily, he
may destroy my body&mdash;and I will leave these documents,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
which by an almost miraculous interposition of Providence
have been committed to my charge, so that one time or other
they may be found of those by whom they may be needed."</p>

<p>He carefully sought and ransacked every parcel he could
find in search of pencil, ink, or any thing by which he could
direct a letter; but in vain. He discovered, however, some
parchments, whereon the words "Oliver Lord Protector" were
frequently inscribed: he cut off a slip containing this sentence,
and having encased the papers he had seized, in many folds,
pinned it upon the parcel, so that it might serve as a direction.
He then corded it so firmly that it would require both industry
and patience to dissever the several knots and twistings. Having
performed so much of his task, he set himself to consider what
possible means he could devise to secure its safe delivery. He
had previously shouted and called with all his strength; but
when he remembered the length of the passage he had traversed
with his subtle guide, and the little appearance there was of
any apartment near the one in which he was confined, he desisted,
wisely determining not to waste, in such useless efforts,
the breath that, perhaps, he would be suffered to retain only
for a few short hours. Greatly he lamented his want of caution
in accompanying Burrell; and bitterly wept at the fate
that awaited his favourite, Constantia. At length, after much
deliberation, he determined on building a more secure standing-place,
mounting once again to the window, fastening the longest
string he could find to the parcel, and merely confining it to
the inside of the cave in so slight a manner, that it might be
detached by the least pull. He would have thrown it down at
once, trusting that some one on the beach would find it; but
he was aware that the tide at high water washed up the cliffs,
so that there was but small chance of its not being borne away
upon the waters. He also remembered that there were sundry
little pathways winding up the chalky rocks, where he had
seen people walk; and that, by God's good blessing, the
packet might be found by some one wandering there. Having
accomplished this object, he took his seat on a pile of moth-eaten
clothes, and drawing forth his little pocket Bible, set himself
to read the Holy Scripture, with as much diligence as if he
had never before opened the blessed and consoling volume.</p>

<p>Two classes of persons peruse the Sacred Book; one from
pure love of, and entire dependence on, the words and precepts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
contained therein; the other from habit&mdash;"their mothers,
grandmothers, and great-grandmothers did so before them&mdash;always
on a Sunday&mdash;and sometimes (when they had time)
during the week&mdash;and God forbid that they should ever be
worse than their ancestors!" The Reverend Jonas Fleetword
belonged partly to the one class, partly to the other: his progenitors,
for upwards of a century, had been foremost in
forwarding the religion of the Gospel; they had fought for it
both with carnal and spiritual weapons, and he had followed
in their footsteps without swerving either to the right hand or
the left; but, to do him justice, he was stimulated to activity
in his vocation by a better motive than that which arises
either from custom or an estimate of hereditary right&mdash;he
was at heart, as well as in word, a Christian, and the promises
contained in, together with the prospects held out by, the
book he perused so eagerly, had been, from the moment when
reason dawned, the ruling principle by which his life was
governed. We pause not to inquire whether he had duly
weighed or correctly interpreted all its precepts&mdash;whether
the hastiness of his nature was not at times opposed to the
meek and unupbraiding example of his Divine Master&mdash;whether
he did not now and then mistake bitterness for sincerity,
and persecution for zeal; such errors were but too
common to the age in which he lived, and with the church of
which he was a member. Never did Gospel hope and Gospel
consolation visit him with greater welcome than at the moment
of which we write. He entertained little doubt but that his
enemy meditated towards him some evil that placed his life in
danger: such, however, was not the case; Burrell had agreed
to defer the marriage until six of the clock that evening; and,
after the ceremony had been concluded, he entertained no
doubt that the preacher would retain the secret now in his
possession for Constantia's sake.</p>

<p>At Cecil Place all was confusion, for the mind of its
afflicted mistress was scarcely able to bear up against the
weight of misery that pressed upon it; and Lady Frances
Cromwell felt happy and relieved when, about eight in the
morning, she fell into an apparently sound sleep. The preparations
for the wedding devolved entirely upon her; but,
like most persons of an exalted rank, although she knew when
things were properly done, she was ignorant how to do them:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
she, therefore, contented herself with directing her women to
make all matters in order; while they, proud and pleased at
the commission, gave every body as much trouble as possible.
Sir Robert wandered about the house like a troubled spirit,
anxious, yet dreading, to see his child; while Sir Willmott,
after using every precaution within his power against Zillah's
appearance, endeavoured to find occupation by inspecting the
carriages that were to convey them to his aunt's house in
Surrey, where he had previously determined that they should
pass many of the succeeding days&mdash;an object not only of
convenience, but of necessity, inasmuch as he could thus gain
time to arrange with his servants and tenantry at his own
dwelling.</p>

<p>Mrs. Claypole had written to Lady Frances, stating that
the Protector did not wish his daughter to accompany her
friend to the abode of Sir Willmott's aunt, and would, therefore,
send a suitable escort to conduct her to Whitehall immediately
after the ceremony was concluded. Mrs. Claypole
also added that she had left Hampton Court for the purpose
of meeting her dear sister Frances in London, as her mother
had been indisposed, and could not conveniently do so. The
letter prayed for many blessings on the head of their sweet
friend Constantia, adding that, from what she heard of her
decision on the subject, she could hardly believe contradictory
reports&mdash;as to her heart being given elsewhere, inasmuch as
she must know it to be less evil to break a contract made in
youth, with which the mind and feelings had no connection,
than to register a solemn pledge of affection and faithfulness
before the Lord, where in fact there could be no affection,
and faithfulness must be a plant of forced and not of natural
<a name="Page_255t" id="Page_255t"></a><a href="#Page_255tn">growth.</a></p>

<p>"Yet would they all wax marvellously wroth," said Lady
Frances, "if I were to draw my own conclusions from this
opinion, and act thereupon. I wonder, does my being the
daughter of his Highness the Lord Protector make it less
necessary for me to be true and upright? and can a woman
be either, yet pledge her hand and faith to one for whom she
cares not?&mdash;&mdash;Yet&mdash;" She paused, for she had perused
the letter within the chamber, and beside the couch on which
Constance was still sleeping, and as her eyes fell upon her
friend, she could pronounce no harsh judgment upon an act<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
performed by one she loved so dearly, and of whose truth and
uprightness there could be no doubt.</p>

<p>While the note was yet open before her, the door opened,
and Sir Robert Cecil entered. Lady Frances motioned him
that Miss Cecil slept, and the old man stooped over her bed
with clasped hands, scarcely breathing, lest he should disturb
her rest.</p>

<p>"Has she slept thus all the night?" he whispered.&mdash;"Has
she slept thus soundly all the night, Lady Frances?"</p>

<p>"No, sir," was the reply; and it was delivered in a tone of
unusual sternness; for it must be remembered that she entertained
much anger against Sir Robert, for permitting the
marriage to take place so manifestly against the inclination of
his daughter. "No, sir, it is many nights since she has slept
soundly."</p>

<p>"But, lady, see how sweet, how gentle her repose! Surely,
she could not sleep thus with a heavy heart?"</p>

<p>"Sir Robert," replied Lady Frances, "the heart's heaviness
will make heavy the eyelids; nay, with greater certainty,
when they are swollen with weeping."</p>

<p>The baronet stooped down, as if to ascertain the correctness
of what the lady had said, and at the instant a tear forced its
way through the long fringes that rested on his daughter's
pallid cheek. He groaned audibly, and left the apartment
with the stealthy step and subdued deportment of a proclaimed
criminal.</p>

<p>"They are all mystery, one and all, mystery from beginning
to end," thought Lady Frances, as with a heavy heart
she went in search of her women to ascertain how they were
fulfilling her directions.</p>

<p>In one of the passages she met Barbara weeping bitterly.</p>

<p>"Tears, tears! nothing but tears!" said the Protector's
daughter, kindly. "What ails thee now, girl? Surely there
is some new cause for grief, or you would not weep thus?"</p>

<p>"My lady, I hardly know what is come over me, but I can
scarcely stanch my tears: every thing goes ill. I sent two
of the serving maidens to gather flowers, to help to dress up
the old chapel, that looks more like a sepulchre than any thing
else. And what do you think, my lady, they brought me?
Why, rue, and rosemary, and willow boughs; and I chid
them, and sent them for white and red roses, lilies and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
early pinks, which the stupid gipsies brought at last, and I commenced
nailing up the boughs of some gay evergreens amongst
the clustering ivy, that has climbed over the north window&mdash;the
lower one I mean; and just as I had finished, and was
about to twist in a garland of such sweet blush roses, an adder,
a living adder, trailing its length all up the fretted window,
stared with its dusky and malignant eyes full in my face, and
pranked out its forked tongue dyed in the blackest poison.
Oh, madam! how I screamed&mdash;and I know the creature was
bent on my destruction, for, when I jumped down, it uncoiled,
and fell upon the earth, coming towards me as I retreated,
when Crisp (only think, my lady, of the wisdom of that
poor dog!)&mdash;little Crisp seized it, somewhere by the neck,
and in a moment it was dead!"</p>

<p>"You should smile at that, not weep," observed Lady
Frances, patting her cheek as she would that of a petted child.</p>

<p>"Oh, but," said Barbara, "it was so horrid, and I was
almost sorry Crisp killed it! for it is an awful thing to destroy
life, yet it was wickedly venomous."</p>

<p>"Ah, my poor maid! you will have worse troubles soon
than that which bids you mourn over an adder's death."</p>

<p>"Do not say so, sweet lady," interrupted Barbara: "ah!
do not say so: for I feel, I can hardly tell how, so very, very
sad. My poor lady, and my poor self! and you going away,
madam&mdash;you, who keep up the life of every thing; and,
though your waiting maids seem so rejoiced to get back to
the court! I don't know what I shall do, not I. I only
wish&mdash;&mdash;" She paused abruptly.</p>

<p>"Tell me what you wish, my pretty Barbara&mdash;a new
cap, kirtle, hood, or farthingale? What, none of these!"</p>

<p>"I was only wishing that Robin Hays was come back,
because he would understand my troubles."</p>

<p>"You pay a poor compliment to my understanding, Barbara,"
observed Lady Frances, with whom Barbara was at all
times an especial favourite.</p>

<p>The simple maid courtesied respectfully, while she replied,
"My lady, it would ill become me to make free with such as
you, but I have many small causes of trouble, which, even if
you did hear, you could not comprehend. The brown wren
would not go for counsel to the gay parrot, however wise and
great the parrot might be, but seek advice from another brown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
wren, because it would understand and feel exactly the cares
and troubles of its own kind."</p>

<p>"What a little fabulist thou art, pretty Barbara! But,
if you had been at court, you would not have likened a lady
to a parrot."</p>

<p>"Not to a parrot!" repeated Barbara; "such a beautiful
bird! that looks so handsome and talks so well!"</p>

<p>"No: but here is a parting present for you, my fair
maid; a chain of gold. Stay, I will clasp it on your slender
neck myself; and listen to me, Barbara. The daughters of
the Protector of England would be ill worthy their father's
name or their father's honours, did they not seek to protect
the women of their country, and to keep them in virtue and
innocence, as he protects the men, and guides them to war
and victory, or to peace and honour! Would to God, fair
girl, that, notwithstanding your simplicity, the maidens of
Britain were all as right-minded and gentle as yourself! As
a proof how highly I value your faithful and true affection, I
bestow upon you an ornament I have long worn, not to feed
your vanity (for we are all vain, more or less,) but to
strengthen your principles. If ever you should encounter
real sorrow, and I can aid you, send me the clasp of this
chain, and I will attend to your request, be it what it may."
Lady Frances turned from her with more gravity of aspect
and more dignity of demeanour than was her custom, and
proceeded to look after the arrangements for her friend's
nuptials.</p>

<p>Barbara stood for some time after the lady's departure,
holding the gift upon the palm of her small and beautifully
formed hand, which no rough labour had hardened or sullied.
Her eye brightened as she gazed upon the rich gift; but, in
a moment, her thoughts reverted to those with whom were the
best feelings of her happy and innocent heart.</p>

<p>"Oh, that Robin had but been here!" she said, "to have
heard it all. To think of her who is as great as a princess!
What was it? 'faithful and true,' and, oh! how proud&mdash;no,
I must not be proud&mdash;how grateful I am! If my father,
<i>my</i> father, too, had heard it; but I can show this to them
both. I will not again think of that horrid adder." And
with this resolution she crept softly into the chamber of her
still sleeping lady.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII_I" id="CHAPTER_XII_I"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>

<div class="blockw"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Poor fool! she thought herself in wondrous price<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With God, as if in Paradise she were;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, were she not in a fool's paradise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She might have seen more reason to despair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, therefore, as that wretch hew'd out his cell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Under the bowels, in the heart of hell!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So she, above the moon, amid the stars would dwell.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Giles Fletcher.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>We must leave Cecil Place for a while&mdash;suffer Manasseh
Ben Israel to pursue his journey to Hampton Court&mdash;offer
no intrusion upon the solitude of the preacher Fleetword&mdash;take
no note of aught concerning Walter De Guerre or Major
Wellmore&mdash;nor heed, for a time, whether the Buccaneer
steered his course by land or water: attend to nothing, in fact,
for the present, except the motives and actions of Zillah Ben
Israel.</p>

<p>The Jewish females were brought up, at the period of
which we treat, with the utmost strictness, and kept in great
seclusion, scarcely ever associating but with their own people,
and enduring many privations in consequence of never mixing
in general society. It is true they had companions of their
own nation, and amusements befitting (according to the
notions of the Elders) their state and age; but, nevertheless,
they were held under much and injudicious restraint, the
result of which was evil. It is seldom that the young can
be held back by a tight and galling rein, without either biting
the bit, or breaking the bridle. Zillah was the only child of
her father, and nothing could exceed the expense or the care
lavished upon her. Had Manasseh himself superintended her
education, it is but fair to infer that his wisdom and judgment
would have curbed the headstrong and stubborn nature
of her mind and temper; but, deprived in her infancy of a
mother's watchfulness, and Ben Israel's duty and business
calling him continually from one country to another, she was
necessarily intrusted to the care of certain relatives of his
own, Polish Jews; who, though excellent friends in their
way, and well versed in all the rites and ceremonies of the
Mosaic law, were totally ignorant of the proper course to be
pursued with a wild, high-spirited girl, fully aware of the im<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>portance
of her father's wealth and influence, and panting for
the time when she should share in both. The people with
whom she resided perceived her wilfulness; but, instead of
combating it with reason, they sought to overcome it by force&mdash;and
the best of all force, according to their ideas, was that
which a staid and sober husband might exercise. The person
upon whom they fixed was a Jew diamond-dealer, who had
numbered about as many years as her father, but was greatly
his inferior both in sagacity and power; indeed, there were
very few who could compete with the learned Rabbi, Manasseh
Ben Israel, in either of these qualities. Cromwell thought
most highly of his talents, and bestowed upon him a degree
of confidence he reposed in few, treating him with a respect
and attention which all classes of Christians thought he carried
much too far; for, at that time, Toleration was only in its
infancy, and true peace-loving Religion suffered much from
the persecutions with which the successful party never failed
to visit those over whom they had triumphed. Catholic
against Protestant&mdash;Protestant against Catholic&mdash;Sectarian
against both&mdash;both against Sectarian&mdash;all against Jew&mdash;and
the defamed and despised Israelite obliged, in self-defence,
to act by subtlety (for his strength had departed from him)
against all! Cromwell took advantage of this state of things,
and with much policy, but it is to be hoped also with much
sincerity, exerted himself continually to render England a place
of security and happiness to the wandering children of Israel.
To quote his own words, his opinion was, "Since there was
a promise that they should be converted, means ought to be
used to that end; and the most likely way was, the preaching
of the Gospel in truth and sincerity, as it was then in Britain&mdash;devoid
of all Popish idolatry, which had rendered the Christian
religion odious to them." But the design was so violently
and so generally opposed, that it came to nothing. Many
scrupled not to affirm, that the Protector had secured a conditional
bribe, to an enormous amount, in case he procured for
them equal toleration with English subjects; while others,
with more show of truth, declared, that when Cromwell
"understood what dealers the Jews were every where in that
trade which depends on news, the advancing money upon high
or low interest, in proportion to the risk they ran, or the gain
to be made as affairs might turn up, and in the buying and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
selling of the actions of money so advanced, he, more upon
that account, than with a view to tolerate their principles,
brought a company of them over, and gave them leave to build
a synagogue." It is certain that they were sure and trusty
spies for him, especially with relation to Spain and Portugal,
and that they never betrayed his confidence.&mdash;Is it not, however,
most extraordinary, in these our own times, when the
spirit of liberty is bestriding the whole earth "like a Colossus,"
that a people so faithful, so influential, and so peaceable,
should be deprived of so many privileges?&mdash;privileges,
which we are labouring with mind, pen, and purse, to procure
for tribes of ignorant and uncivilised savages, who as yet are
utterly unable to comprehend the nature of the freedom we
seek to thrust upon them, but who are too often ready and
eager to bite the hand that would bestow it? God forbid that
we should desire it to be withholden from a single human
being, whether black or white, who bears the impress of his
Maker. But reason, policy, and humanity, may alike teach
us that the blessing should <i>first</i> be shared by those who have
done most to deserve it&mdash;who know best how it should be
used&mdash;and who have the most powerful hereditary claims
upon the sympathy and consideration of Christians. The time
is surely at hand, when the badge of ignominy shall be removed
from them&mdash;at least in Britain&mdash;where, but for the exception
to which we refer, Freedom is the birthright of every
native of the soil. Cromwell knew their value to a state; and
had he lived a few years longer, the Jew would have been at
liberty to cultivate his own lands, and manure them (if it so
pleased him) with his own gold, any where within the sea-girt
isle of England.</p>

<p>We must no longer digress, although upon a most important
and most interesting topic, but proceed to inform our readers
what they must already have anticipated, that Zillah had little
inclination towards the husband procured for her by her injudicious
friends. The Rabbi thought it altogether a suitable
match, particularly as Ichabod could trace his descent from the
tribe of Levi, and was of undoubted wealth, and, according
to belief, unspotted reputation; but Zillah cared little for
reputation, she knew not its value&mdash;little for wealth, for the
finest and rarest jewels of the world sparkled in gorgeous
variety upon her person, so that she moved more like a rainbow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
than a living woman&mdash;little, very little for the tribe of Levi,
and less than all for Ichabod. His black eyes she likened to
burnt cinders; she saw no beauty in a beard striped and
mottled with grey, although it was perfumed with the sweets
of Araby, and oiled with as pure and undefiled an unction as
that which flowed from the horn of the ancient Samuel upon
the head of the youthful David. His stateliness provoked her
mirth&mdash;his deafness her impatience; and when she compared
him with the joyous cavaliers, the brilliant and captivating
men who graced the court of the gay and luxurious
Louis, for whose gallant plumes and glittering armour she so
often watched through her half-closed lattice, she turned from
the husband they would have given with a disgust that was
utterly insupportable.</p>

<p>Her father had prevailed upon the family with whom she
lived to remove to Paris during his residence in England,
which had been prolonged from day to day, in compliance
with the desire of the Protector. He was anxious that his
child should be instructed in such elegant arts as those in which
the ladies of France and England excelled&mdash;not remembering
that, in a young, forward, and ill-educated woman, the
dangerous desire of display succeeds the acquirement of
accomplishments as surely and as regularly as day follows
night.</p>

<p>Thus, shut up in one of the most gloomy hotels in Paris&mdash;conveyed
in a close carriage once or twice a week to the Bois
de Boulogne, or the gardens of Versailles&mdash;fearing to express
delight, lest she should be reproved for levity&mdash;or desire for
any thing, lest it should be the very thing she would not be
permitted to possess&mdash;the proud, warm, frank-hearted Jewess
became gradually metamorphosed into the cunning, passionate,
deceptive intriguante, only waiting for an opportunity to deceive
her guardians, and obtain that which, from being so
strictly forbidden, she concluded must be the greatest possible
enjoyment&mdash;freedom of word and action. Alas! if we may
use a homely phrase, many are the victims to strait-lacing,
both of stays and conscience!</p>

<p>But if the old, grey-bearded Ichabod had been an object of
dislike to the youthful and self-willed Jewess before she saw
Sir Willmott Burrell, how did she regard him afterwards!</p>

<p>Manasseh Ben Israel had, as we have intimated, intrusted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
some packages for his daughter to the charge of the treacherous
knight; and how he abused the trust has been already shown.
But the poor Jewess found to her cost, that though she loved
him with all the warmth and ardour of her own nature, he
regarded her only as an object of pastime and pleasure; the
idea of in reality marrying a Jewess never once entered into
his calculation, though he was obliged to submit to something
like the ceremony, before he could overcome scruples that are
implanted with much care in the heart of every Jewish maiden.
Although she deceived her guardians and her antiquated lover
with great dexterity, it never occurred to her that Sir Willmott
could be so base as to deceive her. She was new to the world
and its ways; and the full torrent of her anger, jealousy, and
disappointment burst upon him, when she found that the
charms of a fair-haired lady had superseded her own, and that
Burrell was already treating her with coldness. Of all the
passions inherent in the heart of a woman, that of jealousy is
the most dangerous to herself and others: it is fierce and restless
in its nature; when infuriated, nothing can oppose its
progress; and although most powerful in the most feeble-minded,
it frequently assumes the semblance of intellectual
strength. Zillah's jealousy kept pace with her headlong love,
and in one of its most violent paroxysms she made the attempt
on the life of Burrell, which, it is easy to believe, he never
forgave. Subsequently, and during the remainder of his stay
in Paris, he humoured her fancy, and led her to imagine that
he had sufficient influence with Cromwell to prevail on him to
interest her father on her behalf, and do what no Israelite of
the time had ever done&mdash;recognise a Christian son-in-law.
After Burrell's departure, however, she soon saw how little
reliance was to be placed upon his promises, and therefore
resolved to act for herself. Suspicion and jealousy divided her
entire soul between them; and she determined not to trust
Dalton to bring her over to England, because Burrell had
recommended her to do so. Jeromio was known to the person
at whose house she lodged at St. Vallery, and, hearing that
she wanted to get to England, and would dispense much largess
to secure a passage, he thought he could make something by
secreting her on board, and then passing her off to his captain
as a dumb boy. To this plan Zillah readily agreed, for her
imagination was at all times far stronger than her reason. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
had cast her life upon a die, and cared not by what means her
object was to be secured.</p>

<p>It is one of the most extraordinary anomalies in the female
character, that, having once outstepped the boundaries that are
never even thought upon but with danger, it plunges deeper
and deeper still into irretrievable ruin. Perhaps it is because
women must feel most acutely that society never permits them
to retrieve, or, what is much the same, takes no cognisance of
their repentance, be it ever so sincere: their station once lost
is never to be regained; it would seem as if Dante's inscription
on the gates of Hell were to be for ever their motto&mdash;"All
hope abandon." Man may err, and err, and be forgiven;
but poor woman, with all his temptations and but half
his strength, is placed beyond the pale of earthly salvation if
she be but once tempted into crime! It is a hard, even though
it may be a salutary law.</p>

<p>It must be borne in mind that Zillah had committed as
great an iniquity in the eyes of her people by marrying as by
intriguing; nor could she expect pardon for either one or the
other, except by some wonderful and powerful interposition,
such as Burrell held out. It was astonishing to witness the
fortitude with which the fragile and delicate Jewess, who had
been clothed in purple and fine linen, fed on the most costly
viands, and slept on the most downy couch, encountered the
illness, terrors, and miseries attendant on a sea voyage in the
vessel of a Buccaneer. The Fire-fly certainly deserved every
encomium bestowed upon her by her captain; yet was she not
the most pleasing residence for a delicately-nurtured female.
No murmur escaped her sealed lips, nor, in fact, did she perceive
the inconveniences by which she was surrounded; her
mind was wholly bent upon the prevention of Sir Willmott
Burrell's marriage, of which she had heard from undoubted
authority; and it would appear that she had no feelings, no
ideas to bestow upon, or power to think of, other things.</p>

<p>Jeromio's plotting but weak mind, never satisfied with the
present, eager for the future, and anxious to make it better by
foul means, had contrived to bring into use an abandoned
excavation under the old tower we have so frequently mentioned,
which had been forsaken by Hugh Dalton's party
from its extreme dampness. They had filled the entrance
with fragments of rock and large stones; but it was known to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
Jeromio, who, thinking that during his occasional visits to
Gull's Nest he might manage to smuggle a little on his own
account, assisted by two other Italians as evil-minded as himself,
arranged the stones so as to permit one person at a time
to creep into the wretched hole, where he stowed away such
parts of the cargo of the Fire-fly as he could purloin from his
too-confiding commander. He admitted Zillah to a knowledge
of this cave, as a place in which she might shelter. He knew
her to be a female of wealth and consequence; yet had no
idea of her connection with the Master of Burrell, whom he
had rarely seen; and though of necessity she occasionally
mixed with the people of the Gull's Nest, yet she expressed
so strong a desire for some place of privacy in the neighbourhood
of Cecil Place, and paid so liberally for it withal, that
he confided to her the secret of this cave&mdash;the entrance to
which was nearly under the window of the tower in which
Barbara Iverk had been concealed on the night when, by her
lady's direction, she sought to communicate to Robin Hays
the perilous situation of the young Cavalier. At that time,
also, the Jewess saw Sir Willmott for the first time in England.
She had been on the watch ever since her landing, but
terror for her own wretched life had prevented her addressing
him openly. The tones of his well-known voice had reached
her miserable cavern, and roused her from a troubled slumber.
She understood too little of his language to comprehend the
nature of his communication to Roupall, and her first impulse
was to strike a dagger to his heart; but this, her womanly
affection prevented, and she suddenly withdrew. Subsequently,
she wrote to Mrs. Constantia, and trusted much to her generosity
and truth of character, of which she had heard in
France; but poor Constance, through the cowardice of Jeromio,
never received her packet, and, enraged and maddened
by the reports of his immediate marriage, she resolved on
seeing Mistress Cecil, and accomplished her purpose, as she
thought, when in fact she only saw Barbara. Her jealousy
and violence defeated her purpose at that time; but still her
determination remained fixed to prevent the union, if her life
were to be the forfeit. After meeting with the knight, she
retreated into the earth, from which she had so suddenly
appeared, much to the Master of Burrell's astonishment, who
had no knowledge whatever of the cave, though he doubted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
not it was of Dalton's preparing. After securing the preacher,
he examined every portion of the ruins most attentively, but
without success, for she had learned to be as wily as a fox, and
had carefully secured the aperture, through which even her
delicate form passed with difficulty.</p>

<p>It would have touched a heart, retaining any degree of
feeling, to see that young and beautiful woman within that
damp and noisome excavation&mdash;so damp that cold and slimy
reptiles clung to, and crept over, its floor and walls, while the
blind worm nestled in the old apertures formed to admit a
little air; and the foul toad, and still more disgusting eft,
looked upon her, as they would say, "Thou art our sister."</p>

<p>"And here," thought she, "must the only child of Manasseh
Ben Israel array herself, to meet the gaze of the proud
beauty who would not deign to notice the letter or the supplication
of the despised Jewess; to meet the gaze of the cold
stern English, and of the cruel man who points the finger of
scorn against her he has destroyed. Yet I seek but justice,
but to be acknowledged as his wife, in the open day and
before an assembled people, and then he shall hear and see no
more of the Rabbi's daughter! I will hide myself from the
world, and look upon all mankind as I do upon him&mdash;with a
bitter hatred!&mdash;Yet I was not always thus," she continued,
as she clasped a jewel on her arm: "The bracelet is too wide
for the shrunk flesh! Out, out upon thee, bauble! O that
I could thus&mdash;and thus&mdash;and thus&mdash;trample into this
black and slimy earth, every vestige of what I was, and have
no more the power to think of what I am! Is this the happiness
I looked for? Are these the feelings of my girlhood?
My heart seems cold within me, cold to every thought but
vengeance! Even the burden I carry&mdash;it is part of him,
and with the groans that come in woman's travail I will
mingle curses, deep and blasting, on its head. O that I could
cast it from me! And yet&mdash;and yet it will be my own
child!" And the feelings of the mother triumphed; for, at
that thought, the Jewess wept, and tears are as balm to an
overwrought mind, at once a relief and a consolation. Zillah
wept, and was humanised. After a little time, she arrayed
herself in befitting garments, but placed pistols within her
bosom. Long before the appointed hour, and despite the
watchfulness of Sir Willmott's spies, she was secreted near
the ruined chapel adjoining Cecil Place.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII_I" id="CHAPTER_XIII_I"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hither, th' oppressed shall henceforth resort,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Justice to crave and succour at your court,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then your Highness, not for ours alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But for the world's Protector shall be known.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Waller</span> <i>to the Protector</i>.<br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It was past midnight when Manasseh Ben Israel, accompanied
by Robin Hays, as his own servant, and disguised as we have
seen him, arrived at Hampton Court. The night was murky,
and the numerous turrets of the great monument of Wolsey's
grandeur and ambition were seen but dimly through the
thickened air, although looked upon with feelings of no ordinary
interest by both Jew and servitor.</p>

<p>The carriage was stopped at the outer court by the sentries
on guard, and some little delay occurred, apparently to ascertain
if the Rabbi could be admitted at so late an hour.</p>

<p>Robin looked from the carriage-window and saw, what
appeared to him, scores of mailed and armed warriors reclining
on the stone benches of a spacious but low guard-room,
while others crowded over a large fire, which the chilliness of
the night rendered, at least, desirable. The glaring of the
flames showed brightly on their polished armour, and their
firm immovable features looked of a piece with the iron itself.
Nothing could be more imposing, or afford a more correct
idea of Cromwell's perseverance and judgment, than his well-trained
soldiery. Obedience, inflexible obedience to their
commander, seemed the leading, almost the only principle
upon which they acted: not that slavish obedience which is the
effect of fear, but the obedience which is the result of confidence.
"God and the Protector" was their faith, and they
knew no other. As the Jew gazed upon those invincible men,
he shrouded himself still more closely within his furred cloak,
and shuddered. Robin's eye, on the contrary, brightened, for
he was born of England, and proud of her greatness. Ah!
Englishmen in those days had a right to be proud.</p>

<p>There was another difference in the conduct of the Protector's
troops from those of every other time and every other
nation: they had none of the reckless wildness, none of the
careless bravery which is supposed necessarily to belong to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
profession of arms. Their habits were staid and sober; and
if any Cavaliers did enter in among them, they were forced
to behave themselves according to the fashion of their associates,
which habit, in a little time, tamed their heedlessness into
propriety. There was no singing of profane songs in the
guard-room, no filthy jesting or foolish talking; no drinking;
their very breathing seemed subdued, and nothing frighted
the tranquillity which rested on the turrets at Hampton, and
pervaded its courts, save the striking of some iron heel on the
ringing pavement, or the neighing of some gallant steed in the
not distant stables.</p>

<p>Once, indeed, a psalm wailed through the casement from
one of the inner courts: it was sung at first in a troubled
tone, and in a low key, but afterwards the sound was increased
by other voices; and it swelled upon the ear in long and loud
continuance.</p>

<p>"He has departed, then!" observed one of the sentries, to
an armed man who stood near the carriage.</p>

<p>"I suppose so, and, I trust, in the Lord," was the reply.</p>

<p>"Doubtless&mdash;yet the heart was strong for life. His Highness
will be sorrowful."</p>

<p>"He will; but grace abounded greatly; he was one of the
Lord's best soldiers, and fought well in the good cause."</p>

<p>"Would that my time was passed! I would fain uplift my
voice with theirs."</p>

<p>"I will go there forthwith," replied he in armour; and
Robin heard the echo of his step die in the distance. Ere the
messenger, despatched by the officer of the guard, had returned,
a sort of rambling drowsy conversation was carried on
by the soldiers within, which only reached the quick ear of the
Ranger at intervals.</p>

<p>"His Highness has been tormented to-night; methinks
the length of a summer day ought to satisfy those who want
to see him."</p>

<p>The sun had set a good hour or more, when Sir Christopher
Packe, the worshipful Lord Mayor, passed in.</p>

<p>"His Highness," replied the stern gruff voice of an old
soldier, "is of the people; and he knows that his duty&mdash;next
to awaiting the Lord always&mdash;is to wait on them."</p>

<p>"His time is not an easy one, then," thought Robin; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
as he so thought, the messenger returned with an order that
the Rabbi should be immediately admitted. The lumbering
carriage passed under one archway, and traversed a small
court&mdash;then under another&mdash;then across the next&mdash;then
stopped, and one of the principal servants opened the door, and
requested Manasseh to descend.</p>

<p>"Her Highness," he said, "had been indisposed; the
Lord Protector, therefore, hoped the worthy Israelite would
not object to walk across the next court, as her chamber was
nearly over the entrance."</p>

<p>The Jew leaned upon Robin for support, as they mounted
the flight of steps leading to the grand entrance hall. He
paused once or twice; they were many in number, and hard
to climb for one bent with age, and now bowed down by trouble.
When they arrived at the great door, he perceived that,
instead of two, there were four sentries, who stood, two on
each side, like fixed statues, and the torch their conductor carried
glittered on the bright points of their swords that rested
on the ground. The stair was faintly illumined by one large
massive iron lamp, hanging from the ceiling, and flickering,
so as to show the outline, not the minuti? of the objects.</p>

<p>When they had fairly entered the great hall, Robin truly
and sincerely wished himself safely out again; the more particularly
when he saw, mingled with the pages and servants in
waiting, some tried and trusty soldiers, by whom, if his disguise
were penetrated, he would be better known than trusted.
It was one thing to steal and pry about a place, and another
to be only separated by a single plank of oak from Cromwell&mdash;the
all-powerful, all-seeing Protector of England&mdash;liable
to be called at once into his presence; for the Jew might
mention&mdash;doubtless would mention&mdash;that one who had
served Sir Willmott Burrell, and knew much of his doings, was
in attendance.</p>

<p>This magnificent room, though used as a hall of audience
on state occasions, was generally occupied by the guards, retainers,
and petitioners of the Protectorate. There was a long
table of rude workmanship near the door at which they entered&mdash;above
was a lamp, similar in size and construction to
that which swung outside:&mdash;many assembled round, or sat
close to, this table, while others walked up and down&mdash;not
passing, however, the centre of the hall, which was crossed by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
a silk cord of crimson, fastened in the middle to two brass
poles, standing sufficiently apart to permit one person at a
time to enter; and also guarded by a single sentinel, who
walked so as to pass and repass the opening every half minute.
Manasseh paced slowly towards the soldier, still leaning on
Robin. His conductor kept a little in advance, bowing on
either side, while a conciliating smile lingered on his lip, until
he came to the silken line.</p>

<p>"Only one may pass!" was the soldier's brief notice; and
the Rabbi, grasping his staff more firmly, walked to the door
opposite the great entrance, which was guarded also by another
sentinel.</p>

<p>"You can find a seat&mdash;that is, if you choose to sit," said
the servitor sneeringly, to Robin, pointing at the same time to
an empty corner of the hall.</p>

<p>"Or would it please you I descend to the apartments of
the lower servants?" inquired the Ranger, remembering the
meekness befitting the character of a Jew.</p>

<p>"None leave this hall, after entering it by his Highness's
permission, till they receive orders to that effect," he replied,
turning from Robin, who slunk to the place assigned him, in
no very agreeable mood.</p>

<p>If his imaginings were of an unpleasant description, still
more so were the observations made aloud by the pages, flippant
both by nature and usage, and the sarcastic and cool jests,
given forth at his expense by the more sober persons of the
assembly.</p>

<p>"Wouldst like any refreshment, friend?" inquired a
youth in a sad-coloured tunic and blue vest, over which fell a
plain collar of the finest Valenciennes' lace, so as to cover his
shoulders. "And yet," continued the malapert, "methinks
there is nothing to offer thee but some ham, or preserved pigs'
tongues, which, of course, thou tastest not of."</p>

<p>"No, I humbly thank ye, young sir," replied Robin; "I
do not need the pigs' tongues, having tasted of thine."</p>

<p>"What mean you by that, Jew dog!" said the boy fiercely,
laying his hand on his sword.</p>

<p>"Nothing, fair gentleman, except it be that thine, though
well preserved, would fain take up the business of thy white
teeth."</p>

<p>"How, knave?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p>

<p>"Become biting," replied Robin, bowing.</p>

<p>"Ah, Morrison! the Jew is too much for ye," said another
youth, who was just roused from a half slumber in a high-backed
chair.&mdash;"Where got ye yer wit?"</p>

<p>"Where you did not get yours, under favour," was Robin's
ready reply.</p>

<p>"And where was that?"</p>

<p>"From nature; too common a person for so gay a young
gentleman to be beholden to," he retorted, bowing again with
even a greater show of humility than before.</p>

<p>At this reply, Sir John Berkstead, formerly a goldsmith in
the Strand, but gradually raised to the dignity of chief steward
of Oliver's household, approached Robin with his usual
shuffling gait, and said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Hey! young gentlemen&mdash;hey! young gentlemen, what
foolish jesting is this? what mean ye? It is his Highness's
pleasure to receive the master, and what for do ye treat the
man with indignity? My worthy Samuel," he looked
closer&mdash;"but it is not Samuel," he continued, peering
curiously at Robin, "it is not Samuel. What ho! Gracious
Meanwell! did this man enter with the learned Manasseh
Ben Israel?"</p>

<p>"Yes, please ye, Sir John," replied the page, humbly.</p>

<p>"Indeed!" he exclaimed, surveying Robin attentively.
"But where is the Rabbi's usual attendant, whom I have
before seen?"</p>

<p>"He is sick even unto death, unless it please the God of
Abraham to work a miracle in his favour," replied Robin:
thinking to himself, "he remembers enough, at least, of his
old trade to know all is not gold that glitters."</p>

<p>Sir John Berkstead withdrew, only observing to the page,
who stood back, boy-like, longing for any frolic likely to relieve
the monotony of so dull a court, especially at midnight,
"See ye do not treat him uncourteously. The Rabbi has
always been permitted to bring his attendant, almost to the
anteroom: a favour seldom granted&mdash;but his Highness is
gracious in remembering that his bodily infirmities need support.
So see that he is treated with all courtesy, for his
Highness is wishful that Christian toleration be exercised towards
this and all other Jews."</p>

<p>More than one Roundhead looked at another during this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
declaration; and all but the two youngsters appeared more
than usually intent upon whatever they were employed about
before the Rabbi's entrance. Youth is a bad courtier, ever
preferring frolic and amusement to sobriety and attention.
They had been at once piqued and pleased by Robin's smartness,
and resolved to whet their own wit upon so well-tempered
a steel.</p>

<p>"Wert ever at court before?" inquired the younger.</p>

<p>"No, sir, an' please ye."</p>

<p>"And what think ye of it?"</p>

<p>"Nothing as yet, sir."</p>

<p>"Nothing! how is that?"</p>

<p>"Because I have not had time; and, if the small things of
life require thoughtfulness, how much more must the great
things of a court!"</p>

<p>"Shouldst like to turn Christian and live at court?"</p>

<p>"Heaven forbid! All I should be turned to would be
ridicule, and that is a wonderful lowerer of the consequence
of even a serving man&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush!" said the elder page&mdash;"there goes Colonel John
Jones."</p>

<p>As the brother-in-law of the Protector approached, the
several persons in the hall rose and saluted him with considerable
respect. His aspect was stern and rigid: his whole
person firm and erect; and whatever his faults might have
been, he gave one the idea of a person who, doing wrong,
thought it right. His eyes were generally upturned, and
there was a good deal of enthusiasm in the expression of the
upper portion of his countenance, while the firm-set mouth
and broad muscular chin betokened the most inflexible resolution.
He proceeded towards the cord we have before mentioned,
exchanged a few words with the sentry, and then returned
to the door whereby he had entered. While unclosing
it, he perceived Robin, and, struck by his Jewish appearance,
altered his course and approached him.</p>

<p>The Ranger bent most lowlily to the ground, for he well
knew the veneration this man excited both amongst soldiers
and Puritans.</p>

<p>"One of the cast-aways within the sanctuary!" he said
in a stern reproving voice. "How is it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>

<p>"Sir, his master, the Rabbi, tarrieth with his Highness,"
replied the elder page.</p>

<p>"It is evil, and of evil," returned Colonel Jones, with still
more severity, "The clean and the unclean, the believer and
the unbeliever, the offscouring of the earth with the chosen of
the Lord! Why is he not cast forth, yea into outer darkness?
Why should the filthy vulture make his nest with the
eagles? Dog of a Jew, out, into the highway!"</p>

<p>"May it please ye," interrupted Gracious Meanwell, "his
Highness has just issued express orders that this man be
carefully tended, and kept within."</p>

<p>The Colonel cast a look full of displeasure at the messenger,
and without trusting himself to utter another word, strode
from the hall.</p>

<p>"You see where we would send Jews," observed one of
the lads.</p>

<p>"Even where they would rather be."</p>

<p>"How, where?"</p>

<p>"Far from ye."</p>

<p>"And deem ye it not an honour to be admitted within
these walls?"</p>

<p>"Ay, sir, such honour as a poor merlin would feel at being
caged with honourable and right honourable eagles. But
would ye unravel me, kind young gentlemen, if Colonel Jones
is often seen without his Patients?"</p>

<p>"Oh! you mean the preacher, do ye? Why, yes, frequently
now-a-days."</p>

<p>"Ah! what a blessing that must be!"</p>

<p>"As how? master Jew."</p>

<p>"Because others can have their soles mended."</p>

<p>The jest upon the miserable fanatic Patients, who had been
a stocking-footer in London, was not lost upon the lads,
though they dared not countenance it by a very boisterous
laugh: they resolved, however, to become more intimately
acquainted with the facetious Jew.</p>

<p>"You ought not to laugh so loud, Morrison," said the
elder page. "You know you are a sort of nephew to his
Highness, now that your uncle, Doctor Wilkins, is married to
the Lady French, his Highness's sister."</p>

<p>"And here is my uncle," returned the other. "He said
he had permission to call for me. Ah! he is never angry at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
a little jest, so long as it is innocent. I heard a gentleman
say last night that 'he was by nature witty, by industry
learned, by grace godly.' What think ye of that for a character?"</p>

<p>As the subject of this panegyric drew near, Robin thought
he had never seen a more sweet or gracious countenance: he
looked "peace on earth and good will towards men." His
entire expression was that of pure benevolence; and though
the eye was something wild and dreamy, yet it was gentle
withal, and of marvellous intelligence. He seemed like one,
and such he truly was, to whom the future as well as the
present would be deeply indebted. The use he made of his
alliance with the Cromwell family must ever be regarded as
most noble; instead of aggrandising himself and his friends,
he rendered it only subservient to the great wish of his heart&mdash;the
promotion of learning, which, it cannot be denied, was at
that time in danger of being overthrown by bigotry and fanaticism:
for this reason it was that he opportunely interposed
to shelter Oxford from the moroseness of Owen and Godwin.
Well might his eye look dreamy. How could that of the
author of a "Discovery of a New World" look otherwise?
He openly maintained that, not only was the moon habitable,
but that it was possible for a man to go there. His reply to
the Duchess of Newcastle, herself a visionary, when she jested
a little at his theory, although sufficiently known, is still
worthy of repetition.</p>

<p>"Where am I to find a place for baiting at, in my way up
to that planet?" she inquired of the Doctor.</p>

<p>"Madam," replied he, "of all the people in the world, I
never expected that question from you, who have built so many
castles in the air, that you may lie every night at one of your
own."</p>

<p>As he conducted his nephew to the door, he turned back to
look on Robin: "You have not teased the poor Jew, I hope?"
he said to the page.</p>

<p>"No; but he has worried us, uncle; you know not what
a wit-snapper it is."</p>

<p>"Indeed! art thou a Solomon, friend?"</p>

<p>"An' please ye, sir, the wisdom, as well as the glory, has
departed from our people," said Robin.</p>

<p>"I care little for the glory," observed the Doctor, who was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
Warden of Wadham College; "I care very little for any
earthly glory: but canst tell me where the wisdom is gone&mdash;the
wisdom, Jew, the wisdom! Where is that to be found?"</p>

<p>"Usually at the College of Wadham," replied the crafty
Robin, bowing respectfully, "though sometimes it wanders
abroad to enlighten England."</p>

<p>"Go to; you are a most cunning Isaac," said Doctor Wilkins,
laughing; and at the same time throwing Robin a piece
of silver, which he caught, with much dexterity, ere it touched
the ground.</p>

<p>"This is the only unwise thing your worship ever did,"
continued Robin, depositing the silver safely in his leathern
purse.</p>

<p>"How so, most cunning Jew?"</p>

<p>"Bestowing money&mdash;when there can be no interest thereupon."</p>

<p>"You have never heard, I fear," said Doctor Wilkins, who,
with true Christian spirit, was ever ready to speak a word in
season&mdash;"you have never heard of laying up treasures in a place
where neither moth nor rust can corrupt, and where thieves
cannot break through and steal?"</p>

<p>"I have heard some Christians speak of such a place," replied
Robin, "though I did not think they believed in its
existence."</p>

<p>"Why so?"</p>

<p>"Because they seemed so little inclined to trust their property
in that same storehouse."</p>

<p>"You say but too truly; yet it is written 'that charity
covereth a multitude of sins.'"</p>

<p>"Then that is reason why so many sins are roaming abroad
'naked but not ashamed.' Ah, sir! it is a marvellously
scarce commodity that same charity; when Christians spit
upon and rail at the poor Jew, they lack charity; when they
taunt me with my deformity, they lack charity; when they
destroy the web of the spider, that toileth for its bread, and
useth what the God of Moses gave it to catch food, they lack
charity. Sir, I have walked by the way-side, and I have seen
a man tread into the smallest atoms the hill of the industrious
ant, and say, it stole the peasant's corn; and yet I have known
that same man make long prayers and devour widows' houses.
I have watched the small singing-bird, trolling its sweet song<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
on the bough of some wild cherry-tree, and a man, whose hair
was combed over his brow, whose step was slow, whose eyes
appeared to seek commune with Heaven, killed that bird, and
then devoured all the cherries. A little of that red fruit would
have served the singing-bird for the length of a long summer's
day, and it could have sung to its mate till, when the night
came, they sheltered in each other's bosom; yet he, the man
with the smooth hair and the holy eye, killed the small bird;
but mark ye, sir, he ate the cherries, all, every one. Though
I am as one lacking sense, and only a serving Jew, I trow he
lacked charity!"</p>

<p>"Uncle," whispered the page, creeping up to his ear, "can
this man be indeed a Jew? He hath a blue eye and an
English tongue; and surely not an Israelitish heart; see that
he deceive us not."</p>

<p>"My dear boy, peace," said the simple yet learned Doctor;
"let the wisdom of this poor child of Israel teach thee to be
more humble-minded; for, look ye, who might not profit by
his words?"</p>

<p>The excellent man would have spoken much more to our
friend Robin, who might not inaptly be likened to a dark-lantern,
within which is much light, though it is only occasionally
given forth; but on the instant Gracious Meanwell
summoned him to appear before the Protector.</p>

<p>"The Lord deliver me! the Lord deliver me!" muttered
Robin, as he followed his conductor past the silken barrier&mdash;"The
Lord deliver me! for, of a truth, my head is now fairly
in the lion's mouth."</p>

<p>The room into which he was ushered thus abruptly was
hung with ancient tapestry, and furnished after the strangest
fashion. Robin had little inclination to examine either its
proportions or arrangements, but tremblingly followed until
his guide paused with him opposite a long narrow table, at the
further end of which, his hand resting upon a pile of books,
stood the Protector&mdash;Oliver Cromwell.</p>

<p>It was impossible to look upon him without feeling that he
was a man born to command and to overthrow. His countenance,
though swollen and reddish, was marked and powerful,
and his presence as lofty and majestic as if he had of right inherited
the throne of England. However his enemies might
have jested upon his personal appearance, and mocked the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
ruddiness of his countenance, and the unseemly wart that
disfigured his broad, lofty, and projecting brow, they must
have all trembled under the thunder of his frown: it was terrific,
dark, and scowling, lighted up occasionally by the flashing
of his fierce grey eye, but only so as to show its power
still the more. His dress consisted of a doublet and vest of
black velvet, carefully put on, and of a handsome fashion; a
deep collar of the finest linen, embroidered and edged with
lace, turned over his vest, and displayed to great advantage
his firm and remarkably muscular throat. His hair, which
seemed by that light as dark and luxuriant as it had been in
his younger age, fell at either side, but was completely combed
or pushed off his massive forehead. He looked, in very truth,
a most strong man&mdash;strong in mind, strong in body, strong
in battle, strong in council. There was no weakness about
him, except that engendered by a warm imagination acting in
concert with the deepest veneration, and which rendered him
ever and unhappily prone to superstitious dreamings.</p>

<p>When Robin entered, there was no one in the room but the
Lord Broghill, Manasseh Ben Israel, and a little girl. My
Lord Broghill, who was one of the Protector's cabinet counsellors,
had been sent for from Ireland to go to Scotland, and
be President of the Council there, but soon wearying of the
place, had just returned to London, and posted down immediately
to Hampton Court:&mdash;he was bidding the Protector
good night, and that with much servility. The presence of
Robin was yet unnoticed save by the Jew. Before his Lordship
had left the chamber, even as his foot was on the threshold,
Cromwell called him back.</p>

<p>"My Lord Broghill."</p>

<p>The cabinet counsellor bowed and returned.</p>

<p>"I forgot to mention, there is a great friend of yours in
London."</p>

<p>"Indeed! Please your Highness, who is it?"</p>

<p>"My Lord of Ormond," replied the Protector. "He came
to town on Wednesday last, about three of the clock, upon a
small grey mule, and wearing a brown but ill-made and shabby
doublet. He lodges at White Friars, number&mdash;something
or other; but you, my Lord," he added, pointedly, <a name="Page_277t" id="Page_277t"></a><a href="#Page_277tn">"will</a> have
no difficulty in finding him out."</p>

<p>"I call the Lord to witness," said Broghill, casting up his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
eyes after the most approved Puritan fashion&mdash;"I call the
Lord to witness, I know nothing of it!"</p>

<p>Cromwell gathered his eyebrows and looked upon him for a
moment with a look which made the proud lord tremble;
then sending forth a species of hissing noise from between his
teeth, sounding like a prolonged hish&mdash;h&mdash;h&mdash;h. "Nevertheless,
I think you may as well tell him that I know it. Good
night, my Lord, good night!"</p>

<p>"He's had his night-cap put on, and now for mine," thought
little Robin, who, as he advanced, bowing all the way up the
room, could not avoid observing, (even under such circumstances,
there was something singularly touching in the fact,)
that a little girl, a child of about six or seven years old, sat on
a stool at the Protector's feet, her fair arms twined around his
knee; and her plain, but expressive face, looking up to his,
and watching every movement of his features with more than
childish earnestness. As Robin drew near, she stood up, and
contemplated him with very natural curiosity.</p>

<p>"Closer, young man&mdash;still closer," said the Protector;
"our sight grows dim; and yet we will see distinctly, and
with our own eyes too&mdash;for the eyes of others serve us not."</p>

<p>Robin did as he was commanded, bowing and shaking all
the time like the figure of a mandarin. The Protector advanced
one step towards him; and then plucked at the
Ranger's beard with so strong a hand, that it deserted his
chin, and dangled between Cromwell's fingers. At this, the
child set up a loud and merry shout of laughter; but not so
did the incident affect the Protector, to whose mind treachery
was ever present; he instantly exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed
into the room and laid hands upon Robin, who offered no resistance,
submitting to their mercy.</p>

<p>"Your Highness has mistaken," said Ben Israel; "there
is no treachery in the young man. I have told your Highness
how he came to me, and what he knows. Your servant
has not spoken words of falsehood, but of truth."</p>

<p>"But you did not tell me he was not a Jew: you know
him not as I do," was the Protector's reply: "he consorts
with&mdash;&mdash;" then suddenly checking himself, he continued,
addressing the soldiers: "But search him gently withal&mdash;peradventure
he has no secret weapons&mdash;we would not deal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
unjustly; but, of late, there has been so much evil intended
us by all classes of Malignants, that it behoves us to be careful.
Methinks, friend Manasseh, there was no need of this
disguise?"</p>

<p>"It was to avoid the scandal of my own people, please
your Highness, who would marvel to see any other than one
of our tribe about my person."</p>

<p>The little girl, who was no other than Bridget, a great
favourite of Cromwell's, and one of the youngest children of
Ireton, the Protector's son-in-law, seemed much amused at the
search, and the extraordinary materials it brought to light.
There was a whistle, a string of bells, a small black mask,
quantities of paint and patches, and various other things; but no
arms of any kind, save the small Spanish dagger which Robin
so lately exchanged with the sailor at Greenwich. The Protector
took this up, examined it attentively, placed it in a
small drawer, then briefly dismissed the attendants, and seating
himself, apologised to Ben Israel for the delay.</p>

<p>"This person will not wonder at it," he continued, looking
at Robin; "for he knows what excellent reason I have to
believe him an adept in falsehood."</p>

<p>"No one ever heard me speak a lie, please your Highness,"
said Robin, in a hesitating and tremulous voice.</p>

<p>"I cannot call to mind your speaking lies; but you are
famous for acting them: however, I desire you speak none
here."</p>

<p>"Please your Highness," returned Robin Hays, regaining
his self-possession, "I do not intend it, for it would be useless."</p>

<p>"How mean ye?"</p>

<p>"Because your Highness can always tell truth from falsehood;
and say who is the speaker, no matter how hidden from
others."</p>

<p>A smile relaxed for a moment the full, firm, but flexible
mouth of Oliver Cromwell, at this well-timed compliment to
that on which he so much prided himself&mdash;his penetration.
He then commenced questioning the Ranger upon his knowledge
of Sir Willmott Burrell and the Rabbi's daughter.
Robin did not in the least degree equivocate; but related
every particular as minutely and distinctly as he had done to
Ben Israel; not omitting his knowledge that Sir Willmott<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
meditated the destruction of Walter De Guerre. Cromwell
listened to the details with much attention; but it was not
until this portion of his story was concluded, that, with his
usual wiliness, he told the Ranger, that, as it had nothing to
do with Manasseh Ben Israel, it need not have been mentioned.</p>

<p>The Protector then commanded Sir John Berkstead to his
presence, and directed that a troop of horse should be had in
immediate readiness, and that, in a few minutes, he would
name to Colonel Jones the officer who was to accompany
them, and the place of their destination.</p>

<p>"And now let us to bed. Will my little Bridget bid her
grandfather good night?" and he kissed the child with much
tenderness.&mdash;"People wonder why I trust thee in my councils;
but God hath given thee a soul of truth and a secret tongue;
thou growest pale with late sitting, and that must not be."
The Protector clasped his hands, and said a few words of
prayer over the girl, who knelt at his feet.</p>

<p>"Good Manasseh, I would recommend your resting here
to-night; you need repose, but I must detain your serving-man.
Without there!"</p>

<p>An attendant entered.</p>

<p>"Conduct this person to&mdash;&mdash;" A whisper told the remainder
of the sentence, and Robin was led from the apartment.</p>

<p>Very few lingered in the great hall; the pages were sleeping
soundly; and, though they encountered Colonel John Jones,
he did not recognise Robin, who, despoiled of his beard and
black hair, looked so much like the servant of Sir Willmott
Burrell, as to be thought such by more than one of the attendants.
As he passed through the second court, his guide
suddenly turned into a small arched door-way, and directed
Robin to proceed up a narrow flight of winding stairs, that
appeared to have no termination. Robin once halted for
breath, but was obliged to proceed, and at length found himself
in a small, cell-like apartment, with a narrow sky-light,
opening, as he conjectured, on the palace roof.</p>

<p>Here his attendant left him, without so much as "good
night," and he had the satisfaction of hearing the key turn
within the rusty lock.</p>

<p>The mistiness of the night had passed away, and the moon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
looked down in unclouded majesty upon the courts and turrets
of "the House at Hampton."</p>

<p>Robin seated himself on his truckle bedstead, upon which
merely a rude straw mattress, covered with a blanket, was
thrown, and which, for aught he knew, had been occupied by
a thousand prisoners before him; but, however bitter and sarcastic
his mind might be, it was not given to despond; and he
soon began to reflect on what had passed. Although it was
not by any means the first time he had been face to face with
the Protector, yet it was the first time he had ever seen him
with any of the indications of human feeling. "He has made
many children fatherless," thought the Ranger, "and yet see
how fond he is of that ill-favoured girl, who is the very picture
of himself! Poor Walter! Well, I wonder what has been
done with him; I had a great mind to ask, but there is something
about him, that, were he never a Protector, one would
just as soon not make free with." As Robin thought thus, his
eyes were fixed on the light and flitting clouds, and he was
longing to be free and abroad in the moonbeams, that entered
his cell only to smile on his captivity; when some opaque body
stood between him and the light, so that he was for a moment
almost in darkness. About three minutes after, the same effect
occurred; and presently a man's face was placed close to the
glass, evidently with the design of seeing into the room.</p>

<p>"A-hoy there!" shouted the Ranger. The face was withdrawn,
and no answer returned, but immediately afterwards
the key grated in the lock, and the Protector himself entered
the chamber.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV_I" id="CHAPTER_XIV_I"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>

<div class="block"><p>
<i>Grundo.</i> And what did they there talk about?<br />
<br />
<i>Julia.</i>  I'faith, I hardly know, but was advised<br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Twas a most cunning parley.</span><br />
<br />
<i>Grundo.</i> I do well credit it.</p>
<span class="auright"><i>Old Play.</i><br /></span>
</div>


<p>"I would rather talk to him in that old tapestried hall,"
thought Robin, "than in this narrow chamber. There I could
have a run for my life; but here, Heaven help me! I am
fairly in for it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p>

<p>"The room is passing close, the air is heavy," were the
Protector's first words: "follow me to the palace-roof, where
there can be no listeners, save the pale stars, and they prate
not of man's doings."</p>

<p>Robin followed Cromwell up a narrow flight of steps, so
narrow that the Protector could hardly climb them. They
were terminated by a trap-door leading to the roof; and there
these two men, so different in station and in stature, stood together
on a species of leaden platform, which by day commands
a most beautiful and extensive view of the surrounding
country;&mdash;at night there was nothing to be seen but the dim
outline of the distant hills, and the dark woods that formed the
foreground.</p>

<p>Scarce a sound was heard, save of the breeze wailing among
the many turrets of the proud palace, and now and then the
tramp or challenge of the sentries at the different outposts, as
they passed to and fro upon their ever-watchful guard.</p>

<p>"I believe your real name is Robin Hays?" said the Protector.</p>

<p>"Your Highness&mdash;it is so."</p>

<p>"And you are the son of one Mary or Margery, proprietor
of an hostelry, called the Gulls Nest?"</p>

<p>"The son of Margery Hays, as your Highness has said,
who, God be thanked! still lives in a quiet corner of the Isle
of Shepey, and of her good husband Michael, who has now
been dead many years."</p>

<p>"I take it for granted that you know your own mother;
but it is a wise son who knows his own father. Impurities
are, praised be the Lord! fast fleeing from the land; but they
were rife once, rife as blackberries that grow by the roadside.
Yet this is nought; what business brought you here?"</p>

<p>"Your Highness knows: I came with the Rabbi Ben Israel."</p>

<p>"Parry not with me," exclaimed the readily-irritated Cromwell.&mdash;"I
repeat, why came ye here?"</p>

<p>"Your Highness is acquainted with the reason of my
coming."</p>

<p>"I <i>do</i> know; but I also choose to know it from yourself.
Why came ye here?"</p>

<p>"Just then to seek out one who has fallen into your Highness's
clutches; with favour, I would say, under your Highness's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
care," replied Robin, who felt himself not over comfortably
situated.</p>

<p>"His name sir&mdash;his name?"</p>

<p>"Walter De Guerre."</p>

<p>"And who advised you he was here?"</p>

<p>"I found it out; I and another of his friends."</p>

<p>"You mean Hugh Dalton?"</p>

<p>"I do, please your Highness."</p>

<p>"You have some secret communication for this Walter?"</p>

<p>"Your Highness, I have not; yet, if he is here, I humbly
entreat permission to see him; for, as it is your pleasure that
we be detained, I am sure it would be a comfort to him to
meet some one who has his interest firmly, humbly at heart."</p>

<p>"Why came he to England?"</p>

<p>"I believe, that is known only to Hugh Dalton."</p>

<p>"Where got ye that Spanish dagger?"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, from a sailor at Greenwich, a pensioner."</p>

<p>"You had other business in London than seeking out this
Walter?"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, I had."</p>

<p>"What was its nature?"</p>

<p>"Your Highness must pardon me&mdash;I cannot say."</p>

<p>Cromwell, during this examination, had walked backward
and forward on a portion of the roof, bounded at either end by
a double range of turreted chimneys: at the last reply of Robin
Hays he suddenly stopped and turned short upon him, paused
as if in anger, and then said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Know you to whom you speak? Know you that the
Lord hath made me a judge and a ruler in Israel? and yet
you dare refuse an answer to my question!"</p>

<p>"Your Highness must judge for me in a righteous cause.
From infancy I have been cherished by Hugh Dalton: if my
lowly mind has become at all superior to the miserable and deformed
tenement in which it dwells, I owe it to Hugh Dalton&mdash;if
I have grown familiar with deeds of blood, still I owe it
to Hugh Dalton that I saw deeds of bravery; and to Hugh
Dalton I owe the knowledge, that whatever is secret, is sacred."</p>

<p>"Honour among thieves, and rogues, and pirates!" exclaimed
the Protector, chafed, but not angry. "Your Dalton
had a purpose of his own to serve in bringing over this scatter-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>pate
Cavalier, who has too much blood and too little brains for
aught but a cock-throw. Young man, I know the doings at
your Gull's Nest Crag&mdash;I have been advised thereupon.
Listen! there has been hardly a malecontent for months in the
country who has not there found shelter. Were I inclined to
pardon vagabonds, I might bestow the mercy with which the
Lord has intrusted me upon poor misguided wretches; but
Dalton has been a misguider himself. With my own good
steed, and aided by only three on whom I could depend, I
traced two of those leagued with Miles Syndercomb to their
earth, at the very time when Hugh Dalton was lying in his
Fire-fly off the coast.&mdash;What waited he for there? That
Buccaneer has imported Malignants by dozens, scores, hundreds,
into the Commonwealth; and now the reever expects
pardon! for I have been solicited thereon. Mark me! the
Lord's hand is stretched out, and will not be withdrawn until
his nest be turned up, even as the plough uprooteth and scattereth
the nest of the field-mouse and the blind mole; and
mark yet farther, Robin Hays&mdash;there is a book, in which is
written the name of every one concerned in those base practices;
and opposite to each name is a red cross&mdash;a red cross,
I say&mdash;which signifieth the shedding of blood; and as surely
as the stars above us know their secret course along the pathway
of the resplendent heavens, so surely shall all those traitors,
reevers, buccaneers, upsetters, perish by the Lord's hand&mdash;unless
it pleaseth the Spirit to infuse its moving power into
some of their hearts, so that one or more of them may point
the secret entrance into this cavern, where there is great treasure,
and whereby blood-shedding and much trouble may be
spared. If such an influence was happily exercised&mdash;was, I
say, happily exercised over the minds or mind of any one of
this accursed crew, he might not only be spared, but rewarded
with much that the heart of man longeth after." Cromwell
paused, and fixed his eyes on the Ranger, who spoke no word,
and made no gesture of reply.</p>

<p>"Could not such be found?" he continued, addressing
Robin more pointedly than before.</p>

<p>"A person found, did your Highness ask, who would betray
his comrades unto death, and give up his master's property to
destruction?"</p>

<p>"No, I meant not that: but think ye, is there not one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
who, convinced of the wickedness of his past ways, would lead
blind Justice on the right track, insomuch that plundered
property might be restored to its rightful owners, and the cause
of the Lord and his people be forwarded many steps?"</p>

<p>"May I speak to your Highness as a man, or as a servant?"
inquired Robin.</p>

<p>"Even as a man&mdash;I am neither a king nor a tyrant."</p>

<p>"Then, with all respect, I say that such men may be found;
but they would be unworthy pardon, much less reward. May
it please your Highness, a Buccaneer is, to my mind, only one
who takes advantage of troubled times to secure unto himself
the most power and the most property that he can. The sea
is as free to him as the land to&mdash;to&mdash;to any other man. His
is no coward's trade, for he risks his all, and is neither an
assassin, nor a traitor, nor a rebel, nor a&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Peace, atom, peace!" interrupted Cromwell; "I did not
want to hear your reasons on the legality, and justice, and
mercy of the Buccaneer; I only gave you to understand (and
I know ye to be quick of comprehension) that I wished for
information touching this retreat&mdash;this maze&mdash;this labyrinth&mdash;this
embowelling of nature, formed in the cliffs&mdash;ay, and
that in more than one place, along the Kentish coast&mdash;that
so I might erase one red cross at the least. Mark ye, knave&mdash;your
own name is in the list, though I may regret it, seeing
that there is a mixture of honest blood in your veins, and a
sprinkling of wit in your head, which might lead to some distinction.
Worse men than you have risen to high places."</p>

<p>"Your Highness mocks me! Wit!&mdash;high place! With
this mis-shapen body tackled to a world of wit&mdash;a place as high
as any of those turrets that cut the midnight air, still should
I be a thing for men to scorn! Your Highness bitterly mocks
me!"</p>

<p>"I mock no one; it is ill Christian sport. But at your
own pleasure&mdash;within the space of fifteen minutes you may
go forth from this our house, conduct a chosen few to the
Gull's Nest Crag&mdash;point out its ways&mdash;give us the necessary
information as to the other smuggling stations&mdash;telegraph the
Fire-fly into smooth water, and the next sun will rise on a
rich, ay, and a well-favoured gentleman!"</p>

<p>"With a damned black heart!" exclaimed Robin, whose
faithful spirit beat so warmly in his bosom that he forgot for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
an instant in whose presence he stood, and gave full vent to
his feelings, which doubtless he would not have done had he
seen the expression of Cromwell's countenance&mdash;that awe-inspiring
countenance which had full often sent back the
unspoken words from the open lips of bolder men who looked
upon him.</p>

<p>"With that I have nothing to do," said the Protector calmly,
after taking another turn along the platform: "but you mistake
the case&mdash;it is only justice, simple justice."</p>

<p>"My Lord Protector of England," said Robin, whose thin,
disproportioned figure, as it moved in the dim light, might
have been taken for a dark spirit summoned to some incantation&mdash;"My
Lord, with you it may be justice: you believe the
Buccaneer deals not only in the free trade, but imports persons
who endanger your Highness's life and the peace of your protectorate.
I believe, from my soul, that he never bore off or
brought over one of the Syndercomb gang, or any that had
evil intent against your person. There are others who deal in
that way; and now, when he is soliciting your mercy, it would
speak but little for his wisdom if he went on provoking your
vengeance. My Lord, Hugh Dalton has a daughter, and it is
to save her name from ever-continuing disgrace, that he pants
for honest employment. And may it not offend your Highness,
for one so ill-read as myself in aught that is good or godly, to
remind you that the Bible somewhere tells of those who were
received into pardon and glory at the eleventh hour. As to
myself, could your Highness make me what my heart has so
panted after, but as vainly as the carrion-crow might seek to
be the gallant falcon of the chase&mdash;could you give me a well-proportioned
figure&mdash;make me one who could repel an injury
or protect a friend&mdash;stretch out this dwarfish body to a proper
length&mdash;contract these arms, and place the head right well
upon a goodly pedestal&mdash;then give me wealth&mdash;rank&mdash;all
a man's heart covets in this most covetous world&mdash;weigh these
advantages against a portion of Hugh Dalton's life;&mdash;the scale
turns in the air, my Lord&mdash;there's nothing in't!"</p>

<p>Cromwell folded his arms in silence, while Robin, who had
been much excited, wiped the night-dew from his brow, and
sighed heavily, as having rid himself of that which weighed
upon his conscience.</p>

<p>"One word more, young man&mdash;those who hear the Pro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>tector's
wishes, and in some degree can draw conclusions as to
his projects&mdash;if&mdash;mark ye well&mdash;if they act not upon them,
if they agree not with them, they are seldom of long life."</p>

<p>"I understand your Highness."</p>

<p>"To your cell&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Overpowered and heart-stricken, for he hoped to have been
granted speech of the Cavalier, Robin obeyed the mandate,
and the Protector of England passed alone along his palace-roof.</p>

<p>"Ever in the ascendant!" he said, casting his eyes on the
star of his nativity, that shone brightest among the countless
multitudes of night. "High, high, highest, and most powerful,"
he repeated, gazing upon his favourite planet with that
extraordinary mixture of superstition and enthusiasm which
formed so prominent a part of his most singular character.
"I never saw thee brighter" (he continued) "save upon
Naseby-field, when I watched thy pathway in the heavens,
while hundreds of devoted soldiers couched around me, waiting
the morrow's fight. I prayed beneath thy beam, which, as
the Lord permitted, fell right upon my breast, glistening upon
the bright and sturdy iron that openly, and in the sight of all
men, covered it then&mdash;pouring into my heart courage, and
confidence into my soul! Would that I might sleep the sleep
of death upon that same field, that you might again watch over
this poor body which now panteth for repose! Yea, there,
under the turf of Naseby, shall my grave be made; there shall
I sleep quietly&mdash;quietly&mdash;quietly&mdash;with thee to keep watch
above the bed in which this poor body shall be at peace, when
the ever-restless spirit is with Him whose right hand led me
through the furnace, and made me what I am. Shine on still,
bright star, even to the fulness of thy splendour; yea, the
fulness of thy splendour, which is not yet come. Ah! well
do I remember how you lingered in the grey dawn of morning,
eager to behold my glory&mdash;my exceeding triumph upon that
eventful field; and thou hast seen me greater than I dreamed
of, great as I can be&mdash;or if I can be greater, to thee all is
known, yea, all of the future as well as of the past is known
to thee."</p>

<p>And as he walked along, and again and again traversed the
leaded space, his step was as the step of war and victory; but
suddenly it lingered, and came more heavily, and his foot was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
more slowly raised, and his eyes, that so lately drank in the
rays of his own star with so much exultation, fell upon the
spot where the little deformed prisoner, even Robin Hays, of
the Gull's Nest Crag, was incarcerated. Again he spoke:
"Complimented by the subtle Frenchman, feared by the cunning
Spaniard, caressed by the temperate Dutch, knelt to by
the debased Portuguese, honoured by the bigoted Pope, holding
the reins of England&mdash;of Europe&mdash;of the world, in these
hands&mdash;the father of many children&mdash;have I so true-hearted
a friend, as to suffer the scale of his own interests to turn in
the air, my life weighing so much the more in the balance?
Truly my heart warmed at his fidelity; it is worth all price,
yet no price that I can offer will purchase it. In my youth a
vision said I should be greatest in this kingdom. Greatest I
am, and yet I may be greater; but will a name, the name at
which I scorned, increase my power? He from whom I took
that name was more beloved than I. Oh, 'tis a fearful game,
this game of kingdoms! crowns, ay, and bloody ones, bloody
crowns for foot-balls! while treachery, dark, cunning, slippery
treachery, stands by with many a mask to mock and foil our
finest sporting! God to my aid! Now that success has
broken down all opposition, I am in the face, the very teeth
of my strongest temptations; forbid, O Lord! that they should
conquer me, when I have conquered all things else! God to
my aid! One foot upon the very throne from which I&mdash;not
I alone&mdash;praise Heaven for that&mdash;not I alone, but many
dragged him&mdash;&mdash;!" Again for a brief time he stood with
folded arms, his back leaning against a turret; and afterwards
his step was quick and agitated, and much he doubtless meditated
upon the crown which he well knew a strong party of
the parliament would tender for his acceptance; and then he
paused and muttered as before. "My children princes! May
be wedded to the mightiest! But will they? Stiff-necked
and stubborn! There is but one who loves me&mdash;only one on
whom I doat, and she, like all things loved and lovely, fading
from before mine eyes, as the soft mist fades from the brow of
some harsh and rugged mountain, which is shrouded, and
softened, and fertilised before the proud sun climbed the highest
arch of heaven!&mdash;Ah! the sentry at the outward gate is
sleeping. Let him rest on, poor wretch. I cannot sleep.
And there's a light in the apartment of my Lord Broghill:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
perhaps he writes to his friend Ormond. I had him there;
how pale he grew! I have them&mdash;know them all! could
crush them in this hand; yet God knows I would not; it has
had enough to do with that already."</p>

<p>And then sobs, sobs that came from the Protector's heart,
burst from his lips, and he fell into one of those passions of
tears and prayers to which of late he had been often subject.
It soon subsided, and the man so extolled and admired by the
one party&mdash;so abused and vilified by the other&mdash;so feared by
all&mdash;retired in silence and in sorrow to his couch.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV_I" id="CHAPTER_XV_I"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What is the existence of man's life?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It is a weary solitude<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which doth short joys, long woes include;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The world the stage, the prologue tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The acts, vain hope and varied fears;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The scene shuts up with loss of breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And leaves no epilogue but death.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Henry King.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"And it's come to this, is it?" exclaimed Solomon Grundy,
who sat enthroned like a monarch of good cheer among the
beings of his own creation in the buttery at Cecil Place&mdash;"And
it's come to this, is it? and there's to be no feasting; a
wedding-fast in lieu of a wedding-feast! No banquet in the
hall&mdash;no merry-making in the kitchen! I might have let
that poor shrivelled preacher cut into the centre of my pasty,
and ravish the heart of my deer; stuffed, as it is, with tomatoes
and golden pippins! he might have taken the doves unto
his bosom, and carried the frosted antlers on his head; they
would have been missed by no one, save thee, Solomon Grundy.
And those larded fowl! that look like things of snow and not
of flesh; even my wife praised them, and said,&mdash;'Grundy,'
said she&mdash;'Solomon, my spouse,' said she, 'you have outdone
yourself:'&mdash;that <i>was</i> praise. But what signifies praise to me
now? My master wo'n't eat&mdash;my mistress wo'n't eat&mdash;Barbara,
she wo'n't eat! I offered her a pigeon-pie; she
said, 'No, I thank ye, Solomon,' and passed away. That I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
should ever live to see any one pass away from a pigeon-pie of
my making! Sir Willmott Burrell, he wo'n't eat, but calls
for wine and strong waters in his dressing-room: it's a queer
bridal! Ah! there's one of the Lady Cromwell's women,
perhaps she will eat; it is heart-breaking to think that such
food as this"&mdash;and he cast his eye over a huge assemblage of
sundries, that</p>

<p class="center">"Coldly furnish'd forth the marriage tables"&mdash;</p>

<p>"such food as this should be consumed by vulgar brutes, who
would better relish a baron of beef and a measure of double-dub,
than a trussed turkey and a flagon of canary."</p>

<p>Solomon, however, succeeded in prevailing upon Mistress
Maud to enter, and then had but little difficulty in forcing
upon her some of the confections, though all his efforts could
not extort a compliment to his culinary accomplishments.</p>

<p>"They are wonderful, considering they are country made,"
she said, after discussing a third tartlet; "but there must be
great allowance for your want of skill; and you ought to esteem
yourself fortunate (I'll take another jelly) that there is to
be no banquet; for&mdash;though it is evil to give one's mind to
fleshly tastes or creature comforts&mdash;these things would hardly
be deemed fit for a second-table wedding at Whitehall!"</p>

<p>Solomon was deeply mortified. He had great veneration for
court, but he had greater for his own talent, and he loved not
to hear it called in question: he therefore scanned the waiting-maid
after his peculiar mode, and then drawing himself up,
stroked his chin, and replied, "That great men had sat at his
master's table, and had, he was well assured, praised his skill
in words which could not be repeated&mdash;that Lady Frances
herself had condescended to ask his method of blanching
almonds, and lauded his white chicken soup; and that he
should not dread being commanded to serve a banquet unto the
Lord Protector himself."</p>

<p>Mistress Maud sneered, and examined a third jelly, which
she was reluctantly compelled to quit by a summons from her
lady.</p>

<p>"What robe would your ladyship desire?" she inquired of
Lady Frances, whose eyes were red with weeping, and who
appeared astonishingly careless upon a point that usually occupied
much of her attention. "Would your ladyship like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
white and silver, with the pearl loopings and diamond stomacher?"</p>

<p>"What need to trouble me as to the robe?" at length she
replied with an irritability of manner to which she too often
yielded. "Why do I entertain two lazy hussies, but to see
after my robings, and save me the trouble of thinking thereon?&mdash;Go
to!&mdash;you have no brain."</p>

<p>Maud and her assistant laid out the dress and the jewels, yet
Lady Frances was ill satisfied.</p>

<p>"Said I not that the stomacher needed lengthening?&mdash;The
point is not a point, but a round!&mdash;Saw one ever the like?&mdash;It
is as square as a dove's tail, instead of tapering off like a
parroquet's!"</p>

<p>"Did your ladyship mean," said the elder of the bewildered
girls, "that the stomacher was square or round?"</p>

<p>She perfectly agreed with her mistress in thinking a stomacher
a matter of great importance, but was most sadly perplexed
that Lady Frances should so markedly object to that
which she had so warmly praised on a former occasion.</p>

<p>"Square or round!" repeated Lady Frances impetuously&mdash;"neither:&mdash;it
is to be peaked&mdash;thus!"</p>

<p>The poor maid, in her eagerness to hold the stomacher for
her lady's inspection, let it fall&mdash;the principal jewel-band
caught in a hook, and was scattered in fragments upon the
ground. This was more than Lady Frances could bear, and
she turned both women out of the room, commanding them to
send Barbara in their stead. The little Puritan had been
weeping plentifully, but when she came, Lady Frances appeared
to have forgotten her wrath, and greeted her with much
gentleness.</p>

<p>"Your mistress, my pretty maid&mdash;is she dressed?"</p>

<p>"No, my lady."</p>

<p>"See what havoc these girls have wrought with my stomacher!
Pick me up the jewels, Barbara, if your mistress
can spare you such brief time."</p>

<p>"I was not with her, my lady: she said she would call
when I was wanted. I can hear her in this chamber."</p>

<p>While Barbara was gathering the jewels, her tears fell fast
upon them. Lady Frances observed it, and smiling said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"You are gemming my ornaments, setting them in crystal
instead of gold."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p>

<p>"I can't help my tears, dear lady, when I think how
she weeps. Oh, it is a mournful thing to see an oak bend
like a willow, or a stately rose low as a little wild flower!
Something has crushed her heart, and I cannot help her.
I would lay down my life to make her happy, if I knew
but how! The very dogs hang their tails, and steal across
the rooms they used to gambol in! Ah, madam, she has
wealth, and rank, and all that a poor girl would call great
glory. Yet her step is like the step of an aged woman, and
her head is bent, though not with the weight of years. I
think of a little poem I knew when I was a child. I believe I
heard it before I could speak the words thereof, yet it is so
perfect on my mind. Did you ever hear it, madam? it is
called 'The Lady of Castile.'"</p>

<p>"Never; but I should like to hear it, Barbara, while you
hook on the diamonds those careless minxes scattered so heedlessly.
What tune is it to?"</p>

<p>"I know not the tune, madam; nor could I sing it now if
I did. I often wonder how the birds can sing when they lose
their mates; though their notes are not, as at other times,
cheery; and no wonder. It's very cruel to kill poor innocent
birds."</p>

<p>"Let me hear the ballad, Barbara."</p>

<p>"I fear me, it has gone out of my head; but, madam, it
began thus, something after a popish fashion; but no harm,
no great harm in it:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'The lady was of noble birth,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And fairest in Castile,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And many suitors came to her&mdash;&mdash;'<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>And many suitors came to her," repeated Barbara. "I
forget the last line, but it ended with 'feel.' I am sorry,
madam, that I have lost the words, quite lost them to-day,
though I could have said them all yesterday. But the lady
had many sweethearts, as my lady had, and like my lady sent
them all away; only she was over nice. And she made up
her mind at last to marry one whose name was ill thought of,
and her wedding day was fixed; and the night before, as she
was sleeping, who should visit her (it is here comes the
Popery) but the Virgin? And the Virgin gave her her hand,
and led her to a beautiful grove; and this grove was filled
with the most beautiful birds in the world; and the Virgin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
said to her, take any one of these birds that you choose, and
keep it as your own; and you may walk to the end of the
grove and take any one you meet; but you must choose it
before you come back, and not come back without one; you
must not have the power to take one after you begin to return.
And the bird you take will be lord of your estates, and of
yourself, and the eyes of all Castile will be upon him. And
the lady was very beautiful, as beautiful as my lady, only not
good or well-taught like her. If she had been, she would not
have believed in the Virgin. So the lady walked on and on,
and the sweet birds were singing to her, and courting her, and
striving to win her favour all the way. They were such birds
as I never heard of but in that song&mdash;with diamond eyes,
and ruby wings, and feet of pearl; but she found some fault
with every one she met, and fancied she might find a better
before her walk was done. And, behold! at last she got to
the end of the grove without having made any choice; and
what think you, my lady, sat there? why a black vulture, a
wicked, deceitful, cruel bird. And she was forced to take him.
She had passed by many good and beautiful, and their sweet
songs still sounded in her ears; yet she was forced to take that
hideous and cruel bird. Only think, my lady, how horrid!
The poor lady of Castile awoke, and began thinking what the
dream could mean; and after praying awhile, she remembered
how much she wished in her sleep that she had taken the first
bird she saw. And it brought back to her mind the companion
of her youth, who had loved her long, and she likened
this gallant gentleman to the sweet bird of her dream. So
she put away him whose name was ill thought of, and wedded
the knight who had loved her long. And so the song finishes
with</p>

<p class="center">"'Happy lady of Castile!'"</p>

<p>"And a good ending too," said Lady Frances; "I wish our
wedding was likely to terminate so favourably."</p>

<p>"Amen to that prayer!" said Barbara, earnestly, and
added, shuddering as she spoke, "It is very odd, madam, but
one of your ladies, who was arraying the communion-table,
scared away a great toad, whose bloated sides were leaning on
the step, and, she says, on the very spot where Sir Willmott
Burrell must kneel to-night.&mdash;Hush! that was his door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
which shut at the end of the corridor&mdash;the very sound of his
foot-fall makes me shudder&mdash;the Lord preserve us! It is
astonishing, my lady, the wisdom of some dumb animals:
Crisp can't bear the sight of him; but Crisp is very knowledgeable!"</p>

<p>"There will be another miserable match," thought Lady
Frances; "that pretty modest creature will sacrifice herself to
that deformed piece of nature's workmanship; even his nasty
cur, long-backed and bandy, shares her favour: I will beg her
of Constantia, take her to court, and get her a proper husband.&mdash;Crisp
is an ill-favoured puppy, Barbara," she said
aloud, "and the sooner you get rid of him the better. You
must come to court with me, and be one of my bower-girls for
a season; it will polish you, and cure your Shepey prejudices.
I shall ask Mistress Cecil to let you come."</p>

<p>Barbara thought first of Robin, then of her father; and
was about to speak of the latter, when she remembered her
promise of secrecy.</p>

<p>"Thank your ladyship; a poor girl, like me had better
remain where&mdash;where&mdash;she is likely to bide. A field-mouse
cannot climb a tree like a gay squirrel, my lady, though the
poor thing is as happy on the earth as the fine squirrel among
the branches, and, mayhap, a deal safer: and as to Crisp!
beauty is deceitful&mdash;but honesty is a thing to lean upon&mdash;the
creature's heart is one great lump of faithfulness."</p>

<p>"You must get a courtly husband, Barbara."</p>

<p>"Your ladyship jests; and so would a courtly husband, at
one like me. Mayhap I may never live to marry; but if I
did, I should not like my husband to be ashamed of me.&mdash;The
jewels are all on, my lady!"</p>

<p>"Should you not like to be as my maidens are?"</p>

<p>"Thank you, madam, no: for they have too little to do, and
that begets sorrow. Were my lady happy, and&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;But
that is my lady's call. Shall I send your women,
madam?"</p>

<p>"I have often thought and often said," murmured Lady
Frances, as Barbara meekly closed the door, "that nothing is
so perplexing to the worldly as straight forward honesty and
truth. It is not to be intimidated, nor bribed nor flattered,
nor destroyed&mdash;not destroyed even by death. I would give
half my dowry&mdash;alas! do <i>I</i> talk of dowry?&mdash;great as my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
father is, he may be low as others, who have been as great.
And now I must accompany my sweet friend to the altar on
which she is to be sacrificed. Alas! better would be for her
if death were to meet and claim her upon the threshold of the
chapel she is about to enter!"</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI_I" id="CHAPTER_XVI_I"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>

<div class="blockw"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Nought is there under heaven's wide hollownesse<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That moves more dear compassion of mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than beautie brought t'unworthie wretchednesse<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Through envious snares or fortune's freaks unkinde.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To think how causeless of her own accord<br /></span>
<span class="i1">This gentle damzell, whom I write upon,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Should plonged be in such affliction,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without all hope of comfort or reliefe.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"I am driven to it, I am driven to it!" repeated Sir Willmott
Burrell, as he attired himself in his gayest robes, while his
eyes wandered restlessly over the dial of a small clock that
stood upon the dressing-table. "No one has seen her&mdash;and
I have forced Constantia to wed at six, instead of seven. Once
wed&mdash;why, there's an end of it; and if the worst should
come, and Zillah persecutes me still, I can but swear her mad,
and this will terminate her fitful fever." He placed a small
pistol within his embroidered dress, and girded his jewelled
sword more tightly than before. "The minutes linger more
tardily than ever," he continued: "full fifteen to the time.&mdash;Would
it were over! I am certain Cromwell would
not interfere, if once she was my wife; he loves her honour
better than the Jew's."</p>

<p>Again he drew forth the pistol and examined it, and then
replaced it as before&mdash;again girded his sword; and having
drunk copiously of some ardent spirit, a flask of which had
been placed near him, he descended to the library.</p>

<p>The only person in the apartment was Sir Robert Cecil: he
was leaning, in the very attitude in which we first met him,
against the high and dark chimney-piece of marble; but, oh,
how altered! His hand trembled with emotion as he held it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
to Sir Willmott, who took it with that air of easy politeness
and cordiality of manner he could so well assume.</p>

<p>"The hour is nearly arrived," said the old man, "and you
will become the husband of my only child. Treat her kindly&mdash;oh,
as you ever hope to have children of your own,
treat her kindly: be to her what I ought to have been&mdash;a
protector! Sir Willmott, I cannot live very long; say only
that you will treat her kindly. Whatever I have shall be
yours: you will be kind, will you not?" And he looked at
Sir Willmott with an air of such perfect childishness, that the
knight imagined his mind had given way.</p>

<p>"Sit down, my good sir; compose <a name="Page_296t" id="Page_296t"></a><a href="#Page_296tn">yourself</a>&mdash;you are much
agitated&mdash;I pray you be composed."</p>

<p>"Broad lands are a great temptation," continued Sir Robert,
with the same appearance of wavering intellect&mdash;"Broad lands
and gold are great temptations, and yet they do not make one
happy. Stoop your head&mdash;closer&mdash;closer&mdash;there:&mdash;now
I will tell you a secret, but you must not tell it to Constantia,
because it would give her pain&mdash;I have never been happy
since I possessed them! Stop, I will tell you all, from beginning
to end. My brother, Sir Herbert&mdash;I was not Sir Robert
then&mdash;my brother, I say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Some other time, my dear sir," interrupted Burrell, whose
apprehension was confirmed; "you must cheer up, and not
think of these matters: you must take some wine." He filled
a goblet from a silver flagon that stood with refreshments on
the table; but the baronet's hand was so unsteady, that Sir
Willmott was obliged to hold the cup to his lips. "Now,
my dear sir, collect your thoughts; you know all things are
safe and secret: there is no possibility of your ever being
otherwise than beloved and respected."</p>

<p>"Not by my child," said the unhappy man two or three
times, twisting his hands convulsively&mdash;"Not by my child,
my pride, my Constantia! Her kiss is as cold as ice upon my
brow; and I thought&mdash;perhaps 'twas but a dream, for I have
been sleeping a little&mdash;I thought she wiped her lips after she
kissed me. Do you think she would destroy the taste of her
father's kiss?"</p>

<p>"Most certainly not: she loves you as well and as dearly
as ever."</p>

<p>"I cannot believe it, Sir Willmott, I cannot believe it;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>&mdash;besides,
there's no safety for me till Hugh Dalton's pardon is
granted."</p>

<p>"Damn him!" growled Burrell, and the curse grated
through his closed teeth&mdash;"Damn him, deeply, doubly, everlastingly!"</p>

<p>"Ay, so he will be damned," replied Sir Robert, in a calm,
quiet tone, "and we shall all be damned, except Constantia;
but he must be pardoned&mdash;on earth I mean&mdash;for all that."</p>

<p>Burrell looked daggers at Sir Robert Cecil, but he heeded
them not, saw them not. Sir Willmott's first suspicion was
right&mdash;the injured were avenged! The unhappy man retained
his memory, though his words and actions were no
longer under the control of reason: his conscience lived on&mdash;his
intellect had expired. "It is even so," thought Sir Willmott
the next moment: "and now, Constantia, despite your
scorn, your hatred, your contempt, I do pity you."</p>

<p>Burrell understood not how superior was Constance in every
respect, either to his pity or his praise.</p>

<p>Exactly as the clock struck six, the doors at the bottom of
the room were thrown open, and Lady Frances Cromwell entered
with her friend; Barbara and the waiting-maidens of
Lady Frances followed; but nothing could exceed Burrell's
displeasure and mortification, when he perceived that his bride
was habited in the deepest mourning. Her hair, braided from
her brow, hung in long and luxuriant tresses down her back,
and were only confined by a fillet of jet. Upon her head was
a veil of black gauze, that fell over her entire figure; and her
dress was of black Lucca silk, hemmed and bordered with
crape. She advanced steadily to her father, without noticing
her bridegroom, and, throwing up her veil, said, in a low
voice,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Father, I am ready."</p>

<p>Burrell, who feared that even in the very brief space which
now remained, Sir Robert would betray the weakness of his
mind, stepped forward, and would have taken her hand;
but she put him from her, with a single gesture, saying,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Not yet, sir, I am still <i>all</i> my father's.&mdash;Father, I am
ready."</p>

<p>It was pitiable to see the vacant eye which Sir Robert fixed
upon her pale, fine face, and most painful to observe the look
of anxious inquiry with which she regarded him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p>

<p>"Dear father," she exclaimed at length, sinking on her
knees, "dear father, speak to me."</p>

<p>The gesture and the voice recalled him for a little to himself.
He kissed her cheek affectionately, and, rising with
much of the dignity of former years, pressed her to his
bosom.</p>

<p>"Forgive me, child;&mdash;my Lady Frances, I crave your
pardon&mdash;I am myself again&mdash;I was a trifle indisposed, but it
is over. Fill me some wine," he commanded to the attendants,
who gathered in the doorway&mdash;"Yes&mdash;up&mdash;full&mdash;more
full; I drink&mdash;" he continued, with a gaiety of manner
suiting ill with his grey hairs and pallid face&mdash;"I drink
to the happiness and prosperity of my daughter and her bridegroom!"
He quaffed to the bottom of the cup, then flung it
from him.</p>

<p>"Now go we to the bridal," he said, leading Constantia forward,
while Sir Willmott conducted Lady Frances, who hardly
condescended to touch the hand he presented to her. As they
passed an open court, leading to the little chapel, Sir Robert
stopped abruptly, and addressing his daughter, said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"But I have not blessed you yet; you would not like to
die without my blessing."</p>

<p>"Die, my father!" repeated Constance.</p>

<p>"I pray your pardon, child," he replied, in a half muttering,
half speaking voice&mdash;"I was thinking of your mother:
but now I quite remember me, this is a bridal," and he hurried
her forward to the altar where the clergyman stood ready to
receive them.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell," said Constantia to the knight, as
he placed himself at her side, "my father is ill, and I cannot
think upon what his malady may be with any thing like calmness;
if what I dread is true, you will not force me from
him."</p>

<p>"Let the ceremony proceed, and, villain as I know you
think me, I will not oppose any plan you may form for him,"
was Burrell's reply. Lady Frances stood close beside her friend;
and Barbara, in her white robes and simple beauty, headed
the group of servants who crowded round the steps.</p>

<p>The clergyman commenced the service according to the form
of the Established Church, and concluded the opening address
without any interruption. He then proceeded to the solemn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
and beautiful appeal made as to the liberty of those who present
themselves at the altar.</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"I require and charge you both, (as ye will answer at the dreadful
day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed,)
that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully
be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it?"</p></div>

<p>At this point Sir Robert Cecil, his enfeebled mind still more
relaxed after the strong effort made at self-possession, and
weakened and heated by the wine he had taken, exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Those two joined together in matrimony! It is impossible&mdash;she
has not on a wedding-garment! What does she
here?" Then looking round, he left his daughter's side, and
seizing Barbara's hand, dragged her to the altar, saying, "This
must be our bride&mdash;our lady bride&mdash;no one would wed in
sables."</p>

<p>It is impossible to describe the consternation which this circumstance
occasioned; but the baronet had hardly uttered the
words, when the window that Barbara had taken so much pains
in adorning, was darkened by a figure springing into and
standing on the open casement, and the shrill voice of the
Jewess Zillah shouted, in a tone that was heard most audibly
over the murmurs of the little crowd, and echoed fearfully
along the chancel, "Justice&mdash;vengeance!" and, suiting the
action to her words, she discharged a pistol with but too steady
an aim at the innocent Barbara, whom on this occasion, as
before, she had mistaken for her rival, Constantia Cecil.</p>

<h4>END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</h4>
<p><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p>
<h3><a name="VOLUME_THE_THIRD" id="VOLUME_THE_THIRD"></a>VOLUME THE THIRD.</h3>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_II" id="CHAPTER_I_II"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Behold!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bestow'd on her in death. She past away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So sweetly from the world, as if her clay<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, if th'art too much woman, softly weepe<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lest grief disturbe the silence of her sleepe.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Habington.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p>Barbara, the young, the beautiful, the innocent Barbara,
fell, as the bullet struck her, upon the arm of the imbecile Sir
Robert Cecil. It is impossible adequately to describe the scene
that followed. Constantia caught the maiden from her father,
who shrank at the sight of blood, and drew himself gradually
away, like a terrified child from a frightful object, while his
daughter, kneeling, supported the stricken girl upon her
bosom. After the deed was done, the Jewess stood for a
moment with an air of exultation upon the ledge of the
oriel window, and then disappeared; but Sir Willmott, who
saw that the time was come when, if ever, his prey was to be
secured, rushed to the open door, with a view to seize her as
she descended, and at once rid himself of all danger by her
destruction. At the instant his evil purpose was about to be
accomplished, his course was arrested, as he reached the postern,
by a powerful arm, which grappled at his throat. The
stentorian voice of Dalton shouted "Villain!" so loudly, that
many, who had crowded round the dying Barbara, turned in
alarm to ascertain who spoke.</p>

<p>"Hinder me not," said Sir Willmott, gasping for breath,
"but help me to secure the murderer&mdash;the girl is slain!"</p>

<p>"God of Heaven!&mdash;what girl?&mdash;Who was it fired?"
exclaimed the Skipper.&mdash;"What means this?" he continued,
relaxing his grasp, and advancing up the chancel with a
beating heart and a rapid step. Burrell took advantage of the
momentary reprieve, and was hastily proceeding round to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
window, when the tramp of many horses came upon his ear.
The steel caps and polished blades of a detachment of Cromwell's
own Ironsides glittered amid the ruins and trees that
surrounded the chapel, and his progress was again stayed by
no other than Colonel John Jones.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell," said the Puritan soldier, in a slow
and deliberate tone, "his Highness commands your immediate
presence at the house of Hampton, profanely denominated
Hampton Court; and I have his Highness's commands also to
prevent the taking place of any union between you and Mistress
Constantia Cecil."</p>

<p>"It has taken place," interrupted Burrell, turning pale,
and trembling.</p>

<p>"It has <i>not</i> taken place," interrupted in her turn Lady
Frances, whose habitual and active kindness had prompted her
to seek assistance for Barbara, so that she encountered the
troop under the command of her step-uncle&mdash;"I say it has
not taken place&mdash;half a ceremony is no marriage. But have
you any with you skilled in surgery? for here has been a most
foul murder: come with me into the chapel, and behold!"
Lady Frances returned, followed by Colonel Jones, Sir Willmott
as a prisoner, and the greater number of the soldiery.</p>

<p>Constantia Cecil, still kneeling, supported Barbara, whose
life was ebbing fast, as the blood trickled from a small wound,
where the ball had entered a little above her right shoulder.
Her eyes, gentle and expressive as ever, were fixed upon her
father, who stood speechless and powerless by her side. The
women gathered, weeping, around. The good clergyman approached
to offer spiritual consolation to the departing girl.
Hugh Dalton had heard the story of the fatal act repeated by
at least a dozen persons, who were ignorant that they spoke
in the presence of the poor maiden's parent; but he heeded
not their words; he did not even ask how or by whom the
dreadful deed was done. Enough to him was the certainty
that his daughter was dying, dying before him&mdash;that she, to
whom his heart had clung through evil report and good report,
in sorrow and in sin, but always with confidence and hope, as
the star that would at length guide him into a haven of peace
and joy, which had been rapidly growing out of repentance;
that she, his only, his beloved, his most excellent, and most
unspotted child, would, within an hour, become as the clay on
which he trod&mdash;that her mild, cheerful, and patient spirit,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
was passing to the God who gave it&mdash;unrepiningly passing;
for no groan, no murmur came from her lips&mdash;lips that had
never been stained by deceit or falsehood. Still her eyes rested
on her parent, and once she endeavoured to stretch forth her
weak arms towards him, but they fell powerless at her side;
while he, still mute and motionless as a statue, seemed rooted
to the earth. The clergyman spoke a few words of an approaching
eternity. It was only then the Buccaneer replied;
without a tear, without a sob; or any outward demonstration
of sorrow: though all who heard him felt that the words came
from a man whose sole sensation was despair.</p>

<p>"No need, sir, to speak so to her. She knows about these
things far more than we do. Hush! for the sake of God, and
let me hear her breathing."</p>

<p>"Some ten of you look out for the murderer," commanded
the stern voice of Colonel Jones, who had by this time received
the whole account from the Lady Frances.</p>

<p>"You will not be able to find her," exclaimed the alarmed
Burrell, dreading that, if she were secured, she might communicate
the secret she still retained. "You will not, I assure
you, be able to find her," he repeated, as the sturdy soldiers
prepared to obey their officer's command.</p>

<p>"You know the person, then, Sir Willmott," said Colonel
Jones, coldly. Burrell looked abashed. "Mistress Constantia
will, I hope, forgive me," added the rough soldier, walking
towards the steps of the altar, where the lady of Cecil Place
still supported the fading form of the poor faithful maiden she
had so truly loved&mdash;"Mistress Constantia will forgive one
of her father's oldest friends for thus breaking in upon and
disturbing a most solemn ceremony. His Highness has commanded
her bridegroom to be brought before him, and the
marriage to be stayed, inasmuch as he charges Sir Willmott
Burrell with being already wedded!"</p>

<p>The maiden to whom he spoke looked up, and gazed into
the countenance of the speaker; but it would have been difficult
to determine the nature of her feelings, save by the cold
shudder that seemed to pass over her whole frame.</p>

<p>On Sir Robert Cecil the information made no impression,
for he understood it not, though he smiled and bowed several
times to his old companion in arms. But the Buccaneer
started, roused for a moment from the one absorbing sorrow
of his whole soul, but still heedless of the danger he encountered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
in thus standing face to face with a troop of the hardiest soldiers
of the Commonwealth. Turning eagerly towards their
officer, he exclaimed,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ha! it is known!&mdash;then the papers were received."</p>

<p>"Traitor! double traitor! I have ye now!" shouted Burrell,
presenting his pistol at the head of the Buccaneer. Instantly
Barbara, as with a last effort, sprang from the arms of
the Lady Cecil, and threw herself on her father's bosom. The
effort was not needed, for the weapon was snatched from the
villain's hand. He had now to encounter the reproof of
Colonel Jones.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott, I thought I could have taken your word,
that you had no arms except your sword. I was mistaken."</p>

<p>"That fellow is the famous Buccaneer, Hugh Dalton, upon
whose head a price is set. Arrest him, Colonel Jones!" exclaimed
Burrell, skilfully turning the attention from himself
to the Skipper, who stood embracing the lifeless form of his
daughter&mdash;gazing upon eyes that were now closed, and upon
lips parted no longer by the soft breath of as sweet a maiden
as ever was born of woman.</p>

<p>"Are you the Malignant of whom he speaks?" inquired the
stern colonel.</p>

<p>"He is the unhappy father of that murdered girl," interposed
Constantia.</p>

<p>"Whoever refuses to seize him deserves a traitor's death,"
reiterated Sir Willmott.</p>

<p>The troopers stood with their hands on their swords, awaiting
their officer's commands.</p>

<p>The Buccaneer turned fiercely round, still pressing his child
to his bosom with one arm, and holding a pistol within the
other hand.</p>

<p>"I am," he said in a bold and fearless, but not an arrogant
tone, "I am he whom that accursed villain names. But ye
had better not rouse a desperate man. Dare not to touch me;
at your peril stay my course. Colonel Jones, tell the Protector
of England, that Hugh Dalton craves no pardon now. This,
this was my hope&mdash;my pride; for her I would have been
honest, and well thought of! Behold! she stiffens on my
arm. She is nothing now but clay! Yet, by the God that
made her! no churlish earth shall sully this fair form. She
was as pure as the blue sea that cradled her first months of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
infancy; and, mark ye, when the rays of the young sun rest
upon the ocean, at the morning-watch, by my own ship's side,
in the bosom of the calm waters, shall she find a grave. I
will no more trouble England&mdash;no more&mdash;no more! Gold
may come dancing on the waves, even to my vessel's prow, I
will not touch it. Cromwell may take me if he will, but not
till I perform for my good and gentle child the only rite that
ever she demanded from me."</p>

<p>Even as the tiger-mother passes through an Indian crowd,
bearing the cherished offspring of her fierce but affectionate
nature, which some stray arrow has destroyed&mdash;terrible in
her anguish and awful in her despair&mdash;her foes appalled at
her sufferings and the bravery of her spirit, though still panting
for her destruction&mdash;their arrows are on the string&mdash;yet the
untaught, but secret and powerful respect for the great source
of our good as well as of our evil passions&mdash;Nature&mdash;works
within them, and she passes on, unmolested, to her lair:&mdash;even
so did Dalton pass along, carrying his daughter, as she
were a sleeping infant, through the armed warriors, who made
way, as if unconscious of what they did;&mdash;some, who were
themselves fathers, pressed their mailed fingers on their eyes,
while others touched their helmets, and raised them a little
from their brows.</p>

<p>"Colonel Jones," exclaimed the enraged Burrell, "you will
have to answer for this to a high power. The Protector would
give its weight in gold for the head of that man; and the
weight of that again for a knowledge of his haunts."</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott," was the soldier's reply, who, now that
Dalton was really gone, began to fear he had done wrong in
permitting his escape, and therefore resolved to brave it
haughtily, "I can answer for my own actions. Methinks you
are cold and hot as best serves your purpose!" Then turning
abruptly from him, he added, "We will but intrude upon the
hospitality of this mourning bride," glancing at Constantia's
dress, and smiling grimly, "until some tidings be obtained of
the person who has perpetrated this horrid murder; and having
refreshed our horses, return forthwith; for his Highness is impatient
of delay, and 'tis good fifty miles to London. Our
orders were, Sir Willmott, that you hold no communion with
any; so that, if you have aught to say to Mistress Cecil, it
must be said at once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p>

<p>"I can only offer my protestations against this tyrannical&mdash;ay,
sir, I speak boldly, and repeat it&mdash;this tyrannical
mandate&mdash;and assure the fair dame that I consider her my
lawful wife."</p>

<p>Constantia made no reply. Colonel Jones then gave the
Lady Frances a slip of paper from the Protector, which merely
stated that he thought she ought to remain with her friend,
until the mysterious rumour was either cleared up or confirmed.
Lady Frances right joyfully assented; and Constantia, overpowered
by a multitude of contending feelings, led the way
with her father, who seemed as passive and as uninterested in
the events of that most eventful hour, as if he were a child of
a twelvemonth old. The soldiers who had been sent to reconnoitre
soon returned, for night was closing upon them, and
they had searched the ruins of Minster, and galloped over the
wild hills of Shepey, without being able to trace the misguided
Jewess. Colonel Jones could, therefore, do nothing more than
advise Sir Michael Livesey (the sheriff, who resided, as we
have stated, at Little Shurland) of the circumstance that had
occurred, and send off to King's Ferry, Sheerness, Queenborough,
and all the little hamlets along the coast, information
of the melancholy event, with orders to prevent any stranger,
male or female, from quitting the island, until his Highness's
future pleasure was known.</p>

<p>The murder of Lady Cecil's favourite was calculated to excite
strong feelings among all classes; for the poor had long
considered the residence of so good a family on their island as
a blessing from Heaven; more particularly, as the former possessor,
Sir Herbert, Sir Robert's elder brother, only lived at
Cecil Place occasionally, being of too gay, too cavalier a temperament,
to bide long in so solitary a dwelling. He had been
warmly attached to the house of Stuart; and while his
younger brother sought, and made friends of the Parliamentarian
faction, he remained steady in his loyalty, and firm in his
attachment to the unfortunate and unpopular Charles. Upon
this topic we may hereafter treat: at present, we have to do
with the living, not the dead.</p>

<p>We cannot now intrude upon the privacy of either Lady
Frances or Constantia; we must content ourselves with
simply stating that Colonel Jones took his departure, leaving,
at Lady Frances's request, a guard of six soldiers at Cecil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>
Place&mdash;a precaution he felt justified in adopting when he had
taken late events into consideration, and was made acquainted
with the miserable condition of Sir Robert's mind, to whom
also he undertook to send immediate medical advice. The
servants, particularly Lady Frances's women, assembled in the
great hall, and with many tears, real and unfeigned tears, lamented
the loss of poor Barbara&mdash;talked of the mystery of
her birth, and the sudden and almost supernatural appearance
of her father. Greatly did they blame themselves for permitting
him to remove the body, "not knowing," as they said,
"but he would give it heathenish and not Christian burial."</p>

<p>After a little while they conversed upon the malady that
had overtaken their master, and then hints and old tales were
thought of, and almost forgotten rumours of Sir Herbert and
his revelries repeated; and as the lamps burned still more
dim, and the embers of the fire dropped one by one into that
grey and blue dust that heralds their perfect decay, the legends
of the isle were rehearsed&mdash;How Sir Robert de Shurland, a
great knight and a powerful thane, being angry with a priest,
buried him alive in Minster churchyard; and then, fearing
the king's displeasure, and knowing he was at the Nore, swam
on a most faithful horse to his majesty from the island, to
crave pardon for his sin; and the king pardoned him; and
then, right joyfully, he swam back to the land, where, on his
dismounting, he was accosted by a foul witch, who prophesied
that the horse which had saved him should be the cause of his
death; but, in order to prevent the accomplishment of the
prophecy, he slew the faithful animal upon the beach;&mdash;how
that some time afterwards he passed by the carcass, and striking
a bone with his foot, it entered the flesh, which mortified,
and the tyrant died; in testimony whereof the tomb stands in
Minster church until this day, in the south wall, under a
pointed arch, where he lies, leaning on his shield and banner,
and at his feet a page, while behind him is carved the
horse's head that caused his death:&mdash;and, moreover, how his
spirit is seen frequently leaping from turret to turret of the
house of Great Shurland, pursued by a phantom steed! Of
such like legends did they talk. Then they thanked God that
their lady was not likely to be Sir Willmott's wife, and spoke
of Dalton and his daring, and many of the old servants
shuddered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p>

<p>Then again they reverted to Barbara, and the women crept
more closely together, like a flock of frightened sheep, when
one older than the others affirmed that no true maid could ever
rest in the ocean's bed, unless a Bible were slung about her
neck; and as Dalton, of course, had no Bible, their beloved
Barbara could have no rest, but must wander to all eternity on
the foam of the white waves, or among the coral-rocks that
pave the southern seas, or sigh in the shrouds of a doomed
ship. But again, some other said, as she was so pure a
Christian, perhaps that would save her from such a fate; and
one of the soldiers who sat with them reproved their folly, and
lectured, and prayed for their edification, with much zeal and
godliness; and when he had concluded, the thought came
upon them that the Reverend Jonas Fleetword had not been
there since the earliest morning, when somebody declared he
was seen talking with Sir Willmott Burrell near the Gull's
Nest, and fear for the preacher came over them all&mdash;why,
they could not tell.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II_II" id="CHAPTER_II_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Poesy! thou sweet'st content<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That e'er Heaven to mortals lent,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though they as a trifle leave thee<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though thou be to them a scorn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That to nought but earth are born;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let my life no longer be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than I am in love with thee.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">George Wither.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>There are two things that to a marvellous degree bring people
under subjection&mdash;moral and corporeal fear. The most dissolute
are held in restraint by the influence of moral worth,
and there are few who would engage in a quarrel, if they were
certain that defeat or death would be the consequence. Cromwell
obtained, and we may add, maintained his ascendency
over the people of England, by his earnest and continually
directed efforts towards these two important ends. His court
was a rare example of irreproachable conduct, from which all
debauchery and immorality were banished; while such was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
his deep and intimate, though mysterious, acquaintance with
every occurrence throughout the Commonwealth, its subjects
had the certainty of knowing that, sooner or later, whatever
crimes they committed would of a surety reach the ear of the
Protector. His natural abilities must always have been of the
highest order, though in the early part of his career he discovered
none of those extraordinary talents that afterwards
gained him so much applause, and worked so upon the affections
of the hearers and standers by. His mind may be compared
to one of those valuable manuscripts that had long been
rolled up and kept hidden from vulgar eyes, but which exhibits
some new proof of wisdom at each unfolding. It has been
well said by a philosopher, whose equal the world has not
known since his day, "that a place showeth the man." Of a
certainty Cromwell had no sooner possessed the opportunity so
to do, than he showed to the whole world that he was destined
to govern. "Some men achieve greatness, some men are born
to greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."
With Cromwell, greatness was achieved. He was the architect
of his own fortunes, owing little to, what is called,
"chance," less to patronage, and still less to crime, if we except
the one sad blot upon the page of his own history, as
connected with that of his country. There appears in his character
but a small portion of that which is evil, blended with
much that is undoubtedly good. Although his public speeches
were, for the most part, ambiguous&mdash;leaving others to pick
out his meaning&mdash;or more frequently still, having no meaning
to pick out&mdash;being words, words, words&mdash;strung of mouldy
sentences, scriptural phrases, foolish exclamations, and such
like; yet, when necessary, he showed that he could sufficiently
command his style, delivering himself with so much energy,
pith, propriety, and strength of expression, that it was commonly
said of him, under such circumstances, "every word he
spoke was a thing." But the strongest indication of his vast
abilities was, the extraordinary tact with which he entered into,
dissected, and scrutinised the nature of human kind. No man
ever dived into the manners and minds of those around him
with greater penetration, or more rapidly discovered their
natural talents and tempers. If he chanced to hear of a person
fit for his purpose, whether as a minister, a soldier, an artisan,
a preacher, or a spy&mdash;no matter how previously obscure&mdash;he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
sent for him forthwith, and employed him in the way in which
he could be made most useful, and answer best the purpose of
his employer. Upon this most admirable system (a system in
which, unhappily, he has had but few imitators among modern
statesmen,) depended in a great degree his success. His devotion
has been sneered at; but it has never been proved to
have been insincere. With how much more show of justice
may we consider it to have been founded upon a solid and upright
basis, when we recollect that his whole outward deportment
spoke its truth. Those who decry him as a fanatic
ought to bethink themselves that <i>religion was the chivalry of
the age in which he lived</i>. Had Cromwell been born a few
centuries earlier, he would have headed the Crusades, with as
much bravery, and far better results than our noble-hearted,
but wrong-headed "C&oelig;ur de Lion." It was no great compliment
that was passed on him by the French minister, when
he called the Protector "the first captain of the age." His
courage and conduct in the field were undoubtedly admirable:
he had a dignity of soul which the greatest dangers and difficulties
rather animated than discouraged, and his discipline and
government of the army, in all respects, was the wonder of the
world. It was no diminution of this part of his character that
he was wary in his conduct, and that, after he was declared
Protector, he wore a coat-of-mail concealed beneath his dress.
Less caution than he made use of, in the place he held, and
surrounded as he was by secret and open enemies, would have
deserved the name of negligence. As to his political sincerity,
which many think had nothing to do with his religious opinions,
he was, to the full, as honest as the first or second Charles.</p>

<p>Of a truth, that same sincerity, it would appear, is no kingly
virtue! Cromwell loved justice as he loved his own life, and
wherever he was compelled to be arbitrary, it was only where
his authority was controverted, which, as things then were, it
was not only right to establish for his own sake, but for the
peace and security of the country over whose proud destinies
he had been called to govern. "The dignity of the crown,"
to quote his own words, "was upon the account of the nation,
of which the king was only the representative head, and therefore,
the nation being still the same, he would have the same
respect paid to his ministers as if he had been a king." England
ought to write the name of Cromwell in letters of gold,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
when she remembers that, within a space of four or five years,
he avenged all the insults that had been lavishly flung upon her
by every country in Europe throughout a long, disastrous, and
most perplexing civil war. Gloriously did he retrieve the
credit that had been mouldering and decaying during two weak
and discreditable reigns of nearly fifty years' continuance&mdash;gloriously
did he establish and extend his country's authority
and influence in remote nations&mdash;gloriously acquire the real
mastery of the British Channel&mdash;gloriously send forth fleets
that went and conquered, and never sullied the union-flag by
an act of dishonour or dissimulation!</p>

<p>Not a single Briton, during the Protectorate, but could
demand and receive either reparation or revenge for injury,
whether it came from France, from Spain, from any open foe
or treacherous ally;&mdash;not an oppressed foreigner claimed his
protection but it was immediately and effectually granted.
Were things to be compared to this in the reign of either
Charles? England may blush at the remembrance of the insults
she sustained during the reigns of the first most amiable,
yet most weak&mdash;of the second most admired, yet most contemptible&mdash;of
these legal kings. What must she think of the
treatment received by the Elector Palatine, though he was son-in-law
to King James? And let her ask herself how the Duke
of Rohan was assisted in the Protestant war at Rochelle, notwithstanding
the solemn engagement of King Charles under
his own hand! But we are treading too fearlessly upon ground
on which, in our humble capacity, we have scarcely the right
to enter. Alas! alas! the page of History is but a sad one!
and the Stuarts and the Cromwells, the Roundheads and the
Cavaliers, the pennons and the drums, are but part and parcel of
the same dust&mdash;the dust we, who are made of dust, animated
for a time by a living spirit, now tread upon! Their words,
that wrestled with the winds and mounted on the air, have left
no trace along that air whereon they sported;&mdash;the clouds in
all their beauty cap our isle with their magnificence, as in those
by-gone days;&mdash;the rivers are as blue, the seas as salt;&mdash;the
flowers, those sweet things! remain fresh within our fields
as when God called them into existence in Paradise&mdash;and are
bright as ever. But the change is over us, as it has been over
them: we, too, are passing. O England! what should this
teach? Even three things&mdash;wisdom, justice, and mercy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
Wisdom to watch ourselves, and then our rulers, so that we
neither do nor suffer wrong;&mdash;justice to the memory of the
mighty dead, whether born to thrones or footstools;&mdash;mercy,
inasmuch as we shall deeply need it from our successors.</p>

<p>We must not longer trifle with or mingle among forbidden
themes, but turn to that which lightens many a heart, and
creates of its own power a magic world of pure and perfect
enjoyment.</p>

<p>Many there were, before and during those troublous times,
who, heedless of the turmoils that were taking place around
them, sang, as birds will sometimes sing, during the pauses of
a thunder-storm. We would fain con over the names of a few
of those who live with the memories of peace, and hope, and
love, and joy&mdash;as so many happy contrasts to the wars and
intrigues, that sin, and its numberless and terrible attendants,
have brought upon this cheerful, and beautiful, and abundantly
gifted earth.</p>

<p>A blessing on sweet Poesy! whether she come to us mounted
on the gallant war-horse, trumpet-tongued, awakening our
souls and senses unto glory, hymning with Dryden some bold
battle-strain that makes us crow of victories past, present, and
to come;&mdash;or with a scholar's trim and tasselled cap, a flowing
gown of raven hue, and many tales of Chaucer's&mdash;quaint,
but pleasing&mdash;good reading under some old tree close by a
quiet brook, where minnows sport and dart with silver flight
beneath the broad-leaved lilies, whose white and yellow chalices
are spread full to the cheerful heavens, wherein the sun rides
like a monarch in his azure kingdom;&mdash;or, better still,
mounted on a green dragon with glaring eyes and forky tongue,
looking for encounter with some Christian knight, who, "full
of sad feare and ghastley dreariment," would nathless risk life,
honour, all&mdash;for his faire ladie love. Beloved Spenser! age
withers not thy beauty.</p>

<p>Or Poesy may come in the cool twilight, when the garish
day is past, and the young modest flowers, which refused their
perfume to the sun, that, with his hot and fiery beams, sought
to command their incense, now welcome back the evening, and
become prodigal of sweetness;&mdash;within some rustic temple,
clustered with woodbine, where the robin or the tiny wren hath
formed a nest of matchless skill and neat propriety, and trembles
not at the approaching footstep, while the soft breath of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
heaven plays with those blossoms of the sun&mdash;the painted
butterflies&mdash;that fold their wings and fain would sleep till
morning. There let her come, and with her bring more blessed
children of the olden time,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"Whose names<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In Fame's eternal volume live for aye."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>The gallant handsome Surrey, tutored by Love into our first,
if not our sweetest sonneteer; and Michael Drayton, with his
apt crest&mdash;Mercury's bright cap, blazoned with sunbeams.
Old Fletcher, floating towards his Purple Island, in the same
graceful bark that bears his more thoughtful, it may be sombre,
brother Giles. Then, garlanded with the rich thistle in all
its purple glory; the perfume of his braes, and burns, and
heather, reeking amid his clustering hair; his cheerful plaid,
and his gay bonnet, graced by the heron's plume; his voice
subdued by sorrow, but still sweet and free, singing of "Sion's
flowers"&mdash;Drummond of Hawthornden! welcome from bonny
Scotland, herald of a line of poets, who fling their music on
the breezy air, that floats along in melody.</p>

<p>Our gentle Lovelace! thee too I hail&mdash;beauty in all thy
lines, so quaint yet graceful. A fopling poet though thou
wert, dainty and perfumed, yet still a poet, sweet in a lady's
bower, where all is fashioned as befits the place and time: a
poet indeed! and, what is more, never wert thou turned
from thy chosen path of duty by praise or purse&mdash;although
a poet and poor all the days of thy most checkered life.
Alas! must we contrast thee with the weathercock of the
rhyming folk, bowing to kings, protector, lords, and all that
could pay golden coin for his poesy? Many there be
among the scribbling tribe who emulate a Waller's practice,
and amble in his ill-chosen path; how few have the redeeming
gift that was his so largely!</p>

<p>And thou must not be forgotten, "O rare Ben Jonson!"
for whom a single sentence doth suffice. And him, "the
melancholy Cowley!" let him come too, with his honeyed
wisdom: it will be still the sweeter if we think upon his stern
bitterness in prose. Let him reprove the muse to whom he
owes his fame,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Thou who rewardest but with popular breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;And that too after death:&mdash;"<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></div></div></div>

<p>let him reprove, yet not come without her. Ah! the poet is
but a sorry politician after all.</p>

<p>Ye cannot do ill if ye pile the verdant turf breast high
with those old masters; those mighty monarchs of sweet
song,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Blessings be with them and eternal praise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The poets!"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Bring them all, all, from the ancient of days, who have
gained this "praise eternal," to those of our own age, who have
laboured for, and will also obtain it. And chiefly among such
as have sweetly carolled among us&mdash;still more, if ye be young
and warm-hearted, with the affections pure and true within you&mdash;bring
the dear lays of a poet&mdash;a ladye poet&mdash;a poet who will
hold rank among the best, when life shall have given place to
immortality.&mdash;How gladly do I add the tribute of admiration
to the gift of friendship.&mdash;In her own eloquent words may
we give our thoughts utterance.</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Methinks it is not much to die&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To die, and leave behind<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A spirit in the hearts of men,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A voice amid our kind;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When Fame and Death, in unison,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have given a thousand lives for one.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Our thoughts, we live again in them,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Our nature's noblest part;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our life in many a memory,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Our home in many a heart:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When not a lip that breathes our strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But calls us into life again."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>But fail not, above all, to bring the one who comprehends
the whole; whose name is to be found in every school-boy
book, written in living letters&mdash;words that breathe; to whom
the hearts of multitudes were as one most simple instrument,
which he could tune and tone unto his pleasure. The birds
taught him their language&mdash;the forest leaves had life within
their veins, and talked with him of Nature's mysteries. The
broad sea sent its homage by a thousand sprites, fresh from
their coral beds, who watched him in his dreams, or by those
sylvan glens wherein he wandered&mdash;riding the salt-sea foam,
or the light spray of the wild cataract, they sung the melodies
of river and of ocean into his soul. The beings of air, that,
atom-like, float in the clearest ether, bathe in the liquid dew,
or drink their nectar from the honey-bells of the wild heather
bloom, called him their brother, and prated of their tricks in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
gay familiarity. Oh, world! art thou the self-same world
that Shakspeare trod upon?</p>

<p>And there's another too, who stands alone in his sublimity&mdash;who
dared the mysteries of Paradise, and communed with
angels&mdash;angels both of hell and heaven&mdash;a giant-master, yet a
man of beauty, wisdom, simplicity, knowledge. Behold him
as he sits, within the tapestried chamber at Hampton Court!
'Tis the same room in which the Protector sat last night; but
how changed its aspect, just by the presence of that one man!
How different is the feeling with which we regard men of
great energy and men of great talent. Milton, blind&mdash;blind,
powerless as to his actions, overwhelming in his genius, grasping
all things and seeing into them, not with the eyes of flesh,
but those of mind, altering the very atmosphere wherein we
move, stilling the air that we may hear his oracles!</p>

<p>The room is one of most curious fashion, and hung with
the oldest tapestry in England, lighted on either side by long
and narrow windows, that are even now furnished as in the
time of the old cardinal who built them. On the low seat
formed within the wall the poet sat. Who would suffer a
thought of the ambitious Wolsey or the sensual Henry to intrude
where once they held gay revels and much minstrelsy in
their most tyrant pastimes? Cromwell, the great Protector,
even Cromwell is forgotten in the more glorious company of
one both poor and blind! He sat, as we describe him, within
the embrasure of the narrow window; the heat and brightness
of the summer sun came full upon his head, the hair upon
which was full and rich as ever, parted in the centre, and falling
in waving curls quite to his shoulders; his eyes were fixed
on vacancy, but their expression was as if communing with
some secret spirit, enlivening thus his darkness; he seemed
not old nor young, for the lines upon his face could not be
considered wrinkles&mdash;tokens were they of care and thought&mdash;such
care and such thought as Milton might know and feel.</p>

<p>He was habited with extraordinary exactness; his linen of
the finest quality, and his vest and doublet put on with an
evident attention to even minute appearance. His hands of
transparent whiteness were clasped, as if he were attending to
some particular discourse; he was alone in that vast chamber,&mdash;yet
not alone, for God was with him&mdash;not in outward
form, but in inward spirit. It was the Sabbath-day, and ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
observed in the Protector's family with respect and reverence.
The morning-meeting was over, and Cromwell in his closet,
"wrestling," as he was wont to term it, "with sin." Silence
reigned through all the courts&mdash;that due and reverend silence
which betokens thoughtfulness, and attention to one of the
Almighty's first commands&mdash;"Keep holy the Sabbath-day,"
given when he ordained that man should rest from his labours
in commemoration that he himself set an example of repose
after calling the broad earth into existence and beauty. The
poet sat but for a little time in that wide silence; yet who
would not give a large portion of their every-day existence to
have looked on him for those brief moments, moments which
for their full feeling might play the part of years in our life's
calendar? Blessed holy time!&mdash;when we can look on genius,
and catch the gems that fall from its lips! Yet Milton spoke
not&mdash;he only looked; and still his looks were heavenward&mdash;turned
towards that Heaven from whence they caught their
inspiration. He heard the sound of coming footsteps, and
loving quiet on that holy day, withdrew to his own chamber.
How empty now appeared the tapestried hall! as when some
great eclipse shuts to the golden portals of the sun, and steeps
the earth in darkness!</p>

<p>Soon after Milton's departure, the Protector entered, in conversation
with his secretary, Thurloe; and although it was the
Sabbath, there was an air of anxiety and eagerness about him,
which made his step more hurried, more abrupt than usual.
He suddenly stopped, and said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Pray God that Colonel Jones and the troop arrived in
time! Lady Frances, methinks, must have known something&mdash;seen
something&mdash;however, now all shall be investigated.
Pray God they arrived in time!"</p>

<p>He then took from a large pocket-book a set of tablets, and
having read therein for a few minutes, suddenly turning to
Thurloe, exclaimed, "What! is this indeed the tenth?"</p>

<p>"Even so," replied the secretary.</p>

<p>"Then have I business which requires immediate attention,"
said his Highness. "Behold! I had nearly forgotten
both the promise and the appointment; but spare nor haste
nor trouble! Under the archway, at the left-hand side of
Gray's Inn, after you pass the house whose corners are bound
with white stones, the walls being of red brick&mdash;under that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
arch you will see a man&mdash;now mark me&mdash;a man wearing a
green cloak, the collar being of velvet; and, to distinguish him
the more perfectly, you will perceive that his hat is banded by
a small blue riband, of the narrowest breadth: his left hand
will be uncovered, and placed upon his breast, and on its
centre finger will be a broad hoop ring of jet. Be there exactly
as the clock of St. Paul's strikes three-quarters past four; and
speak thou no word, nor make sign, except to put this bill into
his hand, which, as thou seest, is for twenty thousand pounds,
payable to the bearer at Genoa."</p>

<p>"Is it your Highness's pleasure that I take no receipt?"</p>

<p>"It is not needed&mdash;you can return hither by the evening
meal."</p>

<p>The secretary bowed, and withdrew; and at the same
moment, the trampling of many horses sounded in the paved
court-yard; and looking from the window, Cromwell beheld
the arrival of Colonel Jones, and his prisoner, Sir Willmott
Burrell.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III_II" id="CHAPTER_III_II"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The base and guilty bribes of guiltier men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall be thrown back, and Justice look as when<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She loved the earth, and feared not to be sold<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For that which worketh all things to it, gold.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"The course of justice must not be delayed, although it be
the Sabbath," said the Protector; and, having hastily ascertained
that his officer had arrived at Cecil Place in time to
prevent the intended marriage, he immediately ordered that
Colonel Jones and Sir Willmott Burrell should be at once
ushered into his presence. At the same time he despatched
one of his pages to command the attendance of Manasseh Ben
Israel.</p>

<p>When the knight entered, he was received by Cromwell
with his usual show of courtesy. He appeared, however, with
a downcast look, his hands folded over his bosom, and his
mind made up to the approaching contest with one whom he
well knew to be as profound and accomplished a dissimulator as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
himself, when dissimulation was the weapon wherewith he designed
to fight.</p>

<p>Sir Willmott briefly apologised for his travel-worn and
soiled habiliments, and displayed a due portion of surprise and
indignation at being torn from his bride in the midst of the
marriage ceremony. The Jew trembled with agitation, and
would have interrupted the Protector's more slow, but not less
sure, proceedings, had he not been prevented by a timely check
from Cromwell, who bent his brow towards him with a peculiar
and warning expression.</p>

<p>"It cannot be supposed, Sir Willmott," he observed, in a
calm, and even friendly tone, "but that I regret exceedingly
being compelled to trouble you in this manner, and at such a
time. You will be made aware that I have been called upon
to perform a double duty; first, to my worthy and excellent
friend Manasseh Ben Israel, with the nature of whose suspicions
(it maketh a Christian soul shudder to think upon it)
you are already acquainted&mdash;and next, to the lady who was
about to become your wife. Her Highness has long and truly
loved her; and she is, moreover, somewhat related (although
only after the Episcopalian fashion) to my most beloved
daughter. I was, therefore, bound to have especial care concerning
the maiden's bridal."</p>

<p>"The Lady Frances Cromwell could have informed your
Highness that Mistress Constantia was, of her own free will,
a party to the ceremony."</p>

<p>"I do not dispute it. Now our business is to satisfy the
mind of our friend here, as to your alleged conduct towards his
only child. It is a noble matter in our laws, and one that we
may well be proud of, that, by God's blessing, every man is
considered innocent until he be proven guilty. The Lord forbid
that I should lay aught of sin unto your charge!&mdash;you, who
have appeared at all times a sure and a safe prop unto our
Commonwealth. Doubtless you saw the lady&mdash;Zillah:
say you not, worthy Rabbi, that the maiden's name was
Zillah?"</p>

<p>"Even so," replied the Jew, with a bitter sigh; "she was
named after her mother."</p>

<p>"You, doubtless, saw her, and, struck by her beauty, which
we hear was most marvellous, paid her more courtesy than was
quite fitting in a betrothed man. But Satan lays many snares<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
for the unwary, and beauty is a peril that few men altogether
escape. Verily, it is of the evil one. But there are excuses;
at least there may be excuses, especially in such a land as
France, where temptation assumes every seducing form; and a
young woman, like this lady, might have been easily led to
believe your courtliness to be that of the heart, whereas it was
only that of the manner."</p>

<p>The rabbi stood aghast, his friend Cromwell talked in a
tone so much more moderate than he had expected&mdash;he knew
not what to think. Even Burrell, who had anticipated a
thunder-storm, was deceived by the calm; and, after considering
a moment that the Protector would not speak thus if
he had really received any communication from Hugh Dalton,
replied, breathing freely for the first time since he received the
mandate to appear at Hampton Court,&mdash;</p>

<p>"It is possible she might have been led to such belief,
though, as I have before assured her father, I had no intention
so to mislead his daughter. It is very hard to be suspected of
a crime so base; and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But innocence wears a robe of such pure light," interrupted
the Protector, "that it will shine in the darkest night,
as yours will, if you are innocent. Know you how the fair
Jewess became possessed of this picture? Nay, I should
hesitate to think harshly of you, even if you had given it to
her, which you might have done in pure friendliness, although
the world&mdash;it is a harsh and ill-judging world&mdash;might
condemn you on such ground. But we have ourselves suffered
so much from its wrong judgment, as to have learned
mercy towards others. Friendship, excellent, right, true
friendship, may exist between man and woman in our advanced&mdash;ay,
and in our young years. Why should it not?
Or, as the picture is of excellent painting, and the young lady,
it would seem, desired accomplishment in that useless art, you
might have lent it her as a study&mdash;or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I certainly did not give it," replied Burrell; "but I have
some idea of having lent it, with sundry Flemish drawings.
Your Highness may remember that several gentlemen, attached
to the embassy at Paris, came away hastily. I was one of
those."</p>

<p>Hereupon the Rabbi would have spoken, for he remembered
how Sir Willmott had told him that the picture was not his;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
but the Protector again stayed him, seeking to entangle Burrell
in a web of his own weaving.</p>

<p>"You visited the lady frequently?"</p>

<p>"Not very frequently. I told Manasseh Ben Israel, when
first he injured me by this most unjust suspicion, that I did
not often see her, and when I did, it was to ascertain if there
were any letters she desired to transmit to England."</p>

<p>"Not from the carnal desire of paying her homage?"</p>

<p>"How could your Highness suppose it was?"</p>

<p>"You but now confessed she might so have interpreted
your civilities. But&mdash;know you aught of one Hugh Dalton,
a free-trader?"</p>

<p>"Know&mdash;know&mdash;know, your Highness? I know him
for a most keen villain!" replied the Master of Burrell
warmly.</p>

<p>"Indeed!&mdash;But you scorned not to employ him."</p>

<p>Burrell was silent; for, though he had journeyed full fifty
miles, he had not been able to form any plan of defence, if
Cromwell should really be aware of the arrangements entered
into in the cavern of the Gull's Nest Crag. Such he now
dreaded was the fact, not only from the appearance of a paper
the Protector drew forth, but from the fact that the seeming
calmness was fading from his brow. All that remained was
stoutly to deny its being in his hand-writing: it was a case
that finesse could in no way serve.</p>

<p>"Did your Highness mean that I employed this man?" he
said at last, with a clever mingling of astonishment and innocence
in his voice and manner.</p>

<p>During a brief pause that followed, the eye of Cromwell
was, as it were, nailed upon his countenance.</p>

<p>"I do mean, Sir Willmott Burrell, that you scorned not to
employ this man. Know you this hand-writing?"</p>

<p>Sir Willmott's worst fears were confirmed.</p>

<p>"Permit me," he said, glancing over the document; then,
looking from it with most marvellous coolness, he raised his
eyes, exclaiming, "Sir, there is a plot for my destruction!
This hand-writing is so well feigned, that I could have sworn
it my own, had I not known the total impossibility that it
could so be!"</p>

<p>"I have seen your hand-writing before:&mdash;write now,
sir."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p>

<p>Burrell obeyed&mdash;took the pen in his hand, and Cromwell
noted that it trembled much.</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott, I believe you in general place your paper
straight?"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, I do; but I am not cool&mdash;not
collected enough to act as calmly as at my own table. The
knowledge in whose presence I sit, might agitate stronger
nerves than mine. Behold, sir, the villain counterfeited well;
the <i>W</i> is exact, even in the small hair-stroke&mdash;the <i>tt</i>'s are
crossed at the same distance, and the <i>ll</i>'s are of the height
of mine:&mdash;a most villanous, but most excellent counterfeit!"</p>

<p>"Which?" inquired the Protector: "which mean ye is the
counterfeit&mdash;the writing or the writer?&mdash;&mdash;Without there!&mdash;Call
in Robin Hays. Sir Willmott Burrell, Sir Willmott
Burrell! the Lord deliver me from such as thou art!" he
continued, swelling and chafing himself into anger, 'pricking
the sides of his intent,' that so he might overwhelm the dastard
knight. "We doubted, sir, at first, but we doubt no
longer. Sir, you have robbed that old man of his daughter!
You have, by so doing, perjured your own soul, and brought
most foul dishonour upon England. I once heard you talk of
patriotism: a true patriot loves his country too well to commit
a dishonourable action! Sir, I have learned that you were
married to the Jewish girl."</p>

<p>"Please your Highness," interrupted Manasseh at length,
"I do not wish the marriage: if there be, as we suppose, a
marriage, I wish it not kept; I only want my wretched and
deluded child."</p>

<p>"Your pardon, good Rabbi. I am protector of the rights,
and not the fantasies, of those who inhabit England, and I
hold no sinecure. You may well turn pale, Master of Burrell!&mdash;O
Lord! that such should dwell in the tents of Judah!&mdash;that
such should remain sound in life and limb, blessed with
carnal and fleshly comforts!&mdash;that such reptiles should crawl
among us&mdash;be fed by the same food, warmed by the same
sun, as just men! No, no, Manasseh; if there <i>has</i> been a
marriage, as sure as the Almighty governs heaven, it shall be
kept! Nay, Sir Willmott Burrell, never dare to knit your
brows. Justice, sir, justice to the uttermost, is what I desire
in this country! Dost remember the fate of Don Pantaleon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
Sa, the Portugal ambassador's brother&mdash;a knight of Malta,
and a person eminent in many great actions? Dost remember
him, I say&mdash;that he died the death of a murderer, according
to the Scripture, 'he that sheddeth man's blood, by man shall
his blood be shed.' Justice shall be satisfied!&mdash;Not that I
seek to confound you without a hearing. But here comes
one, once a retainer of your own, who can point out where the
lady is."</p>

<p>Robin Hays, little conscious of the fate that had befallen
Barbara, entered with much alacrity, for he was glad of anything
that afforded him change of place.</p>

<p>"What, Robin Hays!" said Burrell. "Methinks your
Highness has assembled most creditable witnesses against me&mdash;a
Jew, and a thing like that!"</p>

<p>"No sneering, sir. This person asserts that Zillah Ben
Israel came over in the Fire-fly."</p>

<p>"Ah! with Hugh Dalton," said Sir Willmott, thrown off
his guard at what he conceived the Skipper's utter faithlessness;
then muttering, "I thought&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No matter what. Methinks <i>this</i> confirms the document
you denied," observed the Protector, whose rage had somewhat
subsided. "No, not with Hugh Dalton, as you imagine, Sir
Willmott, but with a man of the name of Jeromio, an Italian.
The description answers in every respect&mdash;the dark eye, the
black hair, the sallow aspect&mdash;all."</p>

<p>"Indeed!" said Colonel Jones, who had been present during
the examination, leaning against one of the window-frames,
and taking much note of all that passed. "Indeed! then
doth the Lord work marvellously, and wonderful is his name!
for it was to all appearance a foreign woman, or rather fiend&mdash;one
with a pale cheek and jetty locks, who interrupted the
bridal at Cecil Place, and slew the fair young maid that waited
on Mistress Cecil!"</p>

<p>"Why told ye not this before?" inquired Cromwell hastily,
while the Rabbi advanced towards the soldier with great eagerness
as the Protector spoke. But there was another whose
blood ran icy cold as the words of Colonel Jones were uttered.
He stood for a moment as if suddenly smitten with some cruel
malady, the next touch of which would be death; then he
pushed boldly past Sir Willmott, and grasping the soldier's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>
arm, said in a broken husky voice, "In God's name, who was
slain?"</p>

<p>"A modest-looking maid, whom they called Barbara,&mdash;yes,
Barbara was the name."</p>

<p>Robin spoke not again, nor did he move from the Colonel's
side, though his hand relaxed its grasp: he stood and looked
like a creature to whom the grave had refused rest&mdash;a being
whose breath and blood were frozen and congealed, at the moment
when life and its energies were most needed; strong
passion, powerful feeling were upon his countenance, and remained
there as if the spell of some magician had converted
him to stone. The effect which this scene produced upon the
Protector was evidence that he had a heart where the milk of
human kindness flowed, and must once have flowed abundantly,
however circumstances might have chilled its generous source.
Deeply anxious as he was as to the result of the investigation,
running full tilt at the difficulty he encountered, having the
means of overwhelming the Master of Burrell within his reach,
he suffered the Jew to continue a series of questions to Colonel
Jones, while he spoke to Robin&mdash;soothing and caressing him
as a father would have soothed and caressed an afflicted child.
But this unbending of his sterner nature was lost upon the
unhappy Ranger; he could not have replied if he would; all
his faculties were suspended, and he remained in silence and
without motion, unconscious of the Protector's condescending
kindness.</p>

<p>"'Tis ever thus," ejaculated Oliver, looking upon the sad
figure now by his side. "'Tis ever thus; there never was a
noble heart but the blight fell on it; doubtless he loved the
maid: the Lord be with us! He is seized&mdash;pray the Almighty
not for death." He struck his dagger on a hand-bell
that lay upon the table, ordered that his own surgeon should
attend Robin with all due speed, and then walked kindly by
his side to the opened door, where he delivered him to a
favourite attendant. Those in the ante-room who had witnessed
Cromwell's gentleness to Robin Hays were profuse in
their offers of assistance to one, whom, but a little while before,
they had jested at and insulted. Courtiers are as ripe in republics
as in king-governed countries. Your sycophants bow
to the power, and not to the person. Dress but a dog in royal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
robes, and call him Emperor&mdash;Protector&mdash;King, and thousands
will rejoice loudly if he but wag his tail.</p>

<p>Cromwell returned to his investigation, and interspersed his
questionings with much bitterness of remark&mdash;the more so as
he feared his chain of evidence was in some degree incomplete,
although no moral doubt could remain on the mind of any
person as to the Master of Burrell's guilt. Colonel Jones failed
not to show how anxious Sir Willmott had been that Zillah
should escape, and the Rabbi's agitation bordered on madness
when he contemplated the new crime into which his wretched
daughter had been led.</p>

<p>"Brand me as you please; think of me in your good judgment
as you will. I am a free man; free to go as to come;
and as your Highness cannot detain me on legal grounds, I am
at liberty to depart."</p>

<p>Sir Willmott had scarcely finished the sentence, when Gracious
Meanwell, having first knocked, and received permission
to enter, advanced with a small and peculiar-looking packet in
his hand; it was composed of slips of parchment, and the
direction was in printed, not written letters.</p>

<p>"I crave your Highness's pardon; but a sailor-like lad
brought this to the great gate, and would take no denial, but
that it should be given immediately to your Highness, saying
that he found it hanging in some out-o'-the way place, betwixt
heaven and earth, far off in the Isle of Shepey, and seeing that
it was directed to your Highness, he came straightway to deliver
it; he prevailed on the porters to forward it up, which
they did, knowing that your Highness wishes nothing of the
sort to be kept back."</p>

<p>While Meanwell spoke, Cromwell was undoing or rather
tearing open the parcel; and the man was about to withdraw
with all the court observance which the Protector would not
lack.</p>

<p>"The manifestation of the Lord! The manifestation of
his righteous judgments! His ways are clear in Israel, and
mighty is his name!&mdash;Look here, Colonel Jones; my worthy
friend Manasseh Ben Israel, behold! Is it not wonderful!
Gracious Meanwell, see that the bearer of this be well cared
for, but safely kept. We will speak with him ourselves. Of
a truth it is wonderful!"</p>

<p>Such were the words of Cromwell as he scanned, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
rapid but scrutinising glance, each of the several papers contained
in the parcel;&mdash;first, a certificate of marriage between
Sir Willmott Burrell and Zillah Ben Israel, as performed by
one Samuel Verdaie a monk residing at the Benedictine Friary
in the "Faubourg St. Antoine," at Paris&mdash;next, many letters
from the said Sir Willmott Burrell to the Jewess&mdash;and lastly,
a love document given before their marriage, wherein he
pledged himself to marry Zillah, and to use his influence with
Cromwell (whom he facetiously termed <i>vieux gar?on</i>), to induce
her father to pardon the undutiful step she was about to
take.</p>

<p>"This is also a counterfeit, Sir Willmott, I presume," continued
the Protector, pointing to the document; "nor is this
in your hand-writing&mdash;nor this&mdash;and this is not your seal&mdash;and
there is no such person as Samuel Verdaie&mdash;nor such
place as the Benedictine Friary, or Paris, I suppose? What!
have you lost the power of speech? Shame! shame! shame!
and the curse of shame fall upon you! It is such men as you&mdash;such
crimes as yours, that bring disgrace upon England.
Sad will be the day for her, when she sinks in the estimation
of the world as a moral nation. Behold her, a small speck in
the immensity of the globe; yet great is her name among the
kingdoms of the earth! A Briton carries, or ought to carry,
ten times the influence of any other man, because our power is
over the mind, over the respect, over the veneration of mankind.
Go to, sir, you are no Englishman! Behold, how ill
prosper your evil contrivances! Sir, I say again, you have
robbed that old man of his daughter.&mdash;What say <i>you</i>?"</p>

<p>"It was to spare that old man's feelings I denied the act,"
said Sir Willmott, again rallying, yet wanting the courage that
forms a respectable villain; "it was to spare him. But the
marriage is nought! a Popish priest, a Protestant gentleman,
and a Jewess! I knew not your Highness would sanction such
unholy rites. Besides, despite all this, the Lady Constantia
will wed me yet."</p>

<p>"By the holy heavens, she shall not!" exclaimed Cromwell,
forgetting the Puritan Protector in the soldier, the soberness of
the age in the energy of the moment; then as suddenly adding,
"The Lord forgive me! the Lord blot out mine iniquities!
See what it is to have to do with sinners!"</p>

<p>"Shall not!" repeated Burrell, who was as much of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
bully as the coward, and still trusted his cause to the knowledge
of Constantia's filial affection, and her readiness to sacrifice
all for her father; "let the lady decide."</p>

<p>"So be it; though I hardly think it&mdash;there must be some
hidden motive. Yet no, Sir Willmott Burrell, I will not,&mdash;even
if <i>she will</i>, <i>I</i> will it otherwise. Ah! think ye to control
me? Didst ever hear of one Cony? or of Maynard Twisden,
and Wyndham, his counsel? What if I imprison ye, Sir
Willmott, till this Jewess be found, and compel ye to wed her
again, even here in England! What say ye now?"</p>

<p>"Would you have me wed a murderess?" inquired the
villain, in a calm tone.</p>

<p>"My child is not that," said the heart-broken father, who
had been examining the papers, with overpowering anxiety.</p>

<p>"What! good Manasseh?" inquired Cromwell.</p>

<p>"That which he did call her," replied the Jew.</p>

<p>"There needs no farther parley. Colonel Jones, we will
ourself accompany our worthy friend to the Isle of Shepey,
and investigate more minutely this most unhappy business.
You will take all requisite care of Sir Willmott Burrell, who
goes with us&mdash;willing or unwilling&mdash;Perhaps he would like
to appeal from our decree? To-night we will set forth, so as
to arrive at King's-ferry before to-morrow's sunset; for we
must stay an hour at Whitehall, and say a word in passing to
Colonel Lilburne, at Eltham."</p>

<p>"How does your Highness travel?"</p>

<p>"As befits our state," replied the Protector. "Worthy
Rabbi, be not cast down; all may yet be well."</p>

<p>"Your Highness is ever kind; but justice is inflexible. My
child!&mdash;that which he called my child, rings in mine ear&mdash;pierces
it! O Father Abraham! I knew not the curse that
fell upon Israel until this day!"</p>

<p>"All may yet be well, I say again," observed the Protector,
"know ye not what was said by the prophet of old&mdash;the prophet
of the Lord&mdash;'Now thus saith the Lord that created
thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, fear not!'"</p>

<p>"May I return and commune with your Highness?" craved
Colonel Jones, as he escorted Burrell to the door&mdash;"there is
much that I would mention, although this is the Lord's day."</p>

<p>"Ay, certainly.&mdash;Gracious Meanwell! I would speak with
him who brought this parcel."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p>

<p>A lad was introduced; but he could tell nothing, except
that passing along the crags of the Gull's Nest, (the Protector
started at the name,) he saw the packet dangling in the air;
he pulled at it, and it came easily away in his hand; and
finding it directed to his Highness, he had been recommended
to bring it forthwith&mdash;that he had ridden part of the way in
company with some who were coming as far as Gravesend, and
had 'lifted' him. He looked like what he was, part oyster-dredger,
part smuggler. Cromwell saw nothing in him that
would justify detention, and dismissed him with a liberal gratuity.</p>

<p>"We shall solve the mysteries of this Gull's Nest Crag before
we leave the island," thought the Protector, and then
proceeded to the almost hopeless task of comforting the humbled
and afflicted "Master in Israel."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV_II" id="CHAPTER_IV_II"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where I, a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The air, imprison'd also, close and damp,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Unwholesome draught.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">But here I feel amends,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With day-spring born.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Milton.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>My readers will, doubtless, be more interested in visiting
Robin Hays than in noting the preparations made and the
order observed by the Protector for his intended journey.
When Cromwell put his state upon him, he did it with all
dignity; there was no sparing of expense, no scant of attendants,
no lack of guards&mdash;boldly and bravely were his arrangements
formed; for he wisely knew that plainness and simplicity,
although they may be understood and appreciated by the
high-minded, are held in contempt by the low and the uneducated,
because imagined to be within their own attainment.
Had Cincinnatus ruled in England, he would never have
abandoned a kingdom for a ploughshare; such an act would
have been looked upon, at least by more than half the nation,
as proceeding from weakness rather than from true strength
of mind. The English, notwithstanding all their talk about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
equality, have not enthusiasm enough to understand or to feel
the greatness that slights, and even scorns, magnificence! a
gilded pageant wins their hearts; and a title overturns their
understandings. We will here hazard the assertion, that if
Cromwell had listened to a very powerful party, and had accepted,
instead of having declined the name, while he possessed
the station of a "King," he would have conquered all the
obstacles by which he was surrounded, and have bequeathed a
throne to his son, that in all human probability would have
been continued in his family, even to our own day. We
must leave this sentence, startling though it may be, without
the arguments necessary to support it; certain it is, however,
that so thought the Protector himself, who considered that the
people of England, like the Israelites of old, would never be
at rest until they had "a king to rule over them."</p>

<p>It would be a vain attempt to describe the sufferings of
Robin Hays, from the moment when the news of Barbara's
death fell upon him like a thunderbolt, and he quitted the presence
of the Protector without the power of reply. He was
sensible of only one feeling&mdash;awake to only one emotion&mdash;his
heart echoed but to one sensation&mdash;his eyes burned within
their sockets&mdash;all things before him were confused; and
there was but a single image present to his mind. As if in
compassion to his personal deformity, Nature had endowed
him with a degree of sentiment and refinement perfectly at
war with his habits and pursuits. But in his case, such compassion
was, if we may so speak, cruelty. Had he been born
to a higher station, it might have been a blessing&mdash;in his
present sphere it was a curse&mdash;a curse which the Ranger had
felt most constantly and most acutely. He had been laughed
at by such as Roupall, who exulted in the possession of mere
brute strength; and he had been sneered and scouted at by
the giddy and the vain, who, dreading his sarcasms, repaid
themselves by finding out his one vulnerable point, and probing
it to the quick. Barbara had stolen into his heart unconsciously,
as a sweet and quiet stream insinuates itself through
the bosom of some rugged mountain, softening and fertilising
so gently, that its influence is seen and acknowledged while
its power is unaccounted for and its source unknown. The
belief that the young Puritan entertained an affection for him,
was a belief he hardly dared to cherish; but there were times<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>
when he did cherish it; and it was at such times only that his
turbulent and restless mind was enabled to find repose: then
the memory of her kindness, her gentleness, her tenderness,
would come upon him like sleep to the eyes of the weary&mdash;like
a fresh well in a sandy desert&mdash;like a gentle spring after
a stormy winter&mdash;in a word, like woman's love, where it is
most hoped, but least looked for. Whenever he indulged the
idea of her affection, he felt like one uplifted above the world&mdash;its
base sorrows and still baser joys;&mdash;earth had for him
but one sound of comfort&mdash;it was the name of her he loved!
but one promise of happiness; and from her it was never for
a moment severed&mdash;hope, love, faith, centred in her&mdash;she
was his world, and though his wandering employments might
summon him elsewhere, it was in her presence alone that he
relished, or even felt existence. At times, when the acidity of
his nature forced him to distrust her smiles, and he upbraided
her though she deserved it not, hours of penitence could not
blot out from his own remembrance the act of weakness and
injustice: he pondered upon it long after the gentle girl had
forgotten that ever unkind word had passed between them.
Beings of a gross and fettered nature cannot conceive of a love
so pure as that which Barbara felt for the mis-shapen Robin&mdash;so
perfectly devoid of earthly passion, yet so faithful&mdash;so
exalted&mdash;so devoted&mdash;so engrossing! She had looked so
long on his deformities, that she had ceased to perceive them;
and often paused and wondered what people meant by flouting
at his plainness. But the excellent and gentle girl was now
to the unfortunate Ranger only as a dream of the past&mdash;vanished
from off the earth like a sweet perfume, or a sweeter
melody, with the memory of which comes the knowledge that
it can be enjoyed no more.</p>

<p>After he had been conveyed to another chamber, the physician
ordered restoratives and immediate bleeding;&mdash;but
time did more than the leech's art; and the first wish he
formed was, that he might once more wend his way to the
Isle of Shepey, and gaze again, and for the last time, upon
the form of her he loved.</p>

<p>Once aroused from his torpor, the means of effecting his
escape was the first thing he considered. He had been
removed to one of the lower rooms, and his apartment could
not be termed a prison, though the door was fastened on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
outer side&mdash;for the window was not more than ten feet from
the ground, and unbolted; it looked out into the garden, and
the sentinel placed beside that portion of the building had a
longer range than was usually allotted to the palace guard.
Robin soon observed that the lawn beneath was planted with
rich clusters of young trees. The hour for evening prayer
had arrived; so that the household would be most probably
engaged, and the garden free from <a name="Page_330t" id="Page_330t"></a><a href="#Page_330tn">visitors</a>. He looked from
the window; it was one of the loveliest days of summer&mdash;a
day that at any other time he would have welcomed with all the
enthusiasm of a true lover of nature; so warm the air, so sweet
the flowers, so silently flitted the small insects, as if dreading
to disturb the repose of the sunbeams that slept on the green
turf. Nothing could be more unlike the vicinity of a court;
the very sentry seemed to tread it as hallowed ground&mdash;his
step was scarcely heard along the soft grass.</p>

<p>Robin did not attempt to assume any disguise.</p>

<p>"I shall walk boldly when I get out of the garden," he
thought, "and if I am taken before Cromwell, I will say why
I desire liberty; I only wish to see her once more, and then
farewell to all! the red cross against my name, in Oliver's
dark book, may be dyed still redder&mdash;in my heart's blood!"</p>

<p>Although his arm was stiff from the bleeding he had
undergone but an hour before, he watched till the soldier's
back was turned, and dropped from the window. He had
scarcely time to conceal himself beneath a row of evergreens
when the sentinel turned on his path. Robin crept on, from
tuft to tuft&mdash;now under the shadow of a tree&mdash;now under
that of a turret, until he found himself close to a high wall
which flanked the side next the river; and then he became
sorely perplexed as to the method of his further escape. To
the right was a gate which, from its position, he judged led
into one of the outer courts, and, notwithstanding his first resolve
of braving his way, habit and consideration induced him
to prefer the track least frequented or attended with risk. At
the extremity of the wall, where it turned at a right angle to
afford an opening for a gateway, grew an immense yew-tree,
solitary and alone, like some dark and malignant giant, stretching
out its arms to battle with centuries and storms; softened
by no shadow, cheered by no sunbeam, enlivened by no
shower, no herb or flower flourished beneath its ban, but there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>
it towered, like the spirit of evil in a smiling world. The
wall, too, was overgrown with ivy&mdash;the broad ivy, whose
spreading leaves hide every little stem that clasps the bosom of
the hard stone, and, with most cunning wisdom, extracts sustenance
from all it touches. Robin's keen eye scanned well
every nook and corner, and he then mounted the tree, conceiving
he might, with little difficulty, descend on the other
side, as he perceived that the branches bent over the wall. He
had hardly reached midway, when a voice, whose tones he well
remembered, fell upon his ear, and for a moment called back
his thoughts from their sad and distant wanderings. He
paused: the sound was not from the garden, nor the roof.
After much scrutiny, he discovered a small aperture of about a
foot square, that was originally a window, but latterly had
been choked by the matted ivy which overspread its bars. The
voice was as of one who has tasted the weariness of life,
and would fain put away the cup that was all bitterness. It
sung, but the song was more a murmur than a lay, sorrowful
as the winter's wind that roams through the long and clustering
grass in some old churchyard, telling,&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Of blighted hopes and prospects shaded,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of buried hopes remember'd well,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of ardor quench'd, and honour faded."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>With a trembling hand the Ranger sought to disentangle
the ivy; but this he found it almost impossible to effect in
consequence of the pain arising from his left arm whenever
he slung himself by it. At length he in some degree succeeded,
but could see nothing, except that light came up from
a chamber, which, he then believed, must be lighted from beneath,
though the window did not look into the garden. The
voice still continued; it was one of the songs of Provence that
was sung&mdash;the wail of a young girl over the body of her
dead lover, the burthen of which was that of the Psalmist of
old:&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"I shall go to thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But thou canst never come to me."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>There was no poetry in the song, but the sentiment touched
the heart of the afflicted Robin. His breast heaved and
heaved, like the swell of the troubled sea, and then tears burst
in torrents from his eyes, and relieved his burning and dizzy
brain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p>

<p>"I never thought to have wept again," he said, "and I
bless God for the ease it gives me; yet why should I bless that
which has cursed me?" And again his heart returned to its
bitterness; the hand that so often had attuned it to gentleness,
was cold&mdash;cold in death. Alas! resignation is the most difficult
lesson in the Christian code; few there are who learn it
to perfection&mdash;it requires a long and a melancholy apprenticeship!</p>

<p>Again he endeavoured to withdraw the ivy, and once ventured
to speak; but he dreaded to raise his voice. "At all
events," thought Robin, "I will send him a token;" and,
extending his hand, he dropped the paper containing the lock
of hair which had been given him by the blithe landlady of
the Oliver's Head. The ringlet was received, for on the instant
the singing ceased, and presently Walter De Guerre
called aloud, "In the name of God, who sends me this?"</p>

<p>Bitterly did Robin regret that he was totally unprovided
with pencil, tablets, or aught that could convey intelligence to
Walter. At another time his active genius would have found
some means of communication, but his faculties were only
half alive, and he could but regret and listen. It would appear,
however, that, as Walter spoke, he was interrupted by
some one entering his chamber, for his voice suddenly ceased,
and though Robin heard it again, it was in converse with
another. He listened attentively for some time, but could
catch nothing of the subject upon which they spoke.</p>

<p>As suddenly as the interview had commenced, so suddenly
did it terminate; for, though Robin threw pieces of stick and
fragments of mortar into the aperture, to intimate that he continued
there, no answering signal was returned. The evening
was drawing on, and persons passed and repassed beneath the
tree&mdash;some of them with hurried, some with slower steps: at
last the self-same page with whom he had jested rushed forward
in company with the sentinel, and Robin heard him
say,&mdash;</p>

<p>"I tell you, his Highness will wait no forms; he commanded
you instantly to come to him. It is impossible that
a cat could fall from that window without your seeing it, unless
you were asleep on your post."</p>

<p>"I had no caution about the window, master; and, at all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
events, nothing, I am sure, could pass from it, except a spirit,"
replied the soldier.</p>

<p>Immediately after the guard passed for the purpose of replacing
the sentinel; and about half an hour afterwards, there
was a bustle in the courts, the tramping of brave steeds, and
the rolling of carriage-wheels; then the braying trumpet
sounded "to horse!" and soon the noise of much and stately
pageantry was lost in the distance. Robin Hays cared not to
move until the palace was more at rest; but his meditations
were continually disturbed by the passers-by. Had he been
disposed to listen or pay any attention to those who came and
went, he could have heard and seen things, from which much
that was bitter and much that was sweet might have been
gathered. He might have observed that a plain coat or a simple
hood changes not the nature of those who wear it; yet, on
the other hand, he would have noted that the plain coat and
simple hood preserve from outward vice, however the inward
thoughts may triumph. But the watchful lynx-eyed ranger
was changed, sorely, sadly changed; in four brief hours he
had lived more than treble the number of years. He patiently
lingered, till the shades of evening closed, to effect an escape,
that had now become more easy, inasmuch as the inmates of
the palace had nearly all retired to their apartments. Through
the agency of the yew-tree, he arrived at the highest portion
of the wall, and looking over, perceived that a roof descended
from the large coping-stones on which he stood, in a slanting
manner, and that the building communicated by an arched
covering to the palace: the Thames was not distant from the
base of the building more than sixty yards, so that once down,
his escape was certain. Watching the movements of a sentry,
posted at some little distance from the gate, he slid along the
roof, stretching himself at full length, and without any further
mishap crawled to the river's brink, plunged in, and arrived at
the Surrey-side of the silver Thames in perfect safety. He
resolved to cross the country to Bromley with as little delay as
possible, inasmuch as he had friends there who would hasten
his journey;&mdash;and as concealment was no longer needed, he
thought that a good steed would be most valuable; he therefore
availed himself of one who was enjoying its evening
meal quietly among the Surrey hills; for the credit of his
honesty, however, it is fair to record, he noted the place, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>
that one of his agents could restore the animal in the course of
the following night. By this man&oelig;uvre, and urging its utmost
speed, together with the assistance he received at Bromley,
Robin arrived at King's-ferry before the morning was far
advanced. He did not now, as on former occasions, cross the
Swale to Elmley or Harty, with a view to avoid observation,
but threw himself into the boat of Jabez Tippet, the ferryman,
to whom, as it may be supposed, he was well known.</p>

<p>Jabez carried about him all the external distinctions of
Puritanism&mdash;a cropped head&mdash;a downcast eye&mdash;a measured
step, and a stock of sighs and religious exclamations. There
was one maxim that found a ready response within his bosom.
"He was all things to all men;" could aid a smuggler, drink
with a Cavalier, pray with a Roundhead. He was, moreover,
a tall, powerful man&mdash;one who, if he found it fitting, could
enforce a holy argument with a carnal weapon; cutting a
man's throat, while he exclaimed, "It is the Lord's will! it
is the Lord's will!" There was nothing peculiar in his dress,
except a huge pair of loose boots, of the thickest untanned
leather, that reached considerably above his knees, and from
frequent immersion in the tide had assumed a deep brown hue.
His hat was conical, and only distinguished by a small dirk
glittering in the band, which he carried there as a place of
safety from contact with the sea-water.</p>

<p>"My gay Ranger travelling in open day, when there is such
wild news abroad!" he said.</p>

<p>Robin made no reply; and Jabez, who was pulling at the
huge cable, which then, as well as now, towed the boats across,
stopped and looked at him.</p>

<p>"My bonny Robin, what ails ye, man? Hast been cheated
by the excise, or plundered by the Roundheads, or does the
strange trouble they say has come upon Hugh Dalton affect ye
so much?"</p>

<p>Robin turned his head away; his grief was too deep to
covet witnesses.</p>

<p>"There's a guard of Ironsides at Cecil Place by this time,"
continued the man, who began to think that Robin was relapsing
into one of his taciturn fits, "and Noll himself on the
road, which I heard, not an hour past, from two soldiers, who
have been sent on with his own physician to Sir Robert, who's
gone mad as a March hare; and they do say that his High<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>ness
has a plan of his own to destroy all free trade on the
island for ever: but I'm thinking Hugh has scented it, and is
far enough off by this time."</p>

<p>Robin looked inquiringly into the man's face, but did not
speak.</p>

<p>"Some time or other, master," continued the ferryman,
whose boat now touched the strand, "you'll maybe condescend
to unriddle me how Dalton could have a daughter brought up
by&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Robin Hays did not wait for the conclusion of the sentence,
but sprang right on the land, with the air of a man bereft of
reason, confirming Jabez in the idea that he was again labouring
under his old infirmity.</p>

<p>The Ranger took not the direct road to Minster, which he
ought to have passed on his way to the Gull's Nest, where he
resolved to ascertain if Barbara's body was at Cecil Place;
but after crossing the downs, that were brightening in the
summer's sun and alive with multitudes of sheep, wound
round the base of the hill on which the mansion stood, and as
its mixture of ancient and modern architecture became developed,
he paused to look upon a spot so endeared by many
affectionate recollections. The trees that encircled the fairy
ring were conspicuous for their height and beauty of colour;
there, too, was the casement window which he had so often
watched, knowing that Barbara must pass it in her morning
and evening attendance on her lady; there, peeping from
beneath a turret, the lattice admitting light to Barbara's own
little chamber; there, the window of Constantia's sitting-room;
there&mdash;&mdash; But he could gaze no longer, his heart sickened
within him, and covering his face with his hands, he rushed
into a narrow glen that skirted the hillside, and was completely
overshadowed by trees, whose unpruned branches were
matted and twined together in most fantastic and impervious
underwood. He pursued this track, with which he was well
acquainted, as leading directly to the back entrance, where he
more than once resolved to inquire where Barbara's remains
were placed; but he had scarcely proceeded a dozen yards
towards the house, when his attention was excited by a sudden
and loud rustling amongst the bushes, and on looking towards
the spot, he saw first one and then another raven mount in
the air, uttering, at short intervals, the peculiar dull and com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>plaining
cry of rapacious birds when frightened from their
prey. The creatures evidently meditated another descent, for,
instead of betaking themselves to the neighbouring trees, they
circled round and round in the air, now higher, now lower,
mingling their monotonous notes with an occasional scream&mdash;thus
inharmoniously disturbing the sweet solitude by their
unholy orgies. In the mean time, the rustling beneath was
renewed, and then as suddenly ceased; but the birds, instead
of descending, whirled still higher, as if the object they had
sought was for a time hidden from their sight. The Ranger
proceeded more cautiously than before, and peering into the
bushes, descried one whom he immediately recognised as Jack
Roupall, unfastening something of considerable bulk that was
contained in a handkerchief, and had apparently lain there for
some days, as the grass from which it had been taken was
completely levelled by its pressure. Roupall's ears were
nearly as quick as those of Robin, and an exclamation of
recognition escaped his lips as he turned round to where the
Ranger stood.</p>

<p>"Ah! our little Ranger," said the man, extending his
rough hand, "it charms me to see you! I feared you were
nabbed somehow, for I knew you'd be cursedly down in
the feathers from what the whole island is talking of.&mdash;Hast
seen the Skipper?"</p>

<p>"Where is he?"</p>

<p>"That's exactly what I want to know; but no one has
seen him, that I hear of, since he seized the poor girl, dead as
she was, and carried her through the midst of the soldiers, who
had too much fear or too much nature in 'em to touch him&mdash;I
don't know which it was. I'm thinking he's off to the Fire-fly,
for he said he'd bury her in the sea;&mdash;or hid, maybe, in some
o' the holes at the Gull's Nest&mdash;holes only known to a few of
the sly sort, not to us strappers."</p>

<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Robin.</p>

<p>"Ah! you may well say, good God," said Roupall, putting
on a look of great sagacity, "for I'm come to the determination
that there's much need of a good God in the world
to circumvent man's wickedness. Why, look ye here now, if
here isn't the head of that infernal Italian, Jeromio! and
what I'm puzzled at is, that, first, it's wrapped in a napkin
which I swear is one of them Holland ones I had o' the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
Skipper, and which he swore I could have made more of,
had I took them on to London, instead of tiffing them at
Maidstone; and this, outside it, is Sir Willmott Burrell's&mdash;here's
the crest broidered in goold:&mdash;it's the finest cambric
too," he added, relieving the muslin of its disgusting burden,
and folding it with care, "and 'tis a pity it should be wasted
on filthy flesh; so I'll take care of it&mdash;ah! ah! And the
napkin's a good one: it's sinful to spoil any thing God sends&mdash;ah!
ah! The fellow used to wear ear-rings too," he continued,
stooping over the festering head, while the ravens,
whose appetites had increased when they saw the covering
entirely removed, flapped the topmost branches of the trees
with their wings in their circling, and screamed more vigorously
than before.</p>

<p>"How came it&mdash;how happened it?" inquired Robin, perfectly
aroused to the horror of the scene, to which Roupall
appeared quite indifferent.</p>

<p>"I know no more than you," replied the good-humoured
ruffian, holding up a jewelled ear-ring between his fingers&mdash;"I
know no more than you;&mdash;Gad, that's fit for any lady's
ear in Kent!&mdash;Only I heard it was believed among the
sharks, that my friend Sir Willmott excited a mutiny aboard
the Fire-fly, which this fellow, now without a head, headed&mdash;and
so, ye understand, lost his head, as the Skipper's punishment
for mutiny. How it came here&mdash;where it may stay&mdash;I
know not. There, Robin, there are a pair of rings fit for
a queen: maybe, you'll buy them; they're honestly worth
two dollars. Well, you would have bought 'em if she'd ha'
lived."</p>

<p>"Me!&mdash;her!" exclaimed Robin, closing his teeth, and
glaring on Jack Roupall with fiendish fierceness.</p>

<p>"Keep off!" ejaculated Roupall, securing the ear-rings,
and placing himself in a posture of defence&mdash;"Keep off!
I know ye of old, Robin Hays, with your griping fingers and
strong palms! Never quarrel with a man because he doesn't
understand ye'r delicacies, which are things each makes in his
own mind, so that no one else can taste 'em. I meant no
harm; only, mark ye, ye sha'n't throttle me for nothing the
next go; so keep off; and I'm off, for sides o' flesh and sides
o' iron are astir up there; so this is no place for me. I shall
be off, and join King Charlie: he's much in want of strong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
hands, I hear, and who knows but the time is coming when
'the king shall enjoy his own again?'"</p>

<p>"Do but bury <i>that</i>!" said Robin: <a name="Page_338t" id="Page_338t"></a><a href="#Page_338tn">"I</a> would stay and do it,
but that I must to the Nest at once."</p>

<p>"No, no," replied Roupall, striding away in an opposite
direction; "let it stay where it is, to poison ravens and the
carrion-birds. It is fitting food for them. They had nobler
banquets at Naseby and at Marston."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V_II" id="CHAPTER_V_II"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Down, stormy Passions, down; no more<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let your rude waves invade the shore<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where blushing Reason sits, and hides<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her from the fury of your tides.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fall, easy Patience, fall like rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where soft spells charm a troubled breast.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Henry King.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>We believe that even those who are anxious to learn if the
Protector travelled in safety to his place of destination, and
what he did when he arrived there, will scarcely murmur at
the delay which a brief visit to Constantia Cecil will necessarily
occasion.</p>

<p>We must not leave her alone in her sorrow, which, of a
truth, was hard to bear. A temporary respite had been afforded
her by the terrible events of the evening; it was, however, a
respite that was likely, in her case, only to bring about a more
fatal termination. What was to prevent Sir Willmott Burrell
from branding her father&mdash;from publishing his crime, now
that he was to receive no benefit by the terrible secret of which
he had become possessed? Although she might be preserved
from the dreadful and dreaded doom of marrying a man she
could neither regard nor respect, it was equally certain that an
eternal barrier existed between her and the only one she loved&mdash;a
barrier which not even the power of Cromwell could break
down or remove. It has been said, and said truly, that there
are few things reason can discover with so much certainty and
ease as its own deficiency. Constantia was a reasoning being,
and she appeared ever placid in situations where her fine mind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
was overwhelmed by a painful train of circumstances over
which she had no control: the sins for which she suffered
were not of her own committing.</p>

<p>She had often gloried in days past at the prospect of fame&mdash;the
honest, upright fame which appeared the guiding principle
that influenced her father's actions, when the seeking after
glory seemed to her as a ferment thrown into his blood to work
it up to action; and though she sometimes apprehended that
he used his will with his right hand and his reason with his left,
she never imagined the possibility that his pomp was furnished
by injustice and his wealth dyed in blood. It was, in truth, a
fearful knowledge she had acquired&mdash;a knowledge she could
not communicate, and upon which she could never take advice.
Her misery was to be endured not only with patience, but in
secret and without complaint. That destiny was indeed severe
which compelled her to anticipate a meeting with Walter as
the greatest evil which could befall her; yet ardently did her
soul yearn to know his fate. She sat by her father on the first
night of his affliction, and on the long, long day that followed,
guarding him through his dreadful malady with the watchfulness
of a most devoted child, and the skilfulnes of a most wise
physician. Almost every word he uttered was as a dagger to her
heart; yet she saw and knew the necessity that must soon exist
for others to hear him speak, and shuddered at the thought.</p>

<p>"God! God! have mercy on me!" she murmured, clasping
her hands, as she looked upon his features, which, when
it was nearly morning, had been tranquillised into forgetfulness&mdash;"God
have mercy upon me&mdash;and upon him, poor
sleeper!"</p>

<p>"Who sleeps?" he exclaimed, starting from his couch&mdash;"<i>He</i>
will not let me sleep!&mdash;There! Constance, Constance,
the ship is under weigh&mdash;she spreads her white sails to the
breeze, the ocean breeze&mdash;the breeze that will not cool my
brow!&mdash;And there&mdash;they drag him from the hold!&mdash;Look
how he struggles on the vessel's deck!&mdash;Spare him!&mdash;But
no, do not spare him: if he returns, where am I? Hush!
did you hear that?&mdash;Hush! hush! hush!" He stretched
his hand, and bent his head in an attitude of deep attention;
then seizing her arm, repeated "hush!" until at last she again
inquired what disturbed him. "'Tis your mother, child;
heard you not that she said I murdered you? Speak, Con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>stantia,&mdash;you
are not dead? I did not murder you&mdash;speak!
I fired no pistol, and you did not fall!" The sleep she had
so unintentionally broken had been but of short continuance
during those weary hours; and the day was far advanced before
she had leisure to bestow a moment's thought upon the
probable turn that might be given to her future prospects by the
sudden summons of Sir Willmott Burrell to Hampton Court.
But, upon whichever side she turned, her destiny was dark,
lowering, and fearful as the thunder-storm. How her heart
fainted when the form of her favourite Barbara was present
to her imagination, as she last held it bleeding on her bosom!
How mysterious was that death! how terrible! She would
have given worlds to look upon her but once more, for she
could ill reconcile the idea of that gentle girl's having a stormy
sea-bed at her father's hands&mdash;that rude, unhallowed man,
the origin and nature of whose influence over her own parent
she now understood but too well.</p>

<p>Lady Frances Cromwell would have soothed her affliction
had she known how to do so, but comfort cannot be given to
a sorrow whose source is unknown. She entered her friend's
watching-room, but could not prevail upon her to take either
repose or food; and hoping to catch the earliest view of the
physician, whose arrival she knew must be soon, she called one
of her women to attend her, and wandered up the hill to
Minster, where the beautiful ruins of Sexburga's nunnery
commanded so extensive a view of the entire island, and a
considerable portion of the adjoining country. The day had
risen to one of unclouded beauty; the marshy coast of Essex
was cleared of its hovering fogs; and its green meadows
stretched away in the distance, until they were lost in the clear
blue sky. The southern part of the island, flat and uninteresting
as it is, looked gay and cheerful in the sun-light; for every
little lake mirrored the smiling heavens, and danced in diamond
measures to the music of bee and bird.</p>

<p>The cliffs at East-Church towered away for nearly six miles,
broken here and there by the falling of some venerable crag,
hurled, as it were, into the ocean by the giant hand of changing
nature; while, as a sentinel, the house at Gull's Nest Crag
maintained its pre-eminence in front of the Northern Ocean.
The two little islands of Elmley and Harty slept to the
south-east, quietly and silently, like huge rush-nests floating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>
on the waters. Beyond East-Church the lofty front of the
house of Shurland reared its stone walls and stern embattlements,
and looked proudly over its green hills and fertile valleys&mdash;while,
if the eye wandered again to the south, it could
discern the Barrows, where many hundred Danes, in the turbulent
times long past, found quiet and a grave.</p>

<p>Several large men-of-war, with reefed sails and floating
pennons, lay at the entrance of the Nore, while a still greater
number blotted the waters of the sluggish Medway;&mdash;still
the sun shone over all; and what is it that the sun does not
deck with a portion of its own cheerfulness and beauty?</p>

<p>"Mount up the tower, Maud," said Lady Frances, "the
tower of the old church; it commands a greater range than I
can see; and tell me when any cross the ferry; thy eyes, if
not brighter, are quicker far than mine."</p>

<p>"Will ye'r ladyship sit?" replied the sapient waiting-maid;
"I'll spread a kercher on this fragment of antiquity:
ye'r ladyship can sit there free from any disturbance. I can
see as well from this high mound as from the castle, or church-steeple,
my lady; it is so hard to climb."</p>

<p>"Maud, if you like not to mount, say so, and I will go
myself. You are dainty, young mistress."</p>

<p>Maud obeyed instantly, though with sundry mutterings,
which, well for her, her lady heard not; for the Lady Frances
was somewhat shrewishly given, and could scold as if she had
not been a princess, the rank and bearing of which she was
most anxious to assume, and carry as highly as the noblest
born in Europe.</p>

<p>"See you aught?" she inquired, at last looking up to Mistress
Maud, whose head, surmounted by its black hood, overlooking
the parapet wall, showed very like a well-grown crow.</p>

<p>"A shepherd on yonder hill, lady, waving his arm to a dog
down in the dingle, and the beast is driving up the fold as if
he were a <a name="Page_341t" id="Page_341t"></a><a href="#Page_341tn">man.</a>"</p>

<p>Lady Frances bent over a tombstone near her and read the
inscription. It described in quaint, but touching language,
the death of a young woman, about her own age, the day before
her intended bridal. There had been a white rose-tree
planted close to the rude monument, but its growth was impeded
by a mass of long grass and wild herbage, so that there
was but one rose on its branches, and that was discoloured by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>
a foul canker, whose green body could be seen under the froth
it cast around to conceal its misdeeds. Lady Frances took it
out, destroyed it, and began pulling up the coarse weeds.</p>

<p>"Such a tomb as this I should have liked for Barbara," she
said aloud, sighing heavily as the words escaped her lips.</p>

<p>"She will not need it," replied a voice from under an old
archway, close beside where she sat.</p>

<p>Lady Frances started.</p>

<p>"Will you tell your friend, Mistress Cecil," continued
the same voice&mdash;Lady Frances could not see the speaker,
although, as may be readily believed, she looked around her
with an anxiety not divested of terror&mdash;"Will you tell your
friend, Mistress Cecil, that old Mother Hays, of the Gull's
Nest Crag, is dying, and that she has something to communicate
which it concerns her to know, and that the sooner she
comes to the Gull's Nest the better; for the woman's spirit is
only waiting to tell her secret, and go forth."</p>

<p>"Methinks," replied Lady Frances, "that her own child&mdash;I
know she has one&mdash;would be a fitter depositary for her
secret than a lady of gentle blood. But why come ye not
forth? I hate all jugglery."</p>

<p>"Her own child, Robin, is away, the Lord knows where;
and those who are not of gentle blood are as eager after secrets
as other folk. Your father has had rare hunting after the
Cavaliers and their secrets, though his blood has more beer
than Rhenish in it, to my thinking."</p>

<p>Lady Frances stamped her little foot with rage at the insult,
and called, in no gentle tone, "Maud! Maud!" then raising
her voice, which she imagined could be heard below, as the
garden of Cecil Place joined the ruins of Minster, she shouted,
in a way that would have done no discredit to any officer in
the Commonwealth service, "Below there!&mdash;turn out the
guard, and encircle the ruins!"</p>

<p>"Turn out the guard, and encircle the ruins!" mimicked
the voice, which was evidently receding; "the little Roundhead's
in a passion!&mdash;'Turn out the guard!' ah! ah! ah!"
and the laugh appeared to die away beneath her feet.</p>

<p>Maud had hastened down right joyfully at the summons,
and stood beside her mistress, whose temper had by no means
cooled at the term "Roundhead," as applied to herself; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>
broke forth in good earnest, when noting a smile that elongated
her woman's lip, as she said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Law! daisy me, my lady! I thought you were run away
with, seeing I have just seen two ravens come out o' the glen&mdash;the
Fox-glen, as we call it."</p>

<p>"Run away with!" repeated Lady Frances, bridling;
"have the goodness to remember to whom it is you speak&mdash;woman&mdash;Here
has been a&mdash;a&mdash;voice&mdash;Why turns not
out that coward guard? we are too long peaceful, methinks,
and need a stir to keep our soldiers to their duty."</p>

<p>"A voice, my lady!" repeated Maud, creeping to Lady
Frances, and remembering the legends they had talked of in
the hall&mdash;"Did it speak, my lady?"</p>

<p>"Fool! how could I know it a voice if it had not spoken?"
replied Lady Frances, who, as her temper subsided, felt that
she was making herself ridiculous, as it would not be in keeping
with her dignity to repeat the words she had heard.</p>

<p>"Shall I go down and call up the guard, and the servants,
my lady, to see after this voice?" persisted Maud, with the
stupid obstinacy of a person who can only see one thing at a
time.</p>

<p>"Go up to the steeple, and look out&mdash;But&mdash;no&mdash;follow
me to the house; and remember," she added, with all the asperity
of a person who is conscious of having permitted temper
to overcome judgment, "that we are in the house of mourning,
and ought not to indulge in any thing like jest&mdash;say nothing
of my alarm&mdash;I mean of what I heard, to your companions:
it is not worth recording&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My lady!"</p>

<p>"Silence, I say!" returned Lady Frances, folding her robe
round her with the dignity of a queen. The woman certainly
obeyed; but she could not resist muttering to herself, "She
never will let a body speak when she takes to those stormy fits.
Marry, come up! I wonder who she is!&mdash;Well, she's punishing
herself; for I could have told her that out by East-Church
I saw two soldiers and another, who seem to have
taken the wrong instead of the right road; and, after still
staying a little at the Cross, turned back on their steps, so as to
come to Cecil Place."</p>

<p>How many bars and pitfalls are in the way of those who
would climb highly, even if they wish to climb honestly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>
holily! If they stand as the mark for a multitude's praise,
they have also to encounter a multitude's blame&mdash;the rabble
will hoot an eagle; and the higher he soars, the louder will
they mock&mdash;yet what would they not give for his wings!</p>

<p>Lady Frances's woman found within her narrow bosom an
echo to the sneer of the mysterious voice; yet, could she have
become as Frances Cromwell, how great would have been her
triumph! How curious are the workings of good and evil in
the human heart! How necessary to study them, that so we
may arrive at the knowledge of ourselves.</p>

<p>Yet Maud loved her mistress; and had not Lady Frances
reproved her harshly and unjustly, she would never have
thought, "Marry, come up! I wonder who she is!" The
spirit of evil worked at the moment in both&mdash;in the lady, as
a triumphant tyrant&mdash;in the woman, as an insolent slave.</p>

<p>We leave it to our philosophical readers to determine which
of the two manifestations was the most dangerous: we hope
their displeasure against either will not be very violent; for
we have but too frequently observed the self-same dispositions
animate bright eyes and open coral lips. Women are frequently
greater tyrants than men, because of their weakness:
they are anxious for power as the means of strength; and
therefore they more often abuse it than use it properly; and
men are better slaves than women; because an innate consciousness
of their strength, which they are apt to believe they
can employ whenever a fitting opportunity occurs, keeps them
tranquil. It has been often noted, that in popular tumults
women are frequently the most busy, and the least easy to be
controlled.</p>

<p>No one would have supposed that Lady Frances's temper had
been ruffled, when she crept into the room where Constantia
was watching her still sleeping father, and communicated the
news of the anticipated death of Mother Hays, with her strange
request, in so low a whisper, that happily he was not disturbed.</p>

<p>She quitted the apartment when her father's physician was
announced; but not until he had informed her that his Highness
was about to visit the Island, inquire personally after the
health of Sir Robert Cecil, investigate the strange murder that
had occurred, inspect the fortress of Queenborough, and ascertain
if useful fortifications might not be erected at Sheerness;
thus mingling public with private business.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI_II" id="CHAPTER_VI_II"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This deadly night did last<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But for a little space,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And heavenly day, now night is past,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Doth shew his pleasant face:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mystie clouds that fall sometime,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And overcast the skies,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are like to troubles of our time,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which do but dimme our eyes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But as such dewes are dried up quite<br /></span>
<span class="i1">When Ph&oelig;bus shewes his face,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So are such fancies put to flighte<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Where God doth guide by grace.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Gascoigne.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It would be an act of positive inhumanity to leave the unfortunate
preacher any longer to his solitude, without taking
some note, however brief it may be, of his feelings and his
sufferings. After consigning his packet (which, as we have
seen, was not only received, but appreciated by&mdash;the Protector)
to the rocks and breezes of the Gull's Nest Crag, he
sat him down patiently, with his Bible in his hand, to await
whatever fate was to befall him, or, as he more reverently and
more properly termed it, "whatever the Almighty might
have in store for him, whether it seemed of good or of evil."
The day passed slowly and heavily; but before its close he
had the satisfaction of ascertaining that the parcel had disappeared.
Again and again he climbed to the small opening:
at one time he saw that the fierce sunbeams danced on the
waves, and at another that they were succeeded by the rich and
glowing hues of the setting sun; then came the sober grey of
twilight&mdash;the sea-birds screamed their last good-night to the
waters&mdash;one by one the stars came out, gemming the sky
with brilliancy, and sparkling along their appointed path.
The preacher watched their progress and meditated on their
mysteries; though his meditations would have been more
cheerful could he have partaken of any of the "creature
comforts" appertaining to Cecil Place, and under the special
jurisdiction of Solomon Grundy. It was in vain that he
had recourse to the crushed oranges&mdash;they merely kept his
lips from parching and his tongue from cleaving to the roof of
his mouth, and by the dawning of the Sabbath morn he was
"verily an hungered"&mdash;not suffering from the puny and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
sickly faintness of temporary abstinence, but literally starving
for want of food. He paced his narrow cell&mdash;called loudly
from the window&mdash;exhausted his strength in fruitless endeavours
to shake the door which the treacherous Burrell had so
securely fastened, until, as the day again approached to its
termination, he threw himself on the ground in an agony of
despair.</p>

<p>"To die such a death&mdash;to die without a witness or a
cause! If the Lord had willed that I should suffer as a
martyr for his holy word, Jonas Fleetword would not have
been the man to repine, but gladly would have sacrificed his
body as a proof of his exceeding faith, and as an example to
encourage others; but to be starved for Sir Willmott Burrell's
pastime&mdash;to starve in this horrid cell&mdash;to feel nature decaying
within me, while not even the ravens can bring me
food! O God! O God! pass thou this cup from me, or implant
a deep spirit of patience and resignation within my soul!"</p>

<p>The unfortunate man continued praying and exclaiming,
until nature became almost exhausted, and he sat opposite the
aperture, his eyes fixed on the heavens, from which the light
was once more rapidly receding.</p>

<p>"If the villain willed my death, why not exterminate me
at once?" he thought; and then he prayed again; and as his
fervour increased, the door opened, and, by the dim light that
entered his cell, he discovered the figure of a tall stalwart
man, who was in the middle of the chamber before he perceived
that a living being occupied any portion of it.</p>

<p>"The Lord has heard!&mdash;the Lord has answered! the
Lord has delivered!" exclaimed the preacher, springing on his
feet with astonishing agility; then going up closely to his deliverer,
he scanned his features with an earnest eye, and continued,
"It is not the chief of cunning, art, and bloodshed,
albeit one who appears skilled in the habits of warlike people.
Friend, my inward man doth greatly suffer from long abstinence,
seeing I have not tasted any thing but a fragment of
bitter orange in a state of decomposition, to which I should
soon have been reduced myself but for thy timely arrival!
Behold, I have been compelled to tarry here a prisoner for the
space of thirty-six hours, computing by the rising of the sun
and the setting thereof.&mdash;Art thou a friend to Sir Willmott
Burrell?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p>

<p>"D&mdash;n him!" replied the stranger with a startling earnestness
that left no doubt of his sincerity, at the same time
returning to his belt the pistol he had drawn forth at the sight
of a stranger in one of the most secret apartments of the Crag.</p>

<p>"Friend!" exclaimed the poor preacher, greatly offended,
despite his hunger, at the man's unblushing profaneness, "I
cannot commune with thee if thou art of the household of
evil-speakers: it is not in thy power to set the mark of destruction
on any, though, doubtless, that evil man is in danger
of hell-fire. I like not to seem as caring for the creature, but
the Creator hath given the things of earth for man's support&mdash;hast
thou food?"</p>

<p>"Follow me," was the brief reply; and Fleetword did follow
as quickly as his exhausted state permitted, to the large
vaulted room in which we have heretofore encountered the
Buccaneer.</p>

<p>Hugh Dalton, for he it was who had so unexpectedly, but
so fortunately, broken in upon the dreary solitude of the
preacher, pointed to a rude table, upon which stood fragments
of a substantial meal: these Fleetword immediately attacked,
while the Skipper re-ascended the stairs, down which he had
conducted his unlooked-for guest, and disappeared. When
the worthy man had satisfied his hunger, he glanced from
flagon to flagon, piled one over another upon the floor.</p>

<p>"They are, of a truth, dangerous; yet here is no water,
and I am, of a verity, much athirst."</p>

<p>He seized one that had been opened, and drank so eagerly,
that, unused as he was to such potations, his head in a very
short space of time became incapable of directing his motions;
and when Dalton returned, the simple-minded man was sleeping
soundly, his forehead resting on his arms, that were crossed
on the table. Dalton looked upon him for a few moments,
and a curse&mdash;one of those to which he was unhappily familiar&mdash;burst
from his lips.</p>

<p>"I cannot learn how he came there," he said; "the thing
will sleep till morning:&mdash;a pretty nursery my Crag has become!"
He moved towards the portion of the wall we have
formerly mentioned as being covered with the skins of various
animals, and holding them out from the side of the cave, discovered
a very small arched chamber, which, as well as the
one where Fleetword had just partaken of "the creatures com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>forts,"
was lighted by a small iron sconce, carefully guarded
by a horn shade. Directly opposite the entrance a female was
seated after the Eastern fashion, cross-legged, upon a pile of
cushions. She placed her finger on her lip in token of silence,
and the Buccaneer returned the signal by beckoning her forward;
she rose, though with some difficulty, and as a rich
shawl, in which she had been enveloped, fell from her shoulders,
her appearance denoted her a married woman. Dalton pointed
to Fleetword, and the instant she saw him, she clasped her
hands, and would have rushed towards him; but this the
Skipper prevented, and they exchanged a few sentences in a
strange language, the apparent result of which was, that Dalton
proceeded to examine the pockets of the sleeper, and even
thrust his hand into his bosom, without, however, it would
seem, finding what he sought. There was the small Bible, a
handkerchief, a reading-glass, some fragments of orange-peel,
which, perhaps, he had unwittingly thrust there, one or two old
religious pamphlets, a newspaper&mdash;and a strip of parchment.
The foreign lady shook her head, as Dalton laid each upon the
table. After a few more words, both the Buccaneer and the
stranger were secreted in the arched chamber, and the curtain
of skins again fell over the entrance.</p>

<p>It was past the hour of the next day's noon before the
preacher recovered from the effects of potations so unusual to
him. It was then that Dalton questioned him, and discovered
the artifice and cruelty of the treacherous Burrell, in abandoning
the poor preacher to starvation: a consequence that must
have occurred, had not the Skipper providentially stood in
need of some articles of bedding, that were kept in this chamber,
as matters rarely needed by his crew.</p>

<p>Fleetword, having explained what he had done with the required
papers, would have willingly departed, but Dalton detained
him, frankly saying, that he cared not, just then, to
trust any one abroad, who had seen so much of the mysteries
of his singular palace. Without further ceremony, he was
again confined, in a small cupboard-like cavity, close to the
hostelry of the Gull's Nest.</p>

<p>It was not long after the preacher's second imprisonment,
that Robin Hays might have been seen, treading the outward
mazes of the cliff, and, without pausing at his mother's dwelling,
approaching the spot where, on a former occasion, Burrell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>
had received the signal for entrance from Hugh Dalton. He
was ignorant of his mother's illness; but the information that
Jack Roupall unwittingly communicated was not lost upon
him; and he had earnestly scanned the waters, to see if the
Fire-fly were off the coast. Though the gallant sparkling
ship hardly hoisted the same colours twice in the same week,
and though she had as many false figure-heads as there are
days in January, yet Robin thought he never could be deceived
in her appearance, and he saw at once, that though there
were many ships in the offing, she certainly was not within
sight of land. The feeling that he should look on Barbara no
more was another source of agony to the unhappy Ranger.
Yet he could hardly believe that the Buccaneer would so soon
part with the beautiful form of a child he so dearly loved.
He struck his own peculiar signal against the rock, and it was
quickly answered by the Skipper himself, who extended his
hand towards his friend with every demonstration of joy. Robin
started at seeing the Buccaneer in so cheerful a mood, and was
endeavouring to speak, when the other prevented his words
from coming forth, by placing his hand on his lips. The
Ranger's head grew dizzy&mdash;his knees smote against each other,
and he gazed on Dalton's countenance, eager to ascertain if
there was a possibility of hope, or if excess of grief had deranged
his intellect.</p>

<p>"Silence! silence! silence!" repeated the Buccaneer, in
the subdued voice of a puny girl; and Robin thought his eye
glared wildly as he spoke.</p>

<p>"Where&mdash;where is she?" muttered Robin, leaning for
support against a projecting stone, that served as one of the
slides for the rough, but skilfully-managed doorway&mdash;his
heart panting with anxiety to behold, and yet dreading to look
upon the form of the dead Barbara. The Buccaneer pointed
to where the skins had hung when Fleetword was in the chamber,
and the Ranger attempted to move towards it; but his
feet were as if rooted to the earth. Dalton watched his agitation
with a curious eye; yet Robin perceived it not. He made
several ineffectual attempts to stir from his position; but continued
fixed in the same spot, unable to withdraw his gaze
from the opening. At length the blood circulated more freely
in his veins, his chest heaved, as if the exertion of breathing
was an effort he could not long continue; and he staggered, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>
a drunken man, towards the entrance. The uncertainty of
his step was such that he would have fallen into the chamber,
had not the Buccaneer seized him within his powerful grasp,
on the threshold of the inner chamber, and silently directed his
attention towards a pile of cushions, covered with a variety of
coloured silks and furs, on which lay a form he could not mistake.
The hair, divested of its usual cap, rested in shadowy
masses on the throat and bosom, and the light of the small
lamp fell upon a cheek and brow white as monumental marble.
By the side of this rude, yet luxurious couch, crouched another
female, holding a fan, or rather a mass of superb ostrich feathers,
which she moved slowly to and fro, so as to create a current
of air within the cell. It contained one other inmate&mdash;the
little and ugly Crisp&mdash;lying, coiled up, at the foot of the
cushions, his nose resting between his small, rough paws; his
eyes fixed upon his master, to hail whom he sprang not forward,
as was his custom, with a right joyful and doggish salutation,
but, mutely and quietly, wagged his dwarfish tail&mdash;so
gently, that it would not have brushed off the down from a
butterfly's wing.</p>

<p>Robin grasped his hands convulsively together&mdash;shook
back the hair that curled over his forehead, as if it prevented
his seeing clearly&mdash;his breathing became still more painfully
distinct&mdash;large drops of moisture burst upon his brow&mdash;his
tongue moved, but he could utter no sound&mdash;his under lip
worked in fearful convulsion&mdash;and, despite Dalton's efforts to
restrain him, he sprang to the side of the couch with the
bound of a red deer, and falling on his knees, succeeded in exclaiming,&mdash;</p>

<p>"She lives! she lives!"</p>

<p>The sweet sleeper at once awoke; the long dark lashes separated,
and the mild hazel eye of Barbara turned once more
upon Robin Hays; a weak smile separated lips that were as
white as the teeth they sheltered, as she extended her hand towards
the Ranger. But, as if the effort was too much, her
eyes again closed; and she would have looked as if asleep in
death, but that Robin kissed her hand with a respectful feeling
that would have done honour to men of higher breeding. The
maiden blood tinged her cheek with a pale and gentle colour&mdash;the
hue that tints the inner leaves of a blush rose.</p>

<p>The Buccaneer had been a silent spectator of this scene, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>
it had taught him a new lesson&mdash;one, too, not without its
bitterness. When Robin, with more discretion than could
have been expected from him, silently withdrew into the outer
room, he beheld Dalton standing in an attitude of deep and
painful thought near its furthermost entrance. As the Ranger
approached, his heart swelling with an overflowing of joy and
gratitude&mdash;his head reeling with sensations so new, so undefinable,
that he doubted if the air he breathed, the earth he
trod on, was the same as it had been but an hour, a moment
before&mdash;yet suffering still from previous agony, and receiving
back Barbara as an offering from the grave, that might have
closed over her;&mdash;as the Ranger approached the Buccaneer, in
a frame of mind which it is utterly impossible to define, Dalton
threw upon him a look so full of contempt, as he glanced over
his diminutive and disproportioned form, that Robin never
could have forgotten it, had it not passed unnoticed in the
deep feeling of joy and thankfulness that possessed his whole
soul. He seized the Skipper's hand with a warmth and energy
of feeling that moved his friend again towards him. The
generous heart is rarely indifferent to the generous-hearted.
Dalton gave back the pressure, although he turned away the
next moment with a heavy sigh.</p>

<p>Ah! it is a common error with men to believe that women
value beauty as much as it is valued by themselves. Such a
feeling as that his daughter entertained for Robin Hays,
Dalton, even in his later years, could no more understand than
an eagle can comprehend the quiet affection of the cooing ring-dove
for its partner: the one would glory in sailing with his
mate in the light of the tropical sun, would scream with her
over the agonies of a dying fawn, and dip the beaks of their
callow young in blood; the other, nested in some gentle dell,
the green turf beneath watered by a brook, rippling its cadences
to his sweet, though monotonous, melody&mdash;would peel
for his companion the husk from the ripening corn, and shadow
his brood from the noonday heat. Yet the love of both is
perfect, according to its kind.</p>

<p>The time had been when, as Hugh Dalton walked on the
deck of his bright Fire-fly, and counted the stars, guided the
helm, or watched the clouds flitting past the disk of the
silver moon, he thought that, if his pardon were granted, and
he could bestow his ship upon one in the beauty and prime of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>
manhood, who would take Barbara to his bosom, and call her
by the hallowed name of "wife," he could lay his head upon
his pillow, and die in peace, the grandsire of a race of sons,
who would carry the name of Dalton honourably over the
waves of many lands. He had never, in all his adventures,
met with a youth who had gained so much upon his affections
as the lad Springall. He knew him to be brave and honest,
of a frank and generous nature, well calculated to win the
heart of any maiden; and he had arranged for the youth's
temporary residence at Cecil Place, at a time when he knew
the baronet could not refuse aught that he demanded, with a
view to forward a long-cherished design.</p>

<p>"Barbara will see, and, I am sure, love him," quoth Dalton
to himself: "how can it be otherwise? Matters may change
ere long, and, if they do&mdash;&mdash;. His family is of an old Kentish
stock, well known for their loyalty, which, in truth, made
the boy quit the canting ship, the Providence, when he met
with a fitting opportunity. She cannot choose but love him;
and even if, at the end of ten or twenty years, he should turn
out a gentleman, he'll never scorn her then; for, faith, he could
not; she is too like her mother to be slighted of mortal
man!" And so he dreamed, and fancied, as scores of fathers
have done before and since, that all things were going on
rightly. When Springall held occasional communication with
him, he never saw him tread the deck without mentally exclaiming,
"What a brave skipper that boy will make! He
has the very gait of a commander: the step free, yet careless;
the voice clear as a warning bell; the eye keen, and as strong
as an eagle's." Then he would look upon his ship, and,
apostrophising her as a parent would a fondling child, continue,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ah! your figure-head will be all the same when he has
the command, and your flag will never change. You may
double the Cape then without dread of a privateer; crowd sail
beneath the great ship Argo, or be rocked by any land-breeze
in Britain without dread of molestation. The lad may look,
as I have often done, over the lee-gangway, during the morning
watch, seeking the sight of the far off fleet&mdash;the fleet
that will hail him as a friend, not a foe! And he will love
every spar of your timber for the sake of old Dalton's
daughter!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p>

<p>The feelings of the Buccaneer towards Robin Hays were of
a very different nature. He loved and esteemed the manikin,
and valued his ready wit and his extreme honesty. He was also
gratified by the Ranger's skill in penmanship and book-learning,
and took marvellous delight in his wild sea-songs; but,
that he could look to be the husband of his daughter, had
never for a moment entered his thoughts. Now, however, the
unwelcome truth suddenly flashed upon him; there were signs
and tokens that could not mislead: the fearful agitation of the
one&mdash;the evident joy of the other&mdash;the flush that tinged
her cheek, the smile that dwelt, but for a moment, upon her
pallid lip, gave such evidence of the state of the maiden's
heart, that Dalton could not waver in his opinion&mdash;could not
for an instant doubt that all his cherished plans were as
autumn leaves, sent on some especial mission through the air,
when a whirlwind raves along the earth.</p>

<p>To the Buccaneer it was a bitter knowledge; the joy that
his daughter was of the living, and not among the dead, was,
for the time, more than half destroyed by the certainty that
she had thrown away the jewel of her affections upon one
whom, in his wrath, Dalton termed a "deformed ape."</p>

<p>The Buccaneer turned from the Ranger in heavy and heart-felt
disappointment; then walked two or three times across
the outward room, and then motioned Robin Hays to follow
him up the stairs, leading to the back chamber of the small
hostelry of the Gull's Nest Crag.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII_II" id="CHAPTER_VII_II"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">Good sir, look upon him&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But let it be with my eyes, and the care<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You should owe to your daughter's life and safety,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of which, without him, she's uncapable,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And you'll approve him worthy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Massinger.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>The apartment which the Buccaneer selected as his place of
conference was at some distance from, though on a line with,
that which Fleetword had so unwillingly tenanted. Its entrance
was by two doors, one of secret construction, leading to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>
stairs, the other opening into the passage that was frequented
by all who were connected with the Fire-fly.</p>

<p>"Now&mdash;now," said Robin, "tell&mdash;tell me, captain, how
all the wonderful things of the past days have happened: it is
a strange mystery, yet it was a horrid dream!"</p>

<p>Dalton again sighed, but more heavily than before, as he
replied, "My adventures are soon told. I had despatched to
the Protector such documents as I knew would lead him to
prevent the marriage of Lady Constantia; my heart relented
towards her, and I saw that Providence was working its reed
in other ways without my aid. Secreted in one of the chapel
vaults, I watched the coming of those who were to stay the
ceremony. I knew the certainty that come they would, for I
could rely upon the speed of the man I trusted, and that
Oliver would act upon the instant I had no doubt. I have
long had my own plans of revenge against the villain Burrell,
but they were too slow for one so perfect in iniquity. Robin!
he would have murdered me on board my own ship. I
listened for the tramp of the soldiers&mdash;gloating in my own
mind over his disappointment, and exulting in his fall, thinking
how his proud spirit would be brought low amid the
crowded court! But they tarried&mdash;I could not hear the
sound of their horses' hoofs&mdash;although within the old abbey
chapel were the bride, the bridegroom&mdash;(curse him!)&mdash;and
their attendants. Again I listened&mdash;the ceremony began&mdash;I
sniffed the breeze like a war-steed&mdash;I heard them coming,
but the Preacher was speaking the words, and they would
arrive too late. All consideration for my own safety was lost
in my longing for revenge, and, I will add, my deep desire to
save the lamb from the tiger's fangs. I rushed towards the
chapel&mdash;there was a pistol-shot&mdash;it gave speed to my steps.
At the door I encountered Burrell; and he&mdash;he, the fiend,
screamed into my ears that my child was slain!"</p>

<p>Dalton and Robin Hays both shuddered, and some minutes
had elapsed before the Buccaneer resumed his story.</p>

<p>"I know not what I did, except that the place was filled
with armed men, and the dastard Burrell commanded the
fanatic Jones (I remembered him well) to seize me; moreover,
he would have fired, I believe he did fire, but my memory is
sadly confused.</p>

<p><a name="Page_354t" id="Page_354t"></a><a href="#Page_354tn">"Then</a> Barbara, whose blood was streaming from her wound,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>
sprang to my bosom&mdash;sweet girl!&mdasmdash;and hung, as I thought,
a corpse upon my arm. When I looked upon her pallid
cheeks and livid lips, I could have braved a thousand deaths
sooner than have left her to be buried in their black and filthy
clay; and I spoke from my heart to them, and I think Lady
Constantia spoke too; and they let us pass, me and my dead
child!</p>

<p><a name="Page_355t" id="Page_355t"></a><a href="#Page_355tn">"I</a> carried her round the chapel, and sank with her into the
vault, where I had been concealed&mdash;that which contains the
passage leading up to Minster, and then sloping down the hill;
and I placed my daughter on the ground and closed the
entrance, as we have ever done. And then I sat on the earth
and raised her head and shoulders on my knees, and loosening
her kerchief to look at the wound, which I had no doubt had
been inflicted by the Jewess Zillah&mdash;shall I ever forget the
sensation!&mdash;I cannot describe it, so different from anything
I ever felt&mdash;ever can feel:&mdash;her bosom was warm, as the
fleece of a young unshorn lamb, and her heart palpitated within
it." The rugged Buccaneer covered his face with his hands,
and Robin, in a voice which strong emotion rendered almost
inarticulate, said,&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"I know what must have been your feelings from what I
myself felt so short a time past."</p>

<p>Hugh Dalton slowly withdrew his broad palms from his
countenance, and looking somewhat sternly on the Ranger, replied,
"Young man, that you love my daughter, I have seen but too
plainly; and I take it ill that you told me not of it before."
Robin would have interrupted,&mdash;but he motioned him to
remain silent. "We will talk of it hereafter;&mdash;only this&mdash;you
may love her, but you cannot love her with a parent's
love. It is as deep as it is mysterious; it comes with the first
look a father casts upon his babe; the infant, which to the
whole world seems a mis-shapen, an unpleasant thing to look
upon, to him is a being of most perfect beauty&mdash;the hope&mdash;the
prop&mdash;the stay of his future life. Upon that weak,
helpless, inanimate creature, his heart leans&mdash;the heart of the
strongest man leans upon it. The world holds out no promise
to tempt him like the well-doing of his child. It is a wonderful
mystery," continued the Buccaneer, reverently uncovering
his head, as men do when they are about to enter a place
of worship; "it is most wonderful, the holy love which comes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
upon us, for the simple, senseless, powerless things, that fill us
with so much hope, and strength, and energy! I saw a
whale once, who, when her young one was struck by the
harpoon, came right between it and the ship, and bore the
blows, and took the fatal weapons again and again into her
bleeding body; and when she was struggling in her flurry,
and the sea around was dyed as red as scarlet, still she tried to
save her offspring, and managed so as to die lying over it. It
was the very time that I was bringing my own girl to England&mdash;a
little creature, sleeping in my bosom&mdash;and it was by a
vessel in our company the poor whale was killed; for I would
not suffer one of my men to have a hand in such a sickening
job:&mdash;but I never forgot it&mdash;never&mdash;how she lay over her
young, shielding it to the last with her own body! I used to
pray&mdash;I could pray whenever I took my Barbara into my
arms!&mdash;I thought it a duty then to pray for her, and I
trusted that she would hereafter pray for me. Had I always
her sweet face to look upon, I should be free from many a
crime!&mdash;It is a beautiful mystery, I say again; and no one
but myself, young man, can ever tell what I felt when I knew
that she was yet alive! As soon as I had sufficiently collected
my senses, I examined the wound. Often had I looked
on blood; and wounds were familiar to me, as blackberries to
a schoolboy; but I trembled from head to foot, as if I had
never seen either. The ball had made its own way out under
the shoulder; and, as consciousness was fast returning, I
endeavoured to staunch the stream, which flowed so copiously
that I began to dread the destruction of my newly raised hopes.
While I was thus occupied, I heard so deeply drawn a sigh
from some one close to me, that I started back, and was horrified
at seeing the source of all the evil&mdash;the Jewess Zillah&mdash;pale
as ashes, standing by my side. I cursed her with a
wicked curse, and was about to inflict instant, but most unjust
punishment. The unfortunate creature prostrated herself at
my feet, and explained, as briefly as her sobs permitted, that,
enraged at Burrell's treachery&mdash;finding herself deserted by
Fleetword, whose faith she relied upon&mdash;imagining that
Mistress Cecil was leagued against her, from the circumstance
of her never taking notice of the communications she wrote
and confided to Jeromio's care&mdash;wrought up, in fact, to a
pitch of frenzy, she determined on destroying Burrell's des<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>tined
bride, whose appearance she had confounded with that of
my poor Barbara! Nothing could exceed her penitence. She
had groped her way to the secret entrance into the tomb. It
had been revealed to her by the traitor Jeromio. She returned
with us after nightfall to this horrid place; and has ever since
watched my poor child with the earnestness and care of a
most devoted sister. I am astonished how she escaped Sir
Willmott's vengeance. He was so hemmed in by difficulties,
that he had no power to act, though he tried hard for it. The
villain Jeromio&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I heard of that," interrupted Robin; "Roupall told me
all: he met me but a little time past in the Fox Glen; and
there, too, I saw the traitor's head, with the ravens feasting on
their prey!"</p>

<p>"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Dalton, "is that the way Sir Willmott
treats his wedding present! The Fox Glen is beneath
his chamber window; so I suppose he cantered it out to find
its own grave in the grassy hollow."</p>

<p>"Is this Barbara's father!" thought Robin, "and the man
who would not kill a cub-whale?&mdash;How wonderful! how
strange his modifications of feeling: the older he grows, the
more incomprehensible he becomes."</p>

<p>Robin then detailed the particulars of his journey since he
left the Gull's Nest, which, as we are already acquainted with
them, need not be repeated here, and raised himself considerably
in the Buccaneer's estimation by his attention, shrewdness,
and, above all, by the account he gave of his interview with
Cromwell.</p>

<p>"I believe it, Rob, I believe it&mdash;I am sure you would
not betray me! But I fear we must abandon this place&mdash;this
and all others of a similar description. I knew that as
soon as internal commotions ceased, old Noll would root us
out. He will set Burrell on the trail, if he can get no other
informer; for he has never been too great not to make use of
filthy tools to effect his purpose. He had been here long ago
but that he dislikes to employ such troops as he has trained in
hunting up moles and water-rats. Yet he thinks it a disgrace
to his policy not to know all things, even the hiding-holes
along the coast. There's good nesting in the Cornish cliffs;
but I have done with it, pardon or no pardon. Sir Robert
Cecil's gone mad, and I have a game to play there still. What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>
you tell me of Walter is most strange; yet I feel certain he is
safe, and my course, in reference to him, must be guided by
the events that a very few hours will doubtless produce. Cromwell&mdash;Roundhead
and rebel as he is&mdash;unless he be marvellously
changed&mdash;has generosity enough to guarantee the youth's
safety, were he a thousand times more dangerous than he can
be. Whatever may be my fate, his will be a happy one.
They may leave me to rot upon a gibbet, so he and my sweet
Barbara are safe."</p>

<p>"But," observed Robin, "I dread no such peril for you.
Even if danger awaits you in England, there are other lands&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah! but my child&mdash;my child! Shall I leave her among
strangers, or take her into a world that will rob her of her
wealth&mdash;innocence?"</p>

<p>"Gold will do much; there are many about the court of
Oliver who love the yellow colour and the pleasant chink of
coin."</p>

<p>"No, I have other and stronger means of buying mercy.
But mercy is not all I want&mdash;I sometimes think, that were I
to walk up to Whitehall, banned as I am, Cromwell would not
touch a hair of my head. I would say, 'God direct me for
the best!' only I fear He has no thought of me, except for
my girl's sake: and, Robin, touching her, I must again say,
that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Whatever the Buccaneer would have added, Springall's entrance
at the moment prevented. He seemed delighted at
meeting Robin, and inquired in the same breath if he had been
with his mother. Robin said, "No." Springall then told him
she was ill&mdash;fancied herself dying, and that, as the old dame
seemed so wishful to see Mistress Cecil, saying she had something
important to communicate to her, he had gone up to
Cecil Place, and found a strange messenger to do his bidding.
Robin needed no urging to seek his mother, whom he tenderly
loved; and when he had left the room, the Buccaneer could
not help observing, that a parent's first thoughts after a journey
are with the child, but that a child does not always first fly to
the parent: "And yet," pursued Dalton, "the boy loves his
mother!"</p>

<p>"Captain o' mine," said the ever-joyous and affectionate
sailor, who deserved the attachment bestowed upon him by the
skipper&mdash;"Captain o' mine, I have news for you. You see,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>
I sailed right for the old port, and just as I was going to steer
into harbour, I spied one of the steel-caps lounging about the
great gate, and peeping through the bars like a lion that would
and couldn't; but I knew he was one who could if he would,
and though I had a message for Mistress Cecil, yet I didn't
see the good of trusting him; and so I crowded sail to-leeward
into the Green Cave, and on under the arch that has openings
enough; but no one could I see until I was just by the church
at Minster, when, on the look-out, I got a glimpse of a sail,
and suspecting it to be something in the privateer line, I hove-to
and used my trumpet, and who should it turn out to be but
the young Cromwell! and I couldn't for the life of me help hoisting
false colours and dealing in the spirit line; so she took me
for a ghost when I delivered Mother Hays's message to Mistress
Constantia: then she blew out like a nor'-wester, and flouted,
and called names; and what else do ye think she did? By
Jove, she shouted, 'Below there!&mdash;turn out the guard!' and
stamped her little foot. Never trust me, if her ankle isn't
as neatly turned as the smoothest whistle that ever hung from
a boatswain's neck! After a while she said something about
jugglery, and I called her a little Roundhead; and, to be sure,
how she did stamp! Then presently down tumbled Mistress
Maud from the steeple, where, I guess, she had been making
observations, and Lady Frances rated the waiting-maid soundly,
which I didn't grudge her&mdash;the frippery, insolent baggage!
It isn't a month since she called me a chip of the jib-boom
and an ugly fellow!&mdash;Ugly fellow, indeed;" repeated Springall,
twitching up his trowsers&mdash;"I wonder what she meant
by ugly fellow!"</p>

<p>"So do I," said the Skipper, with a sigh; for his mind was
still 'harping on his daughter:' "So do I, but women have
strange fancies. Let me now ask you what news you have, for
I cannot see how this concerns me."</p>

<p>"Let me read my log my own way, or I cannot read it at
all&mdash;and you know, master, I never spin a long yarn, except
when I can't help it."</p>

<p>Dalton smiled, for, of all the youths he had ever known,
Springall loved the most to hear himself talk.</p>

<p>"When I had delivered my message, and had the satisfaction
of knowing that a rascally Roundhead, and a princess (as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>
they call her,) was employed in doing my bidding," continued
the lad, "I tacked about, and loitered along, looking at the
queer tackling of the hedges, and the gay colours hoisted by
the little flowers, and wondering within myself how any one
would like to be confined to the land with its hills and hollows,
where it's the same, same thing, over and over again; when I
spied two steel caps and a gentleman in black steering along
the road to Cecil Place. So I thought it would be only civil
to go with them, seeing they were strangers; but I did not
care to let them spy me, so I anchored in the hedge till they
came up, and then crept along&mdash;along, on the other side, like
a tortoise, and as slowly too, faith! for the road is so bad they
were forced to lead their horses, except the black one, who, I
found, was the Protector's own doctor going to cure Sir
Robert Cecil! What do you think of that, captain?"</p>

<p>Dalton saw no necessity for reply, and Springall continued:&mdash;</p>

<p>"I gathered from their talk that Cromwell himself was on
the road, coming bodily to inquire into the murder, (as they
supposed,) and to rout out the smugglers; and the rascals
were even talking about the prizes, having heard the place was
full of riches; and they said they were sure that more than
one thing brought his Highness such a journey. At every
stumble their horses made, the psalm-singing scoundrels offered
up an ejaculation. May I never reef a sail, captain, if they
didn't pray more, going that length of road, than you, and I,
and all <a name="Page_360t" id="Page_360t"></a><a href="#Page_360tn">the</a> crew of the Fire-fly put together, have prayed
during the last twelve, ay, twice twelve months!&mdash;How is
Mistress Barbara?"</p>

<p>"What a giddy mind is yours, Springall," said Dalton; "in
the same breath you speak of danger, and ask for my peace-loving
child."</p>

<p>"More than she would do for me," replied the boy, sulkily,
adding, with some of the wisdom of matured manhood, "she
must not remain here, though, no, not another night, for who
knows what those rascals would be at? I am much inclined
to think with the crop-eared fellows, that his Highness (the
devil take such highnesses, say I!) would never lay to windward
and trust himself on the island, unless he had good
reason to think he could kill two, ay, ten birds with one stone;
he is too old a man now to go dancing about the country be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>cause
of a murder, or a wedding&mdash;neither of which he cares
much about."</p>

<p>"Except when they come home&mdash;quite home&mdash;and Mistress
Constantia is to him like an own child. There's a deal
of difference in the colour of our own blood and that of other
people. But we must see to it, Springall, and without delay.
The Fire-fly is, as you know, tricked out like a Dutch lugger,
masts&mdash;sails&mdash;all! I defy even Robin Hays to know her;
and I had a report spread at Sheerness and Queenborough that
she had the plague aboard. Tom o' Coventry, and another o'
the lads have talked of nothing else at the hostelries; and not
an hour ago I sent a message to Jabez Tippet, with a three
gallon memorandum of the best Nantz, so that he might prate
of it to all who crossed the Ferry. Her cargo is nearly discharged,
and there are but four men aboard; they walk the
deck by two, as sentries, to keep up the deception; but evil is
in the wind when the Protector is stirring. I should have got
her out, far out before, had I not been obliged to move her
backwards and forwards, owing to the cursed mischances of the
times; and, Springall, I am not the man I was."</p>

<p>"Look, captain!" said the boy, energetically; "I would
rather set a torch to the powder-chest of that gay ship, than
have her turned into a Roundhead. Didn't I with my own
eyes see a lubberly rascal take a chisel, or some o' their land
tools, and shave every lock of hair off the figure-head of the
'Royal Charles,' and even off the beard, shorten the nose into
a stub, and then scrawl under it, 'The blessed change; this
regenerated vessel will be known hereafter as the Holy Oliver'?
Wasn't that blasphemy? Come, captain, rouse yourself; let's
call a council&mdash;there's little Robin Hays, he loves her timbers
as he loves his life&mdash;there's the boatswain, and a lot of honest
hands. Let's ship the ballast&mdash;the women I mean&mdash;and off
for the Americees. Let them blow Gull's Nest to the devil,
if they like; so our trim ship is safe, what need we care?
Ill luck is in the land to any who touch it, save to put off a
rich cargo or take in fresh water."</p>

<p>Dalton shook his head, and his heart sank within him; his
mind becoming more and more perplexed, when he remembered
the two helpless females who depended on him&mdash;the
one for life, the other for justice&mdash;his own desire for pardon,
too, struggling with his affection for his vessel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span></p>

<p>He paced the room for a few moments, and then, accompanied
by the animated and daring young sailor, sallied forth
in search of Robin Hays, having first resolved that the preacher
Fleetword should be sent to keep watch by the bedside of the
dying woman.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII_II" id="CHAPTER_VIII_II"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">E'en such is Time; which takes in trust<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our youth, our joys, and all we have;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And pays us nought but age and dust,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which in the dark and silent grave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When we have wander'd all our ways,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shuts up the story of our days.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Sir Walter Raleigh.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Robin, when he quitted the Buccaneer, proceeded not towards
his mother's house, but again entered the chamber in which
Barbara lay: he paused, and listened to ascertain if she again
slept. He heard no sound, and at length ventured to divide
the drapery, and look within. The motion, slight as it was,
was noticed by the gentle maid, who beckoned with her finger,
and her lover was in an instant by her side.</p>

<p>"I shall be well&mdash;soon well again, Robin," she murmured;
"and I know you will be glad when I am so."</p>

<p>Robin made no reply, but stood wondering at the exceeding
beauty of the beloved object that lay upon that strange, but
not ungraceful couch. He had heretofore only seen Barbara
in the oddly-fashioned dress, and with the humble bearing of
a servant; but now, reclining on piles of skins and velvets,
her hair falling in unconstrained and untutored profusion over
her white throat, and shrouding her slight figure, she seemed
to him the embodying of all he had ever imagined as belonging
to the exquisite creatures of other worlds. Sour and sarcastic
as he was, there were few in that age who had more
frequently dreamed of the pure and holy beings that people
the imagination of richly-endowed minds. Solitude is the
nurse of all that is good within us. The world stains what it
touches; and the more we withdraw from it, the better we become.
Robin knew much of its wickedness; but, fortunately,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>
had ever sufficient leisure and sufficient loneliness for reflection.
Never tell us, that a man can walk beneath the rainbow's
arch, and not think of the power that placed it there!
that he can stand on the tall cliff's peak, and not drink in the
fullness of God's exceeding glory&mdash;that he can hear the small
lambs bleat, or inhale the perfume of the hawthorn, without
thankfulness to the great Author of all! Devoid of any thing
like a settled creed, he still had many vague, yet sublime conceptions
of the mightiness and the goodness of a Power that
fills the universe with His presence. Many there are with
such belief; and many, whose hearts aspire to a more defined
and intimate knowledge of the Great Fountain of Life; and
for lack of opportunity&mdash;for want of proper direction, either
plunge amid the pitfalls and quagmires of infidelity, or are
lost amid the equally dangerous fallacies of various and contradictory
interpretations of the same perfect and beautiful creed.
Happy was it for the Ranger that she he so truly loved was
religious in its purest and simplest sense&mdash;gifted with that
gentle and holy wisdom, which instructed her in the honest
rule of right, and rendered her unobtrusively impervious to
temptation.</p>

<p>"I shall be soon well again," she repeated; "and do not
look so sadly on me, Robin; indeed I shall soon be well."</p>

<p>"Thank God for that, Barbara!" he replied. "I bless God
that it is so!"</p>

<p>"Robin! Do you really mean that you do thank God: is
it your heart, or your lips that speak?"</p>

<p>"As God sees me, I think that both speak, Barbara."</p>

<p>"Then," said the girl, "I bless God more for that than
for the saving of my life. I pray daily for those to whom I
owe much; but for you and my father I say double prayers."</p>

<p>"Because you think we need them doubly?" inquired the
Ranger, smiling.</p>

<p>"Even so; for since I have lain here, not being able to
talk much with that kind stranger, who has more than atoned
for what she did by her present goodness to me, I have had
time for reflection; and&mdash;and&mdash;I have prayed very much
for you, Robin Hays."</p>

<p>"Perhaps," said the Ranger, (his strong and turbulent
feelings struggling painfully in his bosom,) "perhaps, Barbara,
your prayers are all you mean to give me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p>

<p>"Robin," replied the maiden, while a flush passed over her
pale cheek, "you are often unjust; but I forgive it: for you
are abroad in the world, which, I believe, makes people unkind.
And yet I did not mean you were unkind, Robin. Now do
not turn away so strangely. I would give the life that has
been so lately restored to me, that your faith was as my faith,&mdash;that
your God was my God."</p>

<p>The Ranger fell on his knees by the side of the couch, and
clasping his hands energetically together, replied, not in a loud,
but in a low, earnest tone,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Barbara, teach me your faith, and I will learn it&mdash;learn
any thing from your lips: I will cast aside my waywardness&mdash;my
nature shall be changed&mdash;I will become gentle as a
babe. And as to your God, I am no heathen, Barbara, but
an Englishman, and all so born know there is but One to
worship!"</p>

<p>"Ay, but One," replied the gentle and thoughtful girl;
"yet a wild, reckless temper like yours is ever verging to
idolatry, to the formation of many gods. Do you not worship
Mammon when you risk body and soul to procure ill-gotten
gold?"</p>

<p>"Reformation is the work of time, and there will be time
for it, Barbara, when you are better. I will sit during the
whole length of the Sabbath-days, winter and summer all the
same, from sunrise to sunset, and listen to the word of God:
I will not speak, I will not look except to you, and you shall
read to me from the beginning to the end, and explain, and
pray: and even on week-days I will hear it for one hour each
evening, from Monday till Saturday, week after week, till I
understand what you expound. Will not that improve me,
Barbara?"</p>

<p>A smile, succeeded by an expression of much anxiety, passed
over her innocent countenance, and then she spoke.</p>

<p>"God knows, Robin, that I have much trouble&mdash;my father,
I see, I feel, loves his ship better than any earthly thing; and
though it would anger him to know it, yet I do wish from my
heart the vessel would fade from the waters as a shadow from
the green hill's side. He will never become a staid man&mdash;never
set his heart on things above&mdash;never either be happy,
or make me so, until no plank floats upon ocean that calls
him master. Ah me, Robin! Mistress Cecil used to say that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>
age brought wisdom; and, if so, methinks wisdom brings
sorrow."</p>

<p>It was some minutes before the Ranger offered any comment
on her words. At length he assured her how fully he
agreed in believing that Dalton would be much more happy if
his ship "faded," as she termed it, "from the waters; and yet,"
he added, "it would be as the separating of soul and body!"</p>

<p>"A fearful separation that would indeed be, and one I
could not bear to think on. Ah, Robin! I felt death in a
dream once, and once almost in reality;&mdash;and yet my dear
father, he is the soul, and the ship the body&mdash;the worthless
body that ties him to the earth!"</p>

<p>"And has Barbara no little fable of her own to make that
come out prettily?"</p>

<p>"Ah, Robin! I think of fables, as you call them, as much
as ever, but am not able to speak them now; so, good b'ye,
Robin, and let not the promise you have made me be like the
flower of the wild rock-rose, which blooms and blights within
a single day. When we indeed sit together, and read and
pray, remember the pledge you have now given freely to one
who will labour to make you happy all the day long."</p>

<p>Robin again pressed his lips upon her hand, and left the
chamber with feelings of deep joy and gratitude that mock
description. He had, however, to witness a scene of a nature
very different.</p>

<p>The last interview between him and his mother was brief,
for duties towards those who lived could scarcely yield their
influence even to those which the dying claimed at his hands.
The kind and affectionate heart of the Ranger was chilled as
he entered the small and scantily-furnished chamber in which
his mother lay, suffering in body, but still more in mind. Had
her son been a ministering angel, she could not have welcomed
him with greater joy, although her eyes were dim, and her
voice was almost inarticulate as she pressed her shrivelled lips
to his cheek.</p>

<p>"Raise me up, Robin&mdash;Robin&mdash;and move that chest on
my right. Gently, gently, Robin; it contains much that will
make you rich when I am gone. It would have been hard if
the poor widow had not her tithe out of those who came and
went. I have sent for Mistress Cecil, but she has not come:
she thinks little about the lone widow of the Crag."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span></p>

<p>"Mother," replied Robin, "her own troubles are many."</p>

<p>"Ah! she knows not what secrets are in the old woman's
keeping. She comes not, and I have a story to tell that would
be as poison to her&mdash;ay, to body and soul! You must hear
it, Robin, if no one else will. But, first, hand me a drink of
the strong waters. Ah, that will put fresh life into me! Let
the preachers preach their fill, nothing rouses one like the
strong waters!"</p>

<p>Robin did as she desired, but with evident unwillingness.</p>

<p>"Many years have gone," she continued, "yet, to the aged,
many years appear as yesterday. I was sitting by the door of
this very cottage, which had just been made public&mdash;for your
poor father&mdash;(honest man that he was, far above your mother
in wisdom and goodness)&mdash;your poor father, I say, had been
drowned the winter before, and I was obliged to do something
to keep the children, and so thought of making the cottage a
public; well&mdash;I sat at the door, and you were in my arms."</p>

<p>The aged woman's mind appeared to wander for a few moments,
as if she was calling her thoughts from a long distance.</p>

<p>"It was night, dark, dark night, and many runagades had
been about the coast all day trafficking and trading and smuggling,
and the gentry helping them, for things were not strict
then:&mdash;it was pitch dark, with now and then a gleam of light
from a bright cloud; and there came towards me a gentleman
I knew full well&mdash;a gallant, handsome gentleman: he stood
upon the rock that hangs over the sea, where the sea is ever
wildest. Presently some of the strange-looking men joined
him, and they talked and talked, though I heard them not,
for the wind was whistling around me, and I was watching you
asleep."</p>

<p>The woman again paused, but soon resumed her story.</p>

<p>"Well, as I was saying, they talked; but soon I heard a
cry through the storm, and the next minute there was a gleam
of light&mdash;I saw him struggling; but darkness fell again, and
on a sudden, while you would clap your hands, came a scream
for help. O God! O God! I hear it now!&mdash;now I hear
it!&mdash;Robin, another drink of the strong waters, that will
silence it!"</p>

<p>"Mother," said the Ranger, as he held the cup which her
skinny fingers were extended to grasp, while her parched lips
clanked against each other impatient of moisture&mdash;"Mother,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>
take but <a name="Page_367t" id="Page_367t"></a><a href="#Page_367tn">little</a> for you have need of prayer; that will stifle
the cry far better than this."</p>

<p>"And I will pray," returned the woman, "when my tale is
finished. There was but that one loud, loud scream, and a
heavy splash in the ocean, and with it the darkness again
passed: but, Robin Hays, Robin Hays, the men had passed
too, and one of them returned no more! And why did he
not? He had broad and fair lands, such as make people cling
to their own country, but he came not back. Soon after, I
heard the noise of oars, and&mdash;mind your mother now,
Robin,&mdash;another man came to the cliff&mdash;to the brow of the
same cliff&mdash;I saw him look down, and along the waves, and, all
of a sudden, a pistol flash from the boat sprang through the
darkness, and he who came last stood while you could count
ten, and passed away. But mind again, Robin, he came with
a weak step, and he went as a strong man."</p>

<p>Robin shuddered; his mother after a brief pause continued.</p>

<p>"Now, who think you, Robin&mdash;my child, Robin, who
think you was the murdered man&mdash;and who think you was
he who came last, and saw the murderers departing in peace&mdash;who?
I will tell it, before my breath is for ever stopped:
the one was Robert Cecil, and the other his father's son, the
first-born of his own mother!"</p>

<p>"Oh God!" exclaimed Robin, adding in a muttering tone,
"I see through it all, the hold that Dalton has over the
wretched, wicked man! But could Dalton do this?"</p>

<p>"Did you say any thing of Dalton?" inquired Mother
Hays, whose quickness of hearing appeared increased; "it
was his ship that was off the coast, though I could not swear
he was himself there. Such things, I have heard, were often
done in those wild times, and it made a noise then, and Sir
Robert seemed like one mad about his brother; though people
did whisper, for they were set against one another to the
knowledge of all, and of different parties. And in time the
lands all fell to him; and the Parliament since, I heard, made
out, that Sir Herbert, being a friend to the king, even if he
were alive, shouldn't have his own, which was all made over to
the present man. But, as sure as there is a God, so sure He
is just! Is it not plain? Of all the fine boys his lady bore
him, not one is left! And, as to the daughter, look, if she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>
knew as much of Sir Willmott Burrell as I do, she'd make
her night-posset with the mermaids before she'd wed him.
Well, Robin, Sir Herbert had once a son&mdash;an only son, and,
as his lady died in childbed, Sir Robert's wife had taken great
delight in the boy, and brought him up with her own children;
and a pretty boy it was, so fond of the sea! He would
sit for an hour together on my knee, and always called me
nurse, and used to play with you as if you were his equal, and
call Mistress Cecil, that now is, his wife! Sweet lamb that
he was! Robin, Robin, he went too; how, I never knew, but
I guess: the murderer of the father thought he should be
more safe if the boy was away, and he pretended grief, and his
poor lady felt it. Now it is of that boy I would have spoken
to Mistress Cecil, for my heart misgives me&mdash;"</p>

<p>Farther communication was interrupted by the entrance of
Constantia's maid, who came to ascertain if the widow Hays
were really dying.</p>

<p>"My lady has trouble enough of her own, the Lord knows;
but she will leave watching by the bed-side of my poor distraught
master, if she can render any aid."</p>

<p>"Robin, raise me up," exclaimed the dying woman, with a
gesture of great impatience; "raise me up, Robin, and push
the hair from my ears, that I may hear distinctly. Did
you mean, young woman<a name="Page_368t" id="Page_368t"></a><a href="#Page_368tn">[,]</a> that Sir Robert was distraught&mdash;mad?"</p>

<p>"Alack! yes," replied the girl; "mad, poor gentleman!"</p>

<p>"It is enough&mdash;enough&mdash;enough! I knew it would
come in some shape; yet madness must be mercy to him!"
Having so said, she sank back, while the serving wench
stood in astonishment: and at length inquired, "What she
meant?"</p>

<p>"She raves," was Robin's reply, drawing the girl out of the
chamber: "give my humble duty to your lady, and tell her
that the son of Mother Hays is with her, and that she lacks
nothing the world can give her now." As the girl departed,
Springall came to the door.</p>

<p>"Robin Hays! you must leave even your dying mother&mdash;something
must be determined on. He is come! Listen to
the guns at Sheerness, telling the island who has touched the
soil on this side of the ferry."</p>

<p>Robin stood for a moment at the porch, and heard the boom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>ing
of cannon heavily passing through the air, traversing the
low downs, and roaring from crag to crag, as if rejoicing in
liberty; the ships that lay out at sea sent forth a reply, and in
a moment their flags were waving in the wind.</p>

<p>Robin returned for a moment to his mother's room.</p>

<p>"Mother," he said, "for one hour I must leave you, but I
will send some one to watch by your bed-side. Pray to God,
a God of mercy, who has but lately opened my heart: pray to
Him, and He will answer. I will be with you soon&mdash;a hundred
lives may rest upon that hour!"</p>

<p>His mother appeared scarcely conscious of what he said, but
with her finger pointed to the chest.</p>

<p>A new, but a most unwelcome light had broken in upon the
mind of the unhappy Ranger. The father of his beloved
Barbara he had long known to be a reckless and a daring man,
with the stains of many crimes upon his soul; but he had now
the terrible knowledge that the Buccaneer was a cold-blooded
and hired assassin, who for gold, for there could have been no
other temptation&mdash;&mdash; The thought was perfect agony, yet
the Ranger resolved to face the man he at once loved and
dreaded, and boldly charge him with the act his parent in her
dying moments had communicated.</p>

<p>"It will all be known," he thought; "there can be no
pardon for the murderer&mdash;no peace for Barbara&mdash;the sinless
child of sin!"</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX_II" id="CHAPTER_IX_II"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>

<div class="block">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mainly they all att once about him laid,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And sore beset on every side arownd,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That nigh he breathless grew: yet nought dismaid<br /></span>
<span class="i1">He ever to them yielded foot of grownd.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Robin followed Springall into the room he had so recently
left, and stood at the entrance; fixing at the same time his
eyes, which, it must be confessed, were of unrivalled brilliancy
and blackness, upon the Buccaneer, he said&mdash;</p>

<p>"Captain, I would speak a few words with you in private,
after which we will talk of the danger that surrounds us."</p>

<p>Dalton and Robin withdrew together, and remained alone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>
for more than twenty minutes, during which Springall and
three or four others of the crew, who had crowded, like crows
into a rookery in dread of an approaching storm, debated upon
and formed plans for the safety of their vessel.</p>

<p>"Were all hands aboard," said Springall, whose youth joyed
in perpetual hope&mdash;"were we all aboard, I would undertake
to pilot that vessel over and under or through any one or any
number of ships between Sheerness and Chatham!"</p>

<p>"Through their hulks, do you mean?" inquired Jack
Roupall, who had but just joined the party.</p>

<p>"I don't pretend to speak grammar or book-English, Jack,"
retorted the young sailor, "no more than yourself; but all
who have ever sailed in the Fire-fly, as both you and I have
done, know her quality, and that anything can be made of her:
I tell you, every beam of her timbers has life in it&mdash;every
spar is a spirit!"</p>

<p>"What sort of spirit?&mdash;Is it rum, brandy, or Hollands?"
inquired Roupall, who could see no more value in the timbers
of the Fire-fly than in those of any other ship that carried a
good cargo. Springall's enthusiasm was wasted on him; but
it was followed by a reply from the hot-headed lad that would
have led to more than words, if another of the party had not
interfered.</p>

<p>"For shame, Spring, to be so fiery! Sure you know of
old, that Jack will have his joke, and means no harm. Besides,
he's only a land-lubber, after all."</p>

<p>"Well, pepper away, brave boys! pepper away! I'll have
my revenge on you all yet!" continued the trooper.</p>

<p>"You won't inform, will you?" exclaimed Springall, ever
ready for a fray, pushing his beardless face close to the
weather-beaten countenance of sturdy Roupall.</p>

<p>"Will you keep your face out of my mouth?" replied the
man-mountain, stretching his jaws at the same time, and displaying
a double row of the most enormous teeth, and a gulf
which really looked as if it could contain the animated countenance
of the young sailor, who, as easily moved to mirth as
anger, burst into a merry laugh at the prospect before him.</p>

<p>"There, boy," said the Goliath, "take it easy, and talk
reason about the ship, and talk the reason reasonably, and I'll
join ye; but Spring has a dash o' poetry about him&mdash;I think
it's called poetry:&mdash;verse-making and verse-thinking, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>
never did anything in the way of ship-building or ship-saving
since the world was a world, that I know. Now look, lads;
here's a man-a-war, a heavy, sluggish thing, whose guns could
take no effect on the Fire-fly, because their shot would go right
over her, and only anger the waters. Her long boats, to be
sure, could do the business; but she has no more than two and
the captain's gig a-board&mdash;as I heard this morning at Queenborough.
The evening is closing, and neither of the other
ships&mdash;whose slovenly rigging wants Blake's dressing&mdash;hae
any guns a-board to signify."</p>

<p>"Ay," said another, "so much for our near neighbours:
what say you to our farther ones, at t'other side the island&mdash;just
at the entrance to the Mersey?"</p>

<p>"Say!" said Springall, "why, that they could be round
in less than no time if they knew who's who."</p>

<p>"Which they do by this: what else would bring the steel
caps, and the Devil himself amongst us? besides, there's others
off the coast, as well as we. Do you think old red-nosed Noll
would come here about a drop of blood&mdash;a little murder,
that could be settled at the 'sizes? There's something brooding
in another direction, that 'ill set his hot blood boiling: but
as it's purely political, all honest men, who have the free-trade
at heart, will keep clear of it. May be he's heard the report that
black-browed Charlie's thinking of pushing on this way,&mdash;though
I don't believe it; it's too good to be true: it would
soon make us tune up 'Hey for Cavaliers!' and bring the old
days back again."</p>

<p>"But let us," chimed in Springall&mdash;"let us keep clear of
every thing of the sort till our ship's safe. Why, in half an
hour they might split her spars as small as jack-straws!"</p>

<p>"Which they won't, I think; because, if they know who
she is, they know her cargo's safe&mdash;where Noll himself can't
get at it, unless he drags the cellars&mdash;and the stomachs too,
by this time&mdash;of half his prayer-loving subjects along the
Kent and Essex coast."</p>

<p>"Stuff, stuff! every enemy destroyed is a shade nearer
safety," said Springall; "and Noll knows it."</p>

<p>"That's well said, Spring," replied Jack, winking on his
companion; "and I'll tell you what's true, too, shall I?"</p>

<p>"Ay, ay."</p>

<p>"Young geese are the greatest cacklers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p>

<p>"I'll tell you what," retorted the lad, drawing himself up
with some dignity, and reddening to the eyes, "I may be but
a boy; but have the goodness to remember, that every oak was
a sapling, and every sapling an acorn. If men trample on the
acorn, it will never grow to be the oak; for, little as it is, the
spirit of the oak is in it.&mdash;D'ye read my riddle?"</p>

<p>A good-humoured burst of approbation followed Springall's
speech, which was hushed by some one of the party saying,</p>

<p>"Here comes our Captain, and we can form no plan till he
is present."</p>

<p>The door accordingly opened after the hand, applied at
last to the latch, had evidently wandered over the panel, seeking
the fastening which at first it could not discover, and
making outside a noise resembling the scratching of a cat.</p>

<p>No race of beings so decidedly differ from every other in
the world as sailors: no matter whether they belong to a king's
ship, to a smuggler, or a merchantman. Though there may
be shades among them, yet the grand distinction between men
of the sea and men of the land endures,&mdash;it is impossible to
confound them together. A seaman is ever so easily amused,
so reckless of consequences, so cheerful amid difficulties, so
patient under privations. His blue jacket is a symbol of enterprise
and good humour. Even his nondescript hat&mdash;black,
small, and shining as a japanned button, adhering to the back
of his head by a kind of supernatural agency, with which
landsmen are unacquainted&mdash;can never be seen by a true-born
Englishman without feelings of gratitude and affection, which,
at all events, no other hat in the world can command. Although
the crew of the Fire-fly would have been looked upon
by your genuine seaman as a set of half-castes, which they
really were, yet they had, if possible, more recklessness of
character than ever belonged to any number of persons so congregated
together; they had so often jested at, and with death,
in all its shapes, that it was little more than pastime; and they
had in their own persons experienced so many hairbreadth
'scapes that they looked upon Springall's great and very natural
anxiety for the fate of the ship he loved, as a species of
madness which a little experience would soon cure him of.
The elder ones certainly knew that there was little use in their
forming plans or projects, as their commander would as usual
adopt his own, and adhere to them without their council or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>
approval. It must be confessed that lately they regarded his
lying so constantly off so exposed a coast, a proof of want of
energy and forethought they had never noticed before; but his
prompt punishment of Jeromio had set his character again on
a firm footing; for, as Roupall said; "It proved that the Captain
was still himself."</p>

<p>When the door of the room in which they were assembled
was opened, instead of the Skipper, the long, lanky figure of
the Reverend Jonas Fleetword presented itself in the opening;
his coat and hose unbrushed, his pinnacle hat standing at its
highest, and his basket-hilted sword dangling from the belt
carelessly and rudely fastened.</p>

<p>Those of the men who had been sitting, stood up, while
others rushed forward. Some laid their hands upon his
shoulders, and all demanded whence he came, and what he
wanted.</p>

<p>Poor Fleetword had long since arrived at the conclusion that
he had unconsciously committed some crime, for which he was
doomed to much suffering in the flesh: first imprisoned, and
destined to endure starvation at the hands of Sir Willmott
Burrell; then fed, but caged like an animal, by one whom he
denominated "a man of fearful aspect, yea, of an angry countenance
and fierce deportment, yet having consideration for the
wants of the flesh;" then, when he had been liberated as he
thought, for the express purpose of affording consolation to,
and praying with a dying woman, and bound by his sacred
word not to leave Gull's Nest, he found himself in the midst
of the most unamiable-looking persons he had ever seen assembled;
and his pale eye grew still more pale within its orbit
from the effects of terror.</p>

<p>"Cut him down!" exclaimed one ruffian, drawing a cutlass,
long and strong enough to destroy three at a blow.</p>

<p>"Fill his pinnacle hat with gunpowder, and blow him to
the devil!" said another.</p>

<p>"He is a spy and a Roundhead," vociferated a third, "and,
wherever there's one, there's sure to be more o' the breed."</p>

<p>"Search his pockets," shouted a fourth; "I'll lay my hand
there's villany in them."</p>

<p>"I'm the best at that work," exclaimed Jack Roupall, spinning
the long-legged preacher round and into the midst of the
men before he had time to utter a syllable of explanation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>
The change produced on them by this display of Roupall's
dexterity was like magic, for, in an instant, they were to a
man convulsed with laughter: the poor preacher retained most
motley marks of the bruised oranges upon his hinder garments,
which were, moreover, rent by various falls, or, as he
would designate them, "perilous overthrows;" and there was
something so ludicrous in his whole appearance, spinning on
one leg, (for he was obliged to keep up the other to maintain
his balance,) and looking more like an overgrown insect, called
by children "daddy long-legs," than any other creature dwelling
upon earth, that the mirthfulness of the sailors might
well have been pardoned.</p>

<p>"Children of Satan!" he said at last, recovering his breath
during their laughter&mdash;"Imps of darkness!" he added,
holding out both hands in front, as he would keep them from
contaminating him by their touch&mdash;"if that ye ever hope
for pardon&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I told ye he was a Roundhead&mdash;a negotiator," shouted
one of the rudest; "stop his gab at once&mdash;yard-arm him."</p>

<p>"Peace, peace!" interrupted young Springall; "he is part
of our skipper's cargo, a harmless mad preacher, and no spy;
he'd talk to ye by the hour, and make as rare sport as a mass-service
at Lisbon&mdash;if ye hadn't something else to think of."</p>

<p>"Hear him, hear him!" exclaimed the thoughtless fellows,
who forgot their own and their ship's danger in expectation of
some revelry.</p>

<p>"Hear him," repeated Roupall, while occupied in searching
his pockets.</p>

<p>"Albeit I was not sent unto ye, ye worthless, blasphemous,
and accursed crew&mdash;" began Fleetword.</p>

<p>"Above there!" sung out a little one-eyed seaman, squinting
up at our friend, and poising a long lath so as to arrest his
attention by a smart blow across the knees, which made the
poor man elevate first one limb and then the other, in what
soldiers term 'double quick time.' "Keep a civil tongue in
your head," he added, threatening to renew the salute.</p>

<p>"For shame, Tom o' Coventry," said Springall, who had
more generosity in his nature; "if you don't behave, I'll spit
ye as neatly as ever top-mast studding sail was spitted on the
broken stump of a boom in a smart gale,&mdash;d'ye hear that,
master officer&mdash;that was&mdash;but is not?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span></p>

<p>This insult could not be received quietly, because it was deserved,
and the diminutive sailor applied the weapon to Master
Springall's shins, so as to set his hot blood raving for encounter.
Fleetword heeded not this, but rejoicing sincerely
in any event that gave him opportunity of speech, proceeded
to anathematize the whole assembly as confidently as if he had
been the pope's legate. Roupall, having finished his investigation
of Fleetword's pockets, advanced one step, and, taking
Tom o' Coventry by the collar, shook him and Springall apart
as if they had been two puppy dogs, while the others bawled
loudly for fair play. At this instant the door opened, and
Dalton strode into the midst of them with that lordly step and
dignified aspect he could so well, not only assume, but preserve;
even Fleetword was silenced, when the Skipper, turning
to him, demanded how he came there, and if he had forgotten
that a dying woman had solicited his aid.</p>

<p>"Of a truth," he replied, "I mistook the apartment: ye
cannot suppose, most worthy commander of this enchanted
and impish conservatory, that, of my own free will, I would
choose such company. Where is the sinner?"&mdash;Dalton desired
Springall to show him to the room of Mother Hays.</p>

<p>The Buccaneer offered no comment on the fray, for he had
often observed that little good arises from lecturing people for
their faults at the very time you want their services. He explained
to them briefly but fully, and with as much clearness
and wisdom as if he had been for hours in deliberation, the
danger by which they were encompassed; the more than fear
for their ship&mdash;that they themselves were in the most perilous
situation they had ever experienced, clogged by the land, and
not free on the sea: that as the evening was fast closing in,
and the moon did not rise until near midnight, their enemies
could do little until after the lapse of a few hours&mdash;that those
who wished, might disperse themselves along the shore, and
escape to Sussex, or any other smuggling station, as they best
could; sending intimation to their friends as to their movements:
and he was the more particular in giving this permission,
as to each and every one had been distributed full pay
and profits;&mdash;that those who loved the Fire-fly, and would
risk their lives for her, or with her, were to conceal themselves
along the coast, and ere the moon rose, make their way a-board.
This they could easily effect under the thick darkness, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>
so calm a night. There was not one who could not steer a
plank, in quiet water, from Essex to Sheerness; and in default
of that, they were all good swimmers.</p>

<p>"And now, my brave fellows," he added, "I may, or I
may not, meet you on the deck, where I have so often trod
and triumphed. One great account I have to settle with the
land before I leave it. I may swing from a gibbet before to-morrow's
sun sets; or I may secure&mdash;&mdash; But if I am not with
you," he added, breaking off his sentence abruptly, "before
the moon rises, Mathews will take the helm; for I see by his
eye that he will not leave the ship he has mated with so much
steadiness and good seamanship for so long a time. The long-boat
must have a light placed like ours; and false canvass hung
round, so as to make a bulk, while the Fire-fly steals silently
and darkly on her way. This, if well managed, will give an
hour's start&mdash;But you understand all that. Make up your
minds, among yourselves, who's for the land, who for the sea;
and I will join you again in five minutes." As Dalton (who
was more agitated than his crew had ever seen him) withdrew,
he heard Roupall mutter&mdash;</p>

<p>"Confound all she-things! This circumbendibus is all
owing to his daughter: 'twould be a precious good job if she
had never been born, or being born, was dead in earnest, which
I hear she is not&mdash;He's not the same skipper he was afore he
took to land and sentimentality! Confound all she-things,
again say I! they are tiresome and troublesome."</p>

<p>We trust none of our readers will echo the prayer of Jack
Roupall, as we draw towards the conclusion of our story.</p>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X_II" id="CHAPTER_X_II"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Vain is the bugle horn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where trumpets men to manly work invite!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That distant summons seems to say, in scorn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We hunters may be hunted hard ere night.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Sir William Davenant.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Constantia Cecil watched with much anxiety the progress of
the carriages and horsemen which composed the train and
body-guard of the Protector, as they passed slowly along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span>
road that led to Cecil Place. A troop, consisting of twenty
men, preceded; their bright arms, and caps, and cuirasses,
reflecting back the blaze of the setting sun, like so many burnished
mirrors. Then came Cromwell's own carriage, drawn
by four strong black horses;&mdash;they had need of strength,
dragging, as they did, a weight of plated iron, of which the
cumbrous machine was composed. The windows were remarkably
narrow, and formed of the thickest glass, within
which was a layer of horn, that, if it were shattered by any
rude assault, would prevent the fragments from flying to the
inside. Behind this carriage rode four mounted soldiers; it
was succeeded by another, and at each side a horseman rode;
a third conveyance, the blinds of which were closely drawn,
brought up the procession; and behind this was only a single
soldier. At some distance, perfectly unattended, and seeming
as if unconnected with the party, came the simple vehicle of
the Jew Manasseh Ben Israel. However great was Cromwell's
partiality for this learned and distinguished man, he was fully
aware of the impolicy of permitting one of so despised a race
to associate with him publicly, or to travel abroad under his
direct protection.</p>

<p>Frances Cromwell joined her friend at the window from
whence she looked, and at once congratulated her on the tranquillity
Sir Robert had enjoyed during the last two hours.</p>

<p>"The physician has done much," she replied; "yet I can
hardly trust myself to cherish any feeling that tells of peace
or hope. Dearest Frances! what will be the fate of your
poor friend?"</p>

<p>Constantia hid her face on the Lady Cromwell's shoulder,
and wept; but her grief appeared of a less feverish kind than
heretofore.</p>

<p>"Hope for the best&mdash;my father can work marvels when
he wills. He may read all right; and as yet you are unwedded."</p>

<p>"He cannot restore the sweet life of one I loved so dearly,&mdash;one
whose place I can never see filled, and upon whose innocent
countenance I can ne'er again look."</p>

<p>"I wonder who is in my father's carriage?&mdash;Colonel
Jones, I dare say, and a couple more of the same severe cast,"
observed Lady Frances, trying to divert her friend's attention
from the thought of poor Barbara; "not a joyful face amongst<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>
a troop of them; the very soldiers look like masses of grey
stone, stuck on the horses' backs with iron paste."</p>

<p>"The second carriage," said Constantia, "looks as if it
contained a prisoner&mdash;see, a soldier rides at each door." She
turned still paler as she spoke, and grasped the arm of Lady
Frances with all her strength, though support was required
but for a moment. The motion was unnoticed by her friend,
who added in her usually gay tone&mdash;</p>

<p>"A good guess! And who is in the third? some other
caged animal; one of my father's pet lions, or leopards, or
creatures of that sort: pet or no pet, I would rather see what
it contains than all the others put together&mdash;so much for
woman's curiosity!"</p>

<p>"The guard are entering the great gates," said Constantia,
"and whether he bring me weal or woe, friend or foe, I must
receive the Protector, so as to show our sense of the more
than honour he has done us."</p>

<p>"Constantia!" exclaimed Lady Frances, who still lingered
at the window, "there is a fourth carriage, a foreign-looking
one, with an overgrown boot, and no attendants&mdash;coming
behind the train, like the last bit of paper at the tail of a boy's
kite. I marvel more than any who that can contain?"</p>

<p>"Will you not come with me to receive your father?" said
Constantia, extending her hand to her friend. Lady Frances
tripped across the room and took it within hers.</p>

<p>"Constantia, nothing frights you from your propriety!&mdash;I
am ready."</p>

<p>The sudden, though anticipated visit of the Protector, produced
a proportionate degree of embarrassment and confusion
among all the inmates of Cecil Place. At any other time,
the bare intimation of such an honour would have turned their
heads, and inspired their heels with the alacrity of St. Vitus
himself; but they had felt too much interest in the events of
the past week to experience the full joy to which, at any other
time, they would have yielded. As it was, housekeeper, porter,
steward, cook, butler, and their subordinates, set about
the necessary preparations with the dexterity and alertness of
servants who know that their first duty is obedience, not only
of their employer's words, but their wishes:&mdash;not one but
felt the warmest interest in all that concerned their dear master,
and still more dear mistress; they would have gladly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>
sacrificed their lives to make her happy: in them was clearly
shown the "constant service of the antique world." Solomon
Grundy, as usual, having the smallest quantity of brains, was
the most noisy, and the least useful, though the creature was
affectionate enough in his way, and, as we have stated, marvellously
skilful in his calling. He stood with the rest of the
servants, about twenty in number, who had assembled to
await Cromwell's entrance, and do honour to their young lady
by as numerous and well arranged a show as they could collect.
They were all dressed in deep and decent mourning,
except the women of Lady Frances, who walked behind her
to the great entrance, where she and Constantia stood ready to
receive his Highness. As he alighted, the advanced-guard
formed a semicircle beside the carriage; and when his foot
rested on the first step of the entrance-stairs, the two ladies
passed the threshold, to meet him with due respect. It was a
picturesque sight&mdash;the meeting of that rugged and warlike
man with two such females;&mdash;for Lady Frances, though deficient
in what may be termed regular beauty, had an air and
fascination about her that was exceedingly captivating; and
as she waited, one foot a little in advance, her head thrown
back, and the jewels of her clasped stomacher distinctly marking
the outline of her full and graceful bust, she formed a
considerable, but still a pleasing contrast to the high-souled
beauty of her dignified friend. Constantia, at the moment
Cromwell alighted, trembled lest the next person should be
Sir Willmott Burrell; and the terror she naturally felt, lent
an air of embarrassment to her pale, high features, to which
they were generally strangers. Her long mourning veil fell,
as usual, to her feet; and the folds of her rich velvet robe
concealed the change which but a little time had wrought in
her exquisitely moulded figure. The arched hall was crowded
on either side by her domestics, whose dresses formed a
gloomy back-ground, which, nevertheless, accorded well with
the hatchment that hung over the entrance,&mdash;a memorial of
Lady Cecil's recent death. Lady Frances, as she glanced on
the sober, but well-arranged party in front, their bright armour
and broad swords flashing in the light, the prancing of
the brave horses, and the smiling face of her uncle's favourite
page&mdash;her own cousin, who followed close to his indulgent
master&mdash;the mixture of carriage and cuirass, of spear and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span>
pennon, set out against the green meadows, and still farther
off the blue and beautiful sea&mdash;all this looked to her cheerful
mind as if hope and happiness were about once more to enter
Cecil Place. The impression was so strong upon her mind,
that she only regretted she could not speak of it to Constantia,
who bent her knee to salute the hand of her friend&mdash;the
Protector of England! while he, gallantly removing his hat,
raised her from the ground, and imprinted a grave and respectful
kiss upon her brow&mdash;then, having saluted his own
daughter after the same fatherly fashion, he presented a hand
to each of the ladies, and walked, bareheaded, into the hall,
returning the salutations of the delighted domestics as he
passed, and inquiring in a low, earnest tone, after the health
of his worthy host and friend, Sir Robert Cecil. As they
entered the apartment, in which a suitable refection had been
prepared, Constantia was about to return to receive her other
guests.</p>

<p>"Not so," observed the Protector, retaining her hand.
"I have taken upon myself for one day and one night the
wardenship of Cecil Place, if your excellent parent will so
permit it; with the Lord's help we will discharge the trust
well and faithfully. Such as I wish to introduce to you will
join us soon, and to those who will not I have allotted chambers.
Our mutual friend, Major Wellmore," he added, smiling,
"has instructed me so perfectly in the bearings of this
fine house, that I do not at all feel as a stranger within its
walls."</p>

<p>Constantia bowed, and from her heart thanked the Protector
for the kindness and delicacy of his thoughts.</p>

<p>"Great and glorious I knew him ever," she said to herself,
"but I was unprepared for the tenderness we usually
consider the exclusive attribute of our own sex."</p>

<p>Some five or six of the officers and gentlemen of Cromwell's
household were, in their turn, presented to her; but Sir
Willmott Burrell came not among them. Constantia trembled
as often as she turned her head towards the opening door.</p>

<p>During the time occupied in partaking of the abundant
repast, upon which the delighted Solomon had expended all
due care and anxiety, there were few words spoken, and neither
healths nor toasts passed round&mdash;the Puritans holding all
such observances as profane things; nor was there any allusion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>
made to the unfortunate occurrences of the past days, except
as regarded the disappearance of the Preacher Fleetword, a
circumstance which weighed heavily on the mind of Constantia.</p>

<p>"I assure your Highness," said Lady Frances, "this is a
perfect island of romance; there has been as much mystery,
and as many misunderstandings, as would form a Spanish
play."</p>

<p>"I am sorry, Mistress Frances," replied Colonel Jones, "to
find your thoughts still turning to these follies&mdash;follies anathematized
in this regenerated land."</p>

<p>A smart reply mounted to the lady's lip, who was annoyed
that the plain mistress had taken place of the title so universally
ceded to her, but she dared not send it forth in her
father's presence.</p>

<p>"I assure Lady Frances," observed her father, rising from
the table at the same time, and laying a particular emphasis
on the word <i>lady</i>, as if he would reprove Colonel Jones's
plainness&mdash;"I assure <i>Lady</i> Frances that I am a most excellent
unraveller of mysteries,&mdash;of <i>all</i> mysteries," he repeated
with a stress on the word <span class="smcapc">ALL</span>, that made the blood rush into
his daughter's cheek. "And if I may presume on such an
accomplishment, I would request the honour of a private interview
with Mistress Cecil."</p>

<p>Cromwell conducted the lady from the room with an air
that would not have disgraced the descendant of a race of kings.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI_II" id="CHAPTER_XI_II"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If you, my son, should now prevaricate,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, to your own particular lusts, employ<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So great and catholic a bliss; be sure<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A curse will follow, yea, and overtake<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your subtle and most secret ways.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>Whatever passed between Cromwell and the Lady Constantia
must remain secret, as neither were of a particularly communicative
disposition. Lady Frances, indeed, laboured hard to
succeed and comprehend the whole matter, but in vain. She
waylaid her friend on her passage from the room of audience,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span>
and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her anxiety
on the subject,</p>

<p>"My father and you have had a long conference!"</p>

<p>"He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and
kindness," was Constantia's reply.</p>

<p>"Do you know whom he has closeted up so strangely in
Cecil Place? I was going into the oak parlour, when a sentry
at the door&mdash;(What rough fellows those soldiers are!)&mdash;cried
'Stand!' as if I had been a statue. With that I repaired
to the small oriel chamber; but there, too, was another
'Stand!' Why, the house is at once a prison and a garrison!"</p>

<p>"Not quite."</p>

<p>"Oh, you take it more gently than I should&mdash;to have persons
in your own house, and not know who they are."</p>

<p>"Your father, I suppose, knows them; and I may have
sufficient confidence in the Protector of England to believe in
the wisdom of all he does&mdash;nothing doubting."</p>

<p>"My father is very anxious about Sir Robert."</p>

<p>"He is indeed."</p>

<p>"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."</p>

<p>"He has ever been to justice as its right hand."</p>

<p>How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her
father had talked about Sir Willmott&mdash;if there were any
tidings of Walter De Guerre, or where he had been since his
disappearance with Major Wellmore! but she could not&mdash;she
dared not ask another question: indeed, Constantia effectually
prevented her so doing, for, taking her hand with that extraordinary
combination of frankness and reserve which is ever
the characteristic of a great and honest mind, she said&mdash;</p>

<p>"My sweet friend, do not question me; I have either answered
your father's questionings as I answer every one, truly,
in word and spirit, or told him, when he asked what I must not
reveal, that I could not tell. I never equivocated in my whole
life; equivocation is a subterfuge, mean as well as sinful&mdash;the
special pleading of a lie."</p>

<p>"My dear Lady Perfection!"</p>

<p>"Do not mock me, sweet Frances: the world will say, and
say rightly, you are much nearer perfection than I am; you
have far more of the woman&mdash;the open, cheerful, confiding
woman. But hear me say a few words more,&mdash;and apply
them as you will. I once saw a young fresh tree&mdash;it was an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>
oak&mdash;a bright tree and a beautiful! It flourished on the
hill-side, and injured nothing; for its shadow was harmless,
and served but as a kindly shelter for the modest violet and
the pale primrose. The woodcutter looked upon it as he passed
it by, and said it would grow to be the pride of the forest;&mdash;the
village children held their innocent revelry beneath its gay
branches:&mdash;but, Frances, dear Frances, the storm gathered,
and the thunder leaped from cloud to cloud in the angry heavens,
and the lightning&mdash;the forked lightning, darted among
its leaves, and struck it to the heart. The next morning the
sun saw that it was blighted; and the sun said, 'My beautiful
tree and my brave, that my beams delighted to shine upon, is
blasted; but I will throw forth my warmest rays, and my
favourite shall revive, and again be glorious!' And the sun
came in all its power, and it shone upon the tree; but the
more it shone, the more quickly the tree withered&mdash;for it
fainted beneath the kindness which had the will, but not the
gift, of renovation."</p>

<p>Lady Frances turned from her friend with tears, and asked
her no more questions. Constantia wept not, but passed
towards the servants' hall to give some directions. The evening
had quite closed, and the earth slept under the broad grey
wings of twilight; as she crossed the corridors, she would
have been bewildered by the darkness, had not her feet been
acquainted with every winding passage.</p>

<p>As she passed one of the deep and sunken entrances for
light, that seemed constructed for the purpose of expelling and
not admitting the beams of day, so narrow and complicated
was its framework, something struck violently on the glass.
She started on perceiving a small figure enveloped in a
woman's cloak. Late occurrences had made her cautious;
but she was quickly assured of safety on hearing her name
pronounced by the voice of Robin Hays. In a low but somewhat
confident tone he informed her of his desire to see the
Protector upon a matter of life and death.</p>

<p>"Only ask him if he will see me, dear lady!&mdash;I would
not come openly, because I know he loves mystery in all
things, and likes not that the world should be able to prate of
his interviews.&mdash;But ask quickly, dear lady&mdash;quickly, as ye
would seek heaven!"</p>

<p>"See you, Robin! The Protector see and counsel with
you, Robin?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ay, dear lady&mdash;the lion and the mouse&mdash;the lion and
the mouse&mdash;only let it be quickly&mdash;quickly."</p>

<p>"Stay, Robin; you of all men are the most likely to know&mdash;can
you tell me aught concerning one, I believe, we both
loved?"</p>

<p>"Ask me not, dear mistress, now; only quickly, quickly
to the Protector."</p>

<p>In a few minutes Robin Hays again stood before the great
and extraordinary man he both respected and feared.</p>

<p>There was a mingling of kindliness and warmth in Cromwell's
manner, as he desired the manikin to come forward,
and, having first questioned him about his health, commanded
him to tell his business.</p>

<p>"I have intruded on your Highness, which is a mark of
great boldness in a creature of such low degree," commenced
the Ranger in obedience to the Protector's orders, "and it is
on behalf of one to whom I am much bound. Alack! great
sir, it is a sad thing when a man of spirit, of power, and of
bravery, has no friend to speak for him but one that Nature
threw from her as unworthy of the neat finishing she bestows
on others:&mdash;when our parent discards us, what have we to
expect from mankind?"</p>

<p>"Do you speak of the youth called Walter, whose gallant
Jubilee waits impatiently till his master is at liberty to boot
and saddle? He shall mount him soon."</p>

<p>"With all humility, your Highness, no:&mdash;I would speak
of Hugh Dalton and the Fire-fly."</p>

<p>"Of his ship, which may be at sea, say you?"</p>

<p>Robin ventured one glance at Cromwell's countenance,
doubtless with the intention of ascertaining if he knew the
position of the vessel: but there was no expression on those
features that could lead to any conclusion, and the Ranger
skilfully evaded the question.</p>

<p>"It is indeed of Hugh Dalton I would speak," continued
Robin, "and intreat in his behalf, what I need myself, yet
ask not for&mdash;a pardon."</p>

<p>"Pardon!" repeated Cromwell, "Pardon!&mdash;on what
grounds?"</p>

<p>"Those of mercy&mdash;upon which your Highness has pardoned
many; and, please your Highness, if I may make bold
to say so, this same man has some reason, however small, to
offer. The Jewess Zillah&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ah! what of her?"</p>

<p>"Is in his keeping, and a certain preacher also&mdash;a worthy,
simple, yet, withal, a keen man, whom Sir Willmott Burrell,
as I understand, entrapped and shut up, with famine as his
only associate, because he had become possessed of some
papers proving Sir Willmott's marriage with the Jewish
lady."</p>

<p>"And Dalton&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Saved this Fleetword!"</p>

<p>"Ah, Fleetword!" interrupted Cromwell, "I have heard
of his disappearance&mdash;and he is safe?"</p>

<p>"Perfectly."</p>

<p>"I bless the Lord for his unravelling! But why comes
not this man forth from his den? Methinks, if he have
rendered such service to the Jew, who is our friend, he has
some claim to our consideration, and might hope&mdash;perhaps,
hope for pardon. But, if I judge rightly, he expected more
than pardon,&mdash;pardon for his ship also, and farther grace
towards himself:&mdash;ran it not thus?"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, yes. The man loves his ship,
which is but natural; and then his men&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What! the reeving ravenous set who have carried destruction
as their flag, and filled the coast with desolation;
aided and abetted in plunder, and brought over malcontents
from evil lands, and scattered them like flax-seed over the
country! Cornwall&mdash;Devon&mdash;Essex&mdash;Kent&mdash;Sussex&mdash;everywhere;&mdash;disturbed
ourselves, so that by night as well
as day we lack repose; and are forced to be our own watch-dog,
to the great discomfort and danger of our body, and the
vexation of our soul! Pardon for such as they! Dalton we
might pardon, we have reasons for it; but his ship&mdash;it shall
burn upon the high seas, as an example to all like it; and, as
to his crew,&mdash;why not a scoundrel could be found robbing a
hen-roost who would not declare himself one of Hugh Dalton's
gang! To send you, too, as his ambassador!"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness," interrupted Robin, "he did not
send me, though he knew of my coming. The man is watching
by the side of his child."</p>

<p>"His child, said you&mdash;I heard he had but one, and that,
through some mystery, the girl was here, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Cromwell would have added, "shot," but he remembered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>
what Robin had suffered at Hampton Court, when Barbara's
death was mentioned before him, and, though chafed at the
picture he had himself drawn of the ravages of the Buccaneer,
yet the kind feelings of his nature prevented his opening the
green wound in the Ranger's heart. No matter what distinction
rank makes between man and man, Nature has instituted
a moral freemasonry, by which all her children understand
the signals and symptoms of goodness and greatness in each
other's bosoms. Robin blessed him for his forbearance with
the fresh warm blessing of an affectionate heart; and the
blessing ascended to the Almighty's throne, although breathed
into no mortal ear!&mdash;it ascended, not on the wings of the
wind, for the wind heard it not; yet there it was, and there it
remains, registered in the book of life, amongst the few but
holy offerings which are paid to the mighty, in secret, by
those who look to them for aid,&mdash;whose homage is generally
of the lip, not the heart.</p>

<p>After a pause, more full of meaning than if it had been
crammed with words, Robin said&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, the girl is not dead, though badly
wounded."</p>

<p>"I thank God!&mdash;I thank God for every blessing. Have
you so said to the Lady Constantia?"</p>

<p>"I did not like to mention it, yet, as I did not know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Right, right," interrupted Cromwell, not permitting him
to finish the sentence, "a silent tongue is ever harmless, and
with it there is safety. But I must see Fleetword and the
Jewess forthwith: say unto Dalton that so I desire it."</p>

<p>"The Skipper has secrets touching this family in his keeping
which I have reason to think he will retain, unless&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Wily as he was, Robin now paused, for he dreaded to rouse
the Protector's ire, and Cromwell, seeing his hesitation, exclaimed,</p>

<p>"Speak on&mdash;speak out, young man&mdash;this fellow would
dictate to us&mdash;but speak&mdash;speak, I say; what are his gracious
terms?"</p>

<p>Although the last words were uttered in an ironical tone,
Robin did speak, and boldly.</p>

<p>"Pardon for himself, his registered followers, and safety
for his ship; I know such to be his feelings, and know he
would so say."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span></p>

<p>The Protector replied calmly&mdash;"To the pardon for himself,
I say, ay; to the other conditions, no. Once spoken is
enough. My words are for eternity, young man; it is much
that I pardon even him. Go to&mdash;what hinders that I blow
not his nest into the sky? what care I for the vultures of his
eyrie!</p>

<p>"But the doves, your Highness,&mdash;the doves that shelter
there!"</p>

<p>"Look ye, sir ambassador," returned Cromwell, "were I
to twine a wreath of gunpowder round his nest, think ye he
would suffer his child to perish, whatever fate in desperation
he might award himself?"</p>

<p>"My Lord, he can look the sun in the face at noon-day;
he could weigh with an unquailing eye the bullet that brought
him death&mdash;he is a man of unspeakable firmness."</p>

<p>"Granted," said the Protector; "but I am a father&mdash;so is
he; you are not, or you would feel that, were the female a vulture,
not a dove, still he could not peril her life. She is his
child. I forget, while I now speak, that which I am; for I
could not speak thus if I remembered it. I send you to Dalton,
to tell him, that in humble, most humble, imitation of the
blessed God, whose unworthy servant I am, I say that
'though,' in the eyes of the world, 'his sins be as scarlet,
they shall be as wool;' they shall be blotted from my memory,
and I will stretch forth my right hand to save and not to
punish; so much as regards himself, I will not hint at his
misdeeds, provided that&mdash;&mdash;" he stopped abruptly, and fixed
his eye upon the timepiece that was set over the chimney&mdash;a
huge heavy iron machine, that one would fancy even Time
found it difficult to deal with. "You see the hour&mdash;the hand
is on the stroke of nine: provided that, before that same hand
rests upon the single figure which heralds in the morning,
the Preacher, the Jewess, himself and his daughter are within
this room&mdash;provided they are here I will seal his pardon:
he shall go forth, or remain, a free subject of the Commonwealth.
And more than this, my soldiers sleep till midnight,
so that men, <i>all</i> men may travel in safety,&mdash;in safety <i>by land</i>,
I mean; for if the slightest attempt be made to rid the harbour
of the pestilential vessel, whose crew keep such careful, or
rather such prudent, watch upon her deck, if that the night
were dark as blackness itself, there are eyes that see, and hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>
that avenge! The ship must not remain unpunished; of her,
justice <i>shall</i> have its due. Your Buccaneer should think of
this, and bless the God that has made us merciful."</p>

<p>"The Fire-fly, to be towed into Chatham and about, and
pointed at by the cowardly land-lubbers, as Hugh Dalton's
fine vessel! 'Twould kill him, please your Highness, it would
kill him. He would not take his life on such terms&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Let him lose it, then. Think ye that, though you were
honest, there are not many who pant to discover the secrets of
that nest? Came I here for pastime? The Lord he is
righteous and merciful. The cavern and its wealth is ours.
The goodness of the Lord is over all the earth; yet such is
the corruption of all things that we have no leisure for repose,
much less pastime. Men's passions and evil propensities devour
us, and fright comfort and often holy communing from
our pillow. Go to, then. We have one who could lead us
blindfold through your crag and its chambers. If we find
Dalton armed, justice must take its course; even I could not
save him then."</p>

<p>"It is little your guide would know what awaited him, if
he did conduct the soldiers of your Highness," replied Robin,
perhaps in a tone of momentary familiarity, the result of his
long conference.</p>

<p>"It is enough," said Cromwell. "Though you have
denied that you were directed by him to see us on this matter,
yet you will not scruple to do our bidding. I need not repeat&mdash;within
four hours from this time,&mdash;the Jewess, the man
of God, Dalton and his daughter&mdash;secretly, mark, <i>secretly</i>&mdash;within
this chamber. During this period my soldiers sleep;
but the vessel must not be unmoored. Remember, if its anchor
is weighed&mdash;or slipped," he added, with that extraordinary
penetration which saw every possibility of even equivoque,
and guarded against it, "the Buccaneer's life is forfeit."</p>

<p>Robin bowed with great submission, but still lingered.</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, he does so love that vessel!"</p>

<p>"You practise on our humanity, young man, and forget to
whom you speak."</p>

<p>Robin bowed again more lowly than before, and retreated
down the room. While closing the door, he looked to where
the Protector sat; Cromwell, observing the movement, raised
his hand, and pointed to the time-piece, whose iron finger was
fast travelling round the dial.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII_II" id="CHAPTER_XII_II"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So up he arose upon his stretched sails,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Fearless expecting his approaching death;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So up he arose, that the air starts and fails,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And overpressed sinks his load beneath;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So up he arose, as doth a thunder cloud<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which all the earth with shadows black doth shroud;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So up he arose.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Phineas Fletcher.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>"The Lord deliver me! once more, say I," ejaculated Robin
Hays, "and the Lord deliver Dalton! He would sooner
submit to have his limbs hewed one by one from his body,
than permit a single plank of his good ship to be touched: he
loves it far more than his own life. I will not speak with him
about it. There is no possibility of a hundred of our men, if
we could summon them from the different stations, encountering
the well-disciplined soldiers now upon the island. Nothing
legal or illegal can withstand the power or turn aside the
will of that most wonderful man. It is useless to commune
more with Dalton; but I will save him, though I perish in the
attempt!"</p>

<p>It may be almost said that he flew to the Gull's Nest.
When there, he turned with a stealthy step towards the chamber
which his mother occupied. There was no living being
in the room save one, and she was busied in composing the
limbs and features of his dead parent, chanting, in a low monotonous
tone, fragments of old songs and snatches of ballads
appropriate to the gloomy task.</p>

<p>Robin clung to the door-post. However little he might
have respected his mother, he knew she had loved him; and
it is sad, in a world where so few affectionate ties are formed,
to see the nearest and the dearest severed. He stood for a
little watching the slow movements of the old crone, who was
so withered and woe-looking that, with but slight effort of
imagination, he might have believed the grave had given up
one dead to prepare another for the sepulchre. The small
lamp sent forth but little light, and the features of his mother,
not yet decently arranged, had a scared and frightened look,
as if terror, at the oncoming of death, had left her a powerless
though unwilling captive.</p>

<p>"Has the spirit long passed!" at length inquired Robin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>
in a voice so low that the aged woman started, as if the whisper
sounded from below the earth.</p>

<p>"Anan, Master Robin, is it you? Ah! I little thought
you'd ha' been away; not that I fancy she missed ye much,
for she didn't make much struggle&mdash;that is, not to say much
at the very last&mdash;</p>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'And at the last your bed shall be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, near the broad and briny sea!'"<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>She gave out the rhyme while smoothing back the hair from
the haggard features of the corpse; and her trembling treble
voice, so weak, so shrill, added a most miserable and desolating
effect to the awful scene.</p>

<p>"Do it decently, good dame, decently and gently too, and
you shall be rewarded," said Robin, deeply affected,&mdash;aware
how impossible it was for him to remain and see that every
thing was well ordered.</p>

<p>"Ay, ay, I warrant it shall all be done rightly, master, as
rightly as if she decked herself, poor soul! which she was well
fond of in days long ago."</p>

<p>Robin turned towards the cliff. As he commenced the descent,
the wail of the corpse-dresser fell upon his ear with the
sighing of the wind that was straying amongst the many
hollow crags&mdash;the mysterious wind that comes&mdash;whence?&mdash;we
know not; and goes&mdash;where?&mdash;we cannot tell&mdash;yet
moves along upon its appointed way&mdash;felt, although unseen,
on the vast earth and the wide sea&mdash;now rejoicing over
pleasant fields, and filling the leaves with harmony&mdash;kissing
in its gentleness the blushing bosom of the rose, and wafting
the humble bee on its industrious voyage!&mdash;then stirring up
oceans by its breath, and shouting to the clouds its mandates!&mdash;Thou
playfellow of thunder, and mate of the fierce
lightning! whether as a hurricane or a zephyr, great source of
good and evil, hail to thee on thy way!</p>

<p>Robin stood on the smooth beach at the bottom of the cliffs,
and, taking in at one glance all the objects within sight, perceived
that the government ships had certainly moved closer to
the vessel, whose identity had puzzled even him, keen observer
though he was. The night was dark but clear&mdash;no haze, no
moon&mdash;the clouds not heavy nor light, yet few stars made
their appearance: now and then, as a shadow passed, one
would twinkle for a moment, until obscured by some ambitious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span>
vapour soaring from earth to become purified by heaven. The
ocean was calm and still, sleeping the sleep of waters in their
immensity! Persons unaccustomed to such scenes could
hardly have distinguished the vessels in the offing, so much of
the same colour did they appear with the waves themselves.
Robin then scanned the cliffs as he had done the ocean, and
whistled soft, low, but audibly,&mdash;a note like that of the
frightened plover. It was speedily answered, and in a moment
Roupall stood by his side.</p>

<p>"Are any gone off to the ship?&mdash;and where is the Skipper?"</p>

<p>"The Skipper's with the women, and, I think, has been
looking out for you," replied Roupall.</p>

<p>"Tell him, then,&mdash;tell all&mdash;that it will not be safe for any
of ye to venture off to the Fire-fly till I give ye a signal.
The ships have got closer to her, and a boat going off now would
be sunk by a shot, for, night as it is, they can see; and, if it
continues clear over head, the moon will not be needed to light
to mischief&mdash;the stars shine bright enough for that. And
now, Jack, I'm going to make a confidant of you&mdash;a proof
that I think ye an honest rascal, at all events. Do not give
what I am going to write on this parchment to the Skipper
until I have made a signal from the ship. He is too old a
sailor not to be on the look out; but you and Springall must
be with him. You owe me thus much service for a wrong
you once did me. It is meet that I forget and forgive it
now."</p>

<p>"As to the wrong, Robin, it is clear out of my memory,"
replied Roupall. "Gad! you must be a good scholar to write
in the dark; but, I say, your signals and book learning could
be much clearer, if you would just step in to the Skipper and explain.
Here are we, like a parcel of bats and owls, stowing away
in the cliffs, waiting to get out to the ship; and I know, from
what old Hugh said, he is only watching for some messenger,
with some answer or another. I know he is about a negotiation,
which I'd never consent to, but fight a thousand troopers,
had it not been that as good as eight or ten took his permission,
and walked off for the other holdfast&mdash;fellows, to be
sure, that never cruised with him above once. Let us a-board,
and we're safe. Would that the night were darker! for I
think, by the movement of the watchers, (to the Devil with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span>
them!) that they suspect&mdash;ah! now you've finished, pray
tell me what the signal will be&mdash;a red light?"</p>

<p>"A red light!" repeated Robin musingly, as he rolled up
the parchment; "oh, yes! it will be a very red light."</p>

<p>"But, Bob, won't that alarm the ships?"</p>

<p>"Never mind if it does," replied Robin, casting off his
boots, and throwing away all the loose portions of his dress,
so as to stand only in his shirt and hose; "Give me your
belt&mdash;it is broader than mine."</p>

<p>Roupall did as he requested, demanding, in his turn, if
Robin was mad enough to think of swimming to the Fire-fly.</p>

<p>"Yes," was the Ranger's concise reply. "And now," he
added, "Jack, remember, the moment you see my signal,
deliver this to the Skipper; but, as you value your life, not
before."</p>

<p>He plunged into the ocean as he spoke; and presently, the
sound of the dividing waters was lost in the distance.</p>

<p>"Well!" exclaimed Roupall, "that beats all the freaks I
ever knew even Robin to be after! Why, the vessel's near a
mile off; and, now I think of it, I never asked him what we
were to do when he gave the signal; but I suppose his paper
tells. Lying about here, in such peril! But it's always the
way&mdash;the minute a sailor touches land, good-by to his well-doing."</p>

<p>Before the speaker had climbed the topmost cliff, he met
the Buccaneer.</p>

<p>"Hast seen Robin Hays?" was his first question.</p>

<p>"Ay, sir; and, if it was day, you might see him too&mdash;at
least, the best part of him&mdash;his head, yonder&mdash;making for
the Fire-fly."</p>

<p>"How! making for the Fire-fly! What do ye mean.
Jack? this is no time for jesting."</p>

<p>"I mean, Captain, that Robin Hays is swimming to the
Fire-fly; and that he told me to watch for a signal he would
make; and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And what?"</p>

<p>"Why, he is to make a signal&mdash;a red light from the ship."</p>

<p>"Red light from the ship!" repeated the Buccaneer, in a
voice of astonishment; "He has lost his senses! What can
this mean? Left he no message for me?"</p>

<p>"None," replied Roupall; thinking to himself, "a piece
of parchment's no message, so that's no lie."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span></p>

<p>Dalton paced to and fro on the small ledge that had been
beaten smooth by the step of many an illegal sentry in days
gone by: beneath his feet lay the subterraneous apartments
of the Gull's Nest; and before him (although the night had
so darkened that it was no longer visible), before him was his
own vessel anchored. At any other time he would have felt
secure of refuge in the one resource or the other; but circumstances
combined to convince him there was now no certain
safety by sea or land. At one moment, he thought of manning
his boat, and carrying his daughter boldly to the ship.
Had he been alone, such would at once have been his determination&mdash;but
he could not expose much less leave her to
peril. With the common blindness of those who argue only
on their own side of the question, he could not see why the
Protector should object to the preservation of the Fire-fly;
and he had hoped for Robin's return with tidings that would
have made his child's heart, as well as his own, leap with joy.
He knew that Cromwell would make a large sacrifice to secure
the Jewess, Zillah; and he had also reasons to believe the
Protector suspected there were other secrets within his keeping,
the nature of which he would give much to learn. Robin's
motive, in thus visiting the Fire-fly, was beyond his comprehension;
and he had no alternative but to await the promised
signal with all the patience he could command. As he paced
the ledge, now with a slow now with a hurried footstep, the
darkness increased, and the stars twinkled less frequently:&mdash;there
was no storm&mdash;no fierce blast swept along the heavens,
or disturbed the earth, but dense heavy clouds canopied the
the ocean as with a pall. Roupall was seated on a huge stone,
his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the "multitudinous
sea," silently, and not less anxiously, watching for
the flash which he expected would disturb the dull and sleepy
night. Ever and anon, the querulous voice of the woman,
keeping watch by the lifeless clay, which she had laid in decent
order upon its humble pallet, in the Gull's Nest, floated
over the cliffs, and died away on the bosom of the waters. At
times, Roupall would growl and fret as a chained mastiff;
but the anxiety of the Skipper had so increased, that he ceased
moving, and stood on the bold brow of the crag, like a black
monument of stone.</p>

<p>Suddenly, a strong light, a fierce blaze, as if the ocean had
thrown up one immense pyramid of flame, to dispel the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span>ness
and divide the clouds, sprang into the heavens! and
then a peal, loud as the straggling thunder! The cliff shook
beneath their feet&mdash;the sea-birds started from their nests, and
flew, and screamed, and wheeled in the air! From behind
the different points and crags along the shore rushed forth the
smugglers, who had lain to, watching the time when it would
have been prudent for them to put off their boats and join the
ship, as Dalton had directed. The old death-dresser forsook
the corpse, and standing on the highest crag, her long hair
floating backwards on the breeze, her arms tossing from the
effects of terror and astonishment, looked like the <a name="Page_394t" id="Page_394t"></a><a href="#Page_394tn">sibyl</a> whose
spells and orgies have distracted nature by some terrible convulsion.
The cliffs and strand at the moment formed a picture
that Salvator would have gloried in conveying to his
canvass&mdash;the line of coast now rising boldly from the ocean,
each projecting point catching the glaring blaze, and seeming
itself on fire&mdash;the caverns overhung by creeping plants, revelling
in gorgeous colours from every changing light that
touched their beauties:&mdash;then the wild figures clasping by
the rocks, panting with terror and excitement&mdash;the sibyl
on her pinnacle&mdash;the gigantic frame of Roupall, rendered
still more gigantic to the eye by the position in which he
stood, breathless, with the written parchment in his hand,
yet unable to move or direct Dalton's attention to it. The
Skipper, still like a monument of stone, but called to animation
by astonishment and dismay, while the light played with
the grace and brilliancy of lightning on the bright mountings of
his pistols. Still the flames towered brightly to the heavens,
while each fresh explosion separated their condensed effect,
and sent a portion of them higher in the clouds, or hissing
over the variegated and sparkling sea, which rolled to the
shore in masses of glowing fire.</p>

<p>"Read! read!" at length exclaimed Roupall, thrusting the
parchment into the hand of the Buccaneer. "Read! read!"
he repeated, for Dalton heeded him not.</p>

<p>"Read what?" said the Skipper, in a voice which entered the
heart of all who heard it; "do I not read&mdash;do I not read&mdash;black,
bitter, burning treachery?&mdash;It is my own ship&mdash;I
know every spar that flits like a meteor through the air. My
heart was never crushed till now."</p>

<p>"Read&mdash;I will read it, if I can," said Springall, who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span>
joined the party. With some difficulty he succeeded in making
audible its contents.</p>

<p>"Dalton, you are safe! it may be that I perish: I knew
you would never sacrifice your ship for your own life, so I
have done it for you. Go with the Jewess, your daughter,
and the Preacher, immediately to Cecil Place, to the small
passage leading to the purple chamber, and demand admittance.
You are pardoned&mdash;and all the rest may leave the island,
provided they depart before the hour of one."</p>

<p>The Buccaneer apparently heard it not: the communication
made no visible impression upon him; he stood in the same
position as before. Even Springall spoke no word, although
his feeling of attachment to Dalton was rendered sufficiently
obvious by his creeping close to his side, and grasping his
arm with a gesture which said, "I will not be separated from
you."</p>

<p>At this moment a cry arose from the beach, and, though
the flames were fading, it could be seen that several of the
men had rushed to the water's edge, and assisted a creature to
the shore who was unable to struggle longer for himself;
soon, however, he contrived to mount the cliff on which Dalton
still remained a living statue of despair, and faint, dripping,
unable to utter a single word, Robin stood, or rather drooped,
by the side of the Buccaneer. He came too soon; Dalton,
irritated, maddened by the loss of his ship, was unable to
appreciate the risk which the Ranger had run, or the sacrifice
he had made. He thought but of what he had lost, not of
what he had gained; and saw in Robin only the destroyer of
his vessel, not the obtainer of his long sought-for pardon.
Urged by uncontrollable frenzy, he seized his preserver with
the grasp and determination of a desperate man, and, raising
him from the ledge, would have hurled him over the cliff, had
not one, weak and gentle, yet with that strength to which the
strongest must ever yield, interposed to thwart his horrid purpose.
It was Barbara, who clung to her father's arm: feeble
as she was, the death-throes of the gallant vessel had frighted
her and her companion from their retirement, and she now
came, like the angel of mercy, between her parent and his ill-directed
vengeance. When the Buccaneer found that his arm
was pressed, his impulse was to fling off the hand that did it;
but when he saw who it was that stayed him, and gazed upon
the bloodless face and imploring eyes of his sweet daughter, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span>
stood a harmless unresisting man, subdued by a look and overpowered
by a touch.</p>

<p>Barbara never was a girl of energy, or a seeker after power.
She considered obedience as woman's chief duty&mdash;duty as a
child to the parent&mdash;as a wife to the husband; and, perhaps,
such was her timidity, had there been time to deliberate, she
would have trembled at the bare idea of opposing her father's
will, though she would have mourned to the end of her days
the result of his madness; but she acted from the impulse of
the moment. Nothing could be more touching than the sight
of her worn and almost transparent figure, hanging on her
father's dark and muscular form, like a frail snow-wreath on
some bleak mountain.</p>

<p>Robin, whose resentments were as fierce as his fidelity was
strong, felt in all the bitterness of his nature the indignity the
Buccaneer had put upon him, and stood panting to avenge the
insult and injustice, yet withheld from either word or deed by
the presence of Barbara, who remained in the same attitude,
clinging to her father, unable, from weakness, either to withdraw
or to stand without assistance.</p>

<p>Springall, who did not love her so much as to prevent his
being useful, was the first to regain his self-possession; he
brought in his cap some water that was trickling down the
rock, and threw it on her pallid brow&mdash;while Zillah chafed
her hands, and endeavoured to separate her from her father.
At last she spoke, and, though her voice was feeble as the cry
of infancy, the Buccaneer heard it, and withdrew his gaze
from the remains of his burning vessel to look on the living
features of his child.</p>

<p>"Father! you frighten me by those wild passions&mdash;and
this wild place! let us go from it, and be at peace; poor Robin
is your true friend, father. Be friends with him."</p>

<p>"You speak as a woman, a young weak woman, Barbara,"
replied the Skipper, evincing his returning interest in present
objects by passing his arm round his daughter, so as to support
her on his bosom. "Look out, girl, and say what you
see."</p>

<p>"Father, huge masses of burning wood, floating over the
ocean, and borne to other shores by the rising breeze."</p>

<p>"And know you what that burning wood was scarce a
minute since?"</p>

<p>"Father&mdash;no."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span></p>

<p>"Those blazing masses were once the Fire-fly&mdash;my own
ship&mdash;my own ship!"</p>

<p>"And Robin&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"Has been the means of its destruction."</p>

<p>"Has he?" Barbara paused after she had so exclaimed,
and then, clasping her hands, raised them upwards as she continued,
"a blessing, a thousand blessings on him! for what
he does is ever good, and full of wisdom. Ah! now I see
it all: he destroyed the bad vessel that you, dear father, might
no more to sea; but stay on shore with us&mdash;with <i>me</i>, I would
have said&mdash;" she added, hiding, as she spoke, her face on her
father's shoulder.</p>

<p>Five or six of the crew had clambered up the cliff, and
clustered round their Skipper. Roupall, Springall, and the
Jewess were close to Barbara, and Robin stood exactly on the
spot where Dalton's rage had left him&mdash;one foot on the edge
of the crumbling cliff, his long arms enwreathing his chest.</p>

<p>The red glare had faded from the waters, the sea-birds
were settling in their nests, but the government-ships were
alive with lights, and, suddenly bursting through the night,
came the shrill blast of a trumpet from Cecil Place. It called
Robin Hays into activity, and, while the men were looking on
each other, he advanced and spoke.</p>

<p>"Hugh Dalton, the ship was yours, and yours alone, and
to you the parchment which Springall holds accounts for its
destruction; that destruction, Captain, ought to prove one
thing, and one thing only&mdash;that I loved you better than the
Fire-fly. Both could not have been preserved. You have
treated me as a dog, to whom you would have given a dog's
death; and I shall not forget it."</p>

<p>"Robin!" exclaimed a small soft voice.</p>

<p>"I cannot forget it," repeated the Ranger; and then the
voice again said, "Robin," in a tone of such sweetness, that
all present were moved. After another pause, hardy Jack
Roupall put in his word.</p>

<p>"The Skipper was hurt, and no marvel, to see her burning.
You mustn't be spiteful, Robin Hays,&mdash;only what hindered
to get her out?"</p>

<p>"She was known, marked, and watched, as I am well assured
of," he replied. "Had you attempted to weigh anchor,
every man on board would have been blown to atoms. Not a
life would have been spared. The men who had charge of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span>
her are safe. I sent them to the Essex side&mdash;though they
little thought why."</p>

<p>Another trumpet-blast mounted with the breeze, and Robin
exclaimed,</p>

<p>"Away, away, lads! It is not yet midnight, and no
hindrance will be offered to any who quit the island before the
hour of one. Away, away! Ye are foxes, and have earths in
plenty. Away, for your lives away!"</p>

<p>"Away!" replied Roupall. "Whither, good Ranger?
Heard ye not the trumpet, and know ye not that every outlet
will be guarded, every man on the watch after such a sound?"</p>

<p>"Had your safety not been cared for, there need have been
no trumpet-blast. I pledge my faith&mdash;my life&mdash;for your
security," exclaimed Robin, energetically. "Only away, and
quickly!"</p>

<p>One or two of the men sullenly and quietly dropped down
the cliff; but there were others who would not thus part from
their captain,&mdash;sailors, who had braved danger, disease, and
death in his company; these would not leave him now, but,
as if in expectation of an attack, they looked to their pistols
and jerked their daggers sharply in their sheaths. Dalton still
remained, uncertain, perhaps, or careless as to his future course,
with Barbara still hanging on his arm, while the Jewess clung
closely to her side.</p>

<p>"Springall!" said Robin, "you have influence with him.
Use it for his good: his pardon is secured if he complies with
the terms I have mentioned."</p>

<p>"Great tidings! glad tidings!" exclaimed a hoarse voice a
little above them. "The Philistines will be overthrown, and
the men of Judah triumph! I have heard in my solitude, yea
in my extremity, tidings of exceeding gladness: and, albeit
not of quick hearing, the tramp of Joshua and his army hath
come upon mine ear. Oh, ye Canaanites! ye dwellers in the
accursed land!"</p>

<p>"Fetch him down!" shouted Roupall.</p>

<p>"For your lives touch him not, but to your earths!" exclaimed
Robin impetuously. "The Gull's Nest will be no
place of safety now." Then, springing on Dalton, he snatched
the pistols from his belt and flung them into the sea.</p>

<p>He had hardly done so, when spears and helmets glittered
in the faint starlight on the higher cliff. It was no time for
deliberation. Roupall and the others slunk silently and sor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span>rowingly
away, and the little group&mdash;Dalton, Barbara, the
Jewess, Fleetword, and Robin&mdash;stood nearly together on the
ledge.</p>

<p>Colonel Jones had accompanied the soldiers by direct orders
from the Protector, who, from the firing of the ship, imagined
for a time that Dalton and Robin had acted with treachery&mdash;treachery
which, with his usual promptness, he adopted the
immediate means to counteract.</p>

<p>Robin advanced to meet the troop, and addressing Colonel
Jones respectfully, said,</p>

<p>"You will have the goodness to observe, sir, that Hugh
Dalton is not only unarmed, but has assembled round him
those whose presence were commanded at Cecil Place before
the hour of one."</p>

<p>Colonel Jones vouchsafed no reply to Robin's observation;
but it was not the less heeded on that account. He inquired,
in a stern voice,</p>

<p>"By what means have ye wrought the destruction of yonder
vessel?"</p>

<p>"I will tell hereafter" was the only reply he could elicit
from Robin Hays. It was repeated more than once&mdash;"I will
tell hereafter."</p>

<p>By this time the little party was surrounded. The Buccaneer
attempted no resistance. His strength, his spirit,
seemed gone; his child lay fainting, weak, and exhausted at
his feet. Colonel Jones felt, though he did not then express
it, much joy at seeing alive the girl he believed dead. Dalton
attempted to raise and carry her with him, but in vain. He
staggered under the light load as a drunken man. One of the
troopers offered horses to the females. Dalton would not
commit her to other guidance than his own, and, mounting,
placed her before him.</p>

<p>Robin would have turned to the room that contained his
mother's corpse, but Colonel Jones forbade it.</p>

<p>"My mother, sir, lies dead within that hut," expostulated
the Ranger.</p>

<p>"That may be," replied the soldier; "but I say, in the
words of Scripture, 'Let the dead bury their dead.'"</p>

<p>The party then proceeded towards Cecil Place, Zillah entrenching
herself under the protection of the Preacher Fleetword.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII_II" id="CHAPTER_XIII_II"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sorrow calls no time that's gone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Makes not fresh nor grow again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Joys, as winged dreams, fly fast:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why should sadness longer last?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grief is but a wound to wo:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gentlest fair! mourn, mourn no mo.<br /></span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Beaumont and Fletcher.</span><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>It was with feelings of considerable anxiety that the Protector
waited the return of Colonel Jones from the second task assigned
him in the Isle of Shepey.</p>

<p>The routing out of a band of lawless smugglers, although
commanded by so daring a skipper as Hugh Dalton, was to him
a matter of little consideration, compared to the restoration of
Zillah Ben Israel, and the positive saving of Constantia Cecil
from worse than death: these two motives weighed deeply
upon Cromwell's mind, and he would have made any sacrifice
to have been assured that his purpose, with regard to both,
might be effected before the morning's dawn. When the explosion
of the Fire-fly disturbed his solitude in the purple
chamber at Cecil Place, he directed immediate inquiry to be
instituted as to its origin, and quickly ascertained that it was
caused by the destruction of some ship at sea; his suspicions
were at once directed to the vessel of the Buccaneer.</p>

<p>There was no time to lose; Colonel Jones, whose courage
and coolness were proverbial amongst soldiers more celebrated
for these qualities than even British soldiers have ever been
before or since, was instantly dispatched to the Gull's Nest.
At first the command of the Protector was to "mount
silently;" but his pledge to Robin Hays was remembered, and,
at the very moment when the glare of the burning ship was
illumining the island, he could not bring himself to determine
that the little deformed being, with whom he had held commune,
had betrayed the confidence reposed in him.</p>

<p>"Let him know who are coming and prepare for it,"
thought Cromwell, whose caution was really subservient to
his enthusiasm, powerful as was at all times this latter quality;
and then he gave, in a low, but earnest and energetic tone, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span>
order, "Sound a brief 'to horse!' trust in the Lord, and see
that your swords be loose in their scabbards."</p>

<p>The troop, on its return, was met by Cromwell himself at
the gate to which we have so frequently alluded. His anxiety
had not been often greater than on that occasion, and it was
manifested by an impatience of manner that almost terrified
the attendants who waited in his presence. He was accompanied
by only two officers, and his first question was if
"Colonel Jones had secured Dalton and the Jewess?" A
reply in the affirmative evidently afforded him great relief and
satisfaction; but the feeling was quickly succeeded by one of
extreme anger when informed of the total destruction of the
Fire-fly, which he had desired to preserve for his own special
purpose. Yet, until the prisoners had been conducted into
Cecil Place by the private entrance, as he had previously arranged,
his displeasure only found vent in occasional exclamations.
The house was alive with alarm and curiosity, but its
inmates received little information to quiet or to satisfy their
eager thirst for intelligence. As the soldiers passed the gates,
lights floated through the dwelling, and the windows were
crowded with inquisitive countenances; great, therefore, was
the disappointment when they observed the party separate, and
one portion of it take a private path, leading to the Protector's
apartments, while the other proceeded round an angle
of the building to the stables. Many of the domestics met
them at the stable gates, but could learn nothing from those
trusty soldiers, who perfectly understood, and invariably acted
upon, their master's favourite motto, "safety in silence;"&mdash;still
they could not rest, no one went to bed, for all were in
expectation of&mdash;they knew not what.</p>

<p>The clock struck one; about five minutes afterwards Cromwell
had closed the door of his chamber; the half-hour chimed.
Constance was looking on her father, sleeping calmly in his
chair, in a closet that opened into his favourite library. He
had not been in bed for several nights, and, since his afflicting
insanity, could seldom be prevailed on to enter his own room.
After pausing a few minutes, while her lips appeared to move
with the prayer her heart so fervently formed, she undid the
bolt, quietly opened the door, then partially closed it, and left
her wretched parent alone with his physician.</p>

<p>She could hear within the library, in which she now stood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span>
the heavy breathings of the afflicted man. A large lamp was
burning on the massive oak-table: it shed a cheerful light,
but it was a light too cheerful for her troubled and feverish
spirit&mdash;she sank upon a huge carved chair, and passed her
small hand twice or thrice over her brow, where heavy drops
had gathered; then drew towards her the large Bible that had
been her mother's. On the first page, in the hand-writing of
that beloved mother, was registered the day of her marriage,
and underneath the births of her several children, with a short
and thanksgiving prayer affixed to each; a little lower down
came a mournful register, the dates and manner of her sons'
deaths; but the Christian spirit that had taught her words and
prayers of gratitude, had been with her in the time of trouble;
the passages were penned in true humility and humble-mindedness,
though the blisterings of many tears remained upon the
paper.</p>

<p>Constantia turned over the leaves more carelessly than was
her custom; but her eye dwelt upon one of the beautiful promises,
given with so much natural poetry by the great Psalmist,&mdash;"I
have been young, and now am old, yet saw I never the
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." "Alas!"
she thought, "I can derive only half consolation from such
as this. One of my parents was indeed righteous; but, alas!
what has the other been?" She bowed her head upon the
book, and did not again raise it, until a soft hand touched her
shoulder, and a light voice whispered "Constance!"</p>

<p>It was Lady Frances Cromwell.</p>

<p>"My dear Constantia! here's a situation! I never knew
any thing so provoking, so tantalising! My father, they say,
has taken as many as twenty prisoners, of one sort or another;
and has caged them up in that purple-room with himself, examining
into and searching out every secret&mdash;secrets I want
so much to know. He has got the Buccaneer, they say."</p>

<p>"Who says so?" inquired Constance eagerly.</p>

<p>"Why, everybody. Maud says so. And I have been to
the door at least ten times; but even the key-hole, I verily
believe, is plugged. I am sure it is, for I tried hard to see
through it."</p>

<p>"The crisis of my fate is indeed come," murmured Constantia.
Then, after a pause, she was about to address her
friend: "My dear Lady Frances&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p>

<p>"Don't Lady Frances me," interrupted the young maiden,
pettishly. "I hate to be Lady Frances. I should know
more about every thing if I were a chamberlain's daughter."</p>

<p>"Your father can discover nought to your prejudice. I
confess I both dread and hope to hear news of the Gull's
Nest. There is nothing which can affect you there."</p>

<p>"How can I tell? Poor Rich chooses queer postmen
sometimes! And that Manasseh Ben Israel! he is as anxious
as myself to know what is going on. Two rooms locked up!
Constance, I wonder you have not more spirit than to submit
to such proceedings. I would not."</p>

<p>"I am sorry for it; because it shows that your confidence
in your father is overbalanced by your curiosity."</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed the lady, turning from her friend,
just in time to see the doors at the bottom of the room thrown
open with much ceremony:&mdash;the Protector, attended by his
pages, followed by Dalton, Fleetword, and Robin, entered.</p>

<p>Constance rose respectfully from her seat, glanced upon the
form of the fearful Buccaneer who now stood before her, and
laying her hand on the arm of her friend, would have withdrawn,
had not Cromwell commanded her to stay.</p>

<p>"Mistress Cecil, you will remain;&mdash;both remain," he
said, while an expression of exceeding kindness lent to his
harsh countenance the effect that sunlight gives to a rugged
landscape, softening without destroying a single point of its
peculiar and stern character. "I have no dread of objection
on the part of the Lady Frances, and I must request your
presence." He took a large chair at the head of the table,
and seating himself, delivered a slip of writing to his page,
who immediately quitted the room.</p>

<p>"Our young friend will pardon this intrusion upon her
privacy, and moreover allow us to continue an investigation
that has already been attended with much pain, but we should
hope with some satisfaction also."</p>

<p>As he spoke, the door again opened, and Manasseh Ben
Israel, pale and trembling with agitation, walked, or rather,
so submissive was his attitude, crept forward, saluting the
Protector and the ladies as he advanced.</p>

<p>"Will your Highness permit?" inquired Constantia,
rising from her own seat, and pushing it towards the Rabbi.</p>

<p>"Most certainly," was Cromwell's prompt reply; "our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span>
friend is aged, but he is welcome; and we have news that
will gladden his heart." In an instant all trace of the servility
which custom had imposed upon the manners of the
children of Israel vanished. The Rabbi stood upright, and
clasping his hands together, exclaimed, "My child! my
child!"</p>

<p>"The lost sheep is found&mdash;blessed be the Lord!&mdash;safe
here, within this house&mdash;and I lay my commands upon her
father that she be received as a stray lamb from the fold, and
warmed within his bosom. We have all children, good
Rabbi; and the Lord judge between us and them, they are
stiffnecked and stubborn! All, more or less, all&mdash;except
one or two who shine forth as bright examples;&mdash;such is my
own Elizabeth, and such also is Mistress Constantia here."</p>

<p>"She is found!" repeated the Jew; "but they talked of
crime&mdash;of her having&mdash;I cannot speak it, please your
Highness, but you know what I would say. Peradventure
gold might be made to atone."</p>

<p>"Peace, good friend!" interrupted Oliver sternly; "justice
must have its due; and, by God's blessing, while we are
Protector, all the gold your tribe is worth shall not turn the
scale! We would be merciful for mercy's sake; but for justice&mdash;Yet
pardon me," he added in compassion to the Rabbi's
horror, "I would not trifle with a father's feelings&mdash;she is
guiltless of murder."</p>

<p>He struck the table with the butt-end of his pistol&mdash;a
private door of the library opened as of itself&mdash;not one, but
two females stood beneath its shadow, each supporting each,
as if the one weak creature thought she could lend a portion
of much needed strength to the other. Lady Frances and
Constantia sprang from their seats&mdash;all distinction of rank
was forgotten, and Mistress Cecil wept over her affectionate
bower-maiden, as an elder over a younger sister, or even as a
mother over a beloved child. She asked no questions, but
kissed her brow and wept; while Barbara stood curtseying,
and smiling, and crying, and glancing with evident satisfaction,
amid her tears, towards her father and Robin, as if she
would have said, "See how my lady, my grand lady, loves me!"</p>

<p>It did not escape the observation of Lady Frances that
Barbara wore the chain she had given her, and she most
heartily wished her father at Whitehall, or elsewhere, that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span>
might have an opportunity of asking all the questions at once
suggested by her busy brain.</p>

<p>It is impossible to convey an adequate idea of the meeting
between the Jew and his daughter. It was with feelings of
terror, more than of affection, that Zillah prepared to encounter
a justly offended parent. She had heard and believed that
crime such as hers&mdash;marrying or intriguing with Christians&mdash;was
punished by a lingering and cruel death; and scarcely
could the word of Cromwell, pledged twice for her safety, convince
her that such would not be her fate. She instantly
prostrated herself at the Rabbi's feet; and it would seem that,
assured of his daughter's life&mdash;assured of her safety under
laws&mdash;British laws&mdash;his eastern notions with regard to the
submission due from woman to her master, man, returned to
him in full force; for he suffered her to remain, her forehead
resting on the ground, and her hands clasped around it,
although he was so deeply agitated that he clung to a pedestal
for support.</p>

<p>The Protector arose from his seat, and, advancing, kindly
and tenderly raised the poor victim of confiding but too
violent passion, and placed her leaning on her father's shoulder.</p>

<p>"Manasseh!" he said, "at times our speech is obscure,
and men see through it darkly. We hope it will not be so
now. Your daughter is no harlot, but a wedded woman who
will soon become a mother, and, in virtue of her husband and
her child, is a subject of our own. We regret the violence of
which she has been guilty, but Satan is ever busy in his work
of temptation. If you cast her from you, we take her to ourselves;
as our blessed Lord would have received the prodigal&mdash;the
sinful, but repentant son&mdash;even so will we receive her.
Poor prodigal," he added, after waiting for a reply from the
Rabbi, which came not, for the feelings of the tribe were
struggling with those of the father&mdash;"Poor prodigal! we
will not desert thee in thy hour of trial&mdash;but seek to preserve
thee from worse crimes than even those of which thou hast
been guilty."</p>

<p>Although Cromwell had placed Zillah resting on the
shoulder of her father, he made no effort to support or keep
her there, and the Protector was in the act of leading her
towards his daughter, when Ben Israel raised a great cry, for
the father had triumphed over the Jew, and snatching her to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span>
his bosom, he burst into a fervent but almost inaudible prayer
of thanksgiving and gratitude, that entered the hearts of those
who heard it, and witnessed the terrible strength of his emotions.
The Lady Constance was suffering from various
causes; the nature of which, from past events, may be more
easily imagined than described. Nor were those sufferings
either terminated or relieved, when, on Cromwell's striking
the table again in the same manner as before, Sir Willmott
Burrell stood in the apartment.</p>

<p>His entrance caused a sensation of astonishment and confusion
through the whole group. Constantia Cecil unconsciously
moved her seat nearer to that of the Protector. An
expression of satisfaction crossed the anxious and feverish
brow of Robin Hays. Dalton folded his arms across his
bosom, and advanced his right foot, as if strengthening his
position. Preacher Fleetword, who had hitherto leaned against
a high-backed chair, his eyes glaring from their sockets on
the countenance of "the Lord's anointed," and drinking in,
with open ear and mouth, every word he uttered&mdash;now
shrank into the farthest portion of the room, skilfully keeping
a chair in the direction of Burrell, as a sort of fortification
against violence or evil, while he muttered sentences of no
gentle or complimentary nature, which, but for the august
presence in which he stood, would have burst forth in anathemas
against the "wolf in sheep's clothing," by which title
he never failed in after years to designate the traitor. The
Jew trembled, and partly rose from his seat; while Zillah,
whose love had turned to hate&mdash;whose affection had become
as wormwood&mdash;stood erect as he advanced, with a pale but
firm look. Prepared to assert her rights to the last, she was
the very model of a determined woman, who, having been
greatly wronged, resolves to be greatly avenged. If her lip
quivered, it was evidently from eagerness, not from indecision;
and her eye had the lightning of hell, not of heaven, in
its glance. Barbara crouched at the feet of her mistress; and
Lady Frances, to whom something new was synonymous with
something delightful, was tip-toe with expectation. She believed,
from what her father had hinted, that Constantia was
free, and might wed whom she pleased: this imparted an
hilarity to her countenance and manner, totally different from
the aspect of all others within that room. Burrell himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span>
looked like a bull turned into the arena, from whence there is
no escape. His deep-set eyes were grown red and dry: but
they rested, for a moment, while he saluted Constance and
Lady Frances; their next movement showed him Zillah and
her father, and he shrank within himself, and quailed beneath
the defying gaze of the woman he had so deeply injured. For
an instant, and but for an instant, eye met eye, and glance
encountered glance: the Master of Burrell was overthrown,
and looked round for some relief; but like other sinners, when
the hour of retribution comes, he found none; for those he
next saw were Dalton, Fleetword, and Robin Hays.</p>

<p>"We have more than circumstantial evidence to show now,
Sir Willmott Burrell," exclaimed the Protector, after surveying
him with a look of terrible contempt: "what say you to
this lady? Is she, too, a counterfeit?"</p>

<p>Burrell remained silent; and while Cromwell paused, as if
expecting an answer, the Preacher could no longer hold
silence, but vociferated from behind his intrenchment:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Under favour of the Greatness before whom I speak&mdash;under
the shadow of his wing&mdash;I proclaim thee to be a sinner&mdash;even
as those who stoned the holy Stephen, when he
was about the Lord's bidding&mdash;even as those&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Peace!" exclaimed Cromwell, in a voice that sounded
like thunder in the Preacher's ear. "Sir Willmott Burrell,
there are now sufficient proofs&mdash;what have you to say why
this lady be not declared your lawful and wedded wife?"</p>

<p>"I desire it not! I desire it not!" murmured the Rabbi:
"my wealth he shall not have, nor my child."</p>

<p>"But I desire it&mdash;I demand it!" interrupted Zillah;
"not for my own sake, most gracious judge," and she bent
her knee to the Protector; "for never will I commune with
my destroyer after this hour&mdash;but for the sake of an unborn
babe, who shall not blush for its parent, when this poor
head and this breaking heart have found the quiet of the
grave!"</p>

<p>"May it please your Highness," replied Burrell, "the
marriage in a foreign land is nought, particularly when solemnised
between a Christian and a Jew, unless ratified here;
and I will submit to that ratification, if the Lady Constantia
Cecil, whom I was about to wed, and whom the person your
Highness designs for my wife sought to assassinate, will agree<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span>
to it,&mdash;taking on herself the penalty to which her breach of
contract must of necessity lead."</p>

<p>All eyes were now turned to Constantia, who sat labouring
for breath, and struggling with an agony to which it almost
seemed her life would yield.</p>

<p>"We have ourselves provided for the Lady Constantia a
fitting mate, good Master of Burrell," replied the Protector;
"think ye that the fairest of our land are to be thrown to the
dogs?" Again he struck his pistol upon the oak table, and
after a breathless silence, during which Burrell never removed
his eyes from Constantia&mdash;(Lady Frances afterwards said
she noted they had all the evil expression of those of the
hooded snake, when preparing to dart upon its prey)&mdash;the
villain contrived to move more closely towards his victim,
whose misery was but faintly painted on her blanched cheek.</p>

<p>"A little time," she murmured; "a little time to deliberate."</p>

<p>"Not a moment&mdash;not a moment," he replied; "and remember&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The words had hardly passed from between his closed lips,
when Walter de Guerre was ushered in, and Burrell's brow
flushed one deep hue of crimson. A murmur of congratulation
escaped from several of the party; the Protector turned
towards Constantia with the look and manner of one who has
planned what he believes will be a joyful surprise&mdash;to be
gratefully received and appreciated as such; instead of beholding
her face beaming with love and hope, he saw that every
fibre of her frame became rigid; and she endeavoured to bury
her face in her hands.</p>

<p>"Mistress Cecil seems to approve our choice no better than
her father's," he said, after a pause of intense anxiety to all
present: "We would have taught this youth what is due to
ourself and our Commonwealth, by the gentlest means within
our power. Methinks, women are all alike."</p>

<p>"Father! she is dying!" exclaimed the easily-alarmed
Lady Frances.</p>

<p>"One moment, and I shall be well," said Constantia: and
then she added,</p>

<p>"Sir Willmott Burrell, you pant for vengeance, and now
you may have it. Believing that lady, in the sight of God,
to be your wife, I cannot wrong her; though I would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span>
sacrificed myself to&mdash;to&mdash;." She was prevented from
finishing her sentence by the Protector's exclaiming with the
energy and warmth of his natural character,</p>

<p>"We knew it; and now let me present your bridegroom.
Frances, it was excess of joy that caused this agitation."</p>

<p>Constantia interrupted him.</p>

<p>"Not so, your Highness. Alas! God knows, not so. But
while I say that the evil contract shall never be fulfilled&mdash;though
I will never become the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell,
I also say that the wife of Walter de Guerre I can never be.
Nay more, and I speak patiently, calmly&mdash;rather would I
lay my breaking heart, ere it is all broken, beneath the waves
that lash our shore, than let one solitary word escape me, which
might lead you to imagine that even the commands of your
Highness could mould my dreadful destiny to any other shape."</p>

<p>There was no mistaking the expression of the Protector's
countenance; it was that of severe displeasure; for he could
ill brook, at any period, to have his wishes opposed and his
designs thwarted. While Constance was rising from her seat,
Sir Willmott Burrell grasped her arm with fiendish violence,
and extending his other hand towards the door leading to the
closet, where she had left her sleeping father, he exclaimed:</p>

<p>"Then I accuse openly, in the face of the Protector and
this company, Robert Cecil, who stands <i>there</i>, of the murder
of his brother Herbert, and of the murder of Sir Herbert
Cecil's son; and I assert that Hugh Dalton was accessory to
the same!"</p>

<p>A shriek so wild and piercing issued from Constantia's lips
that it rang over the house and terrified all its inmates, who
crowded to the portal, the boundary of which they dared not
pass.</p>

<p>It was little to be wondered that she did shriek. Turning
toward the spot at which the villain pointed, the Protector saw
the half-demented Baronet standing in the door-way. He had
opened the closet, and come forth during the momentary absence
of his attendant, and now stood moping and bowing to
the assembly in a way that would have moved the pity of a
heart of stone.</p>

<p>"Fiend!" shouted the Protector, grasping in his great
anger the throat of Sir Willmott, and shaking him as he had
been a reed&mdash;"'tis a false lie! He is no murderer; and if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span>
he had been, is it before his daughter that ye would speak it!
Hah! I see it all now. Such is the threat&mdash;the lie&mdash;that
gave you power over this excellence." He threw the ruffian
from him with a perfect majesty of resentment. Gross as was
the deed, the Protector condescending to throttle such as Burrell,
the manner of the act was great: it was that of an avenging
angel, not of an angry or impetuous man.</p>

<p>Sir Willmott regained his self-possession, although with
feelings of wounded pride and indignation; fixing his eye upon
Constantia with, if possible, increasing malignity, he spoke:&mdash;</p>

<p>"His Highness much honours his subject; but Mistress
Cecil herself knows that what I have spoken is true&mdash;so does
her father&mdash;and so does also this man! Is it not true, I ask?"</p>

<p>"No! I say it is false&mdash;false as hell!" answered the Buccaneer;
"and if his Highness permits, I will explain."</p>

<p>"You say&mdash;what?" inquired Constantia, her whole countenance
and figure dilating with that hope which had so long
been a stranger to her bosom.</p>

<p>"I say that Robert Cecil is no murderer! Stand forth,
Walter Cecil, and state that within the two last years, you saw
your father in a Spanish monastery; and that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Who is Walter Cecil?" inquired Burrell, struggling as a
drowning man, while losing his last hope of salvation.</p>

<p>"I am <span class="smcap">Walter Cecil</span>!" exclaimed our old acquaintance
Walter; "my <i>nom de guerre</i> is no longer necessary."</p>

<p>"It needed not that one should come from the dead to tell
us that," said the Protector, impatiently; "but there are former
passages we would have explained. What means the
villain by his charge? Speak, Dalton, and unravel us this
mystery."</p>

<p>"It is well known to your Highness, that few loved the
former powers more than Sir Herbert Cecil; and truth to say,
he was wild, and daring, and bad&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Dalton!" exclaimed the young man, in an upbraiding tone.</p>

<p>"Well, young master, I will say no more about it. Gold
is a great tempter, as your Highness knows; and it tempted
yonder gentleman, with whom God has dealt. He is a different
sight to look upon now, to what he was the morning he sought
me to commit a crime, which, well for my own sake, and the
sake of others, I did not commit. He came to me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Mercy! mercy! I claim your Highness' mercy!" said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span>
Constantia, falling on her knees, and holding her hands,
clasped and trembling, above her head. "It is not meet that
the child hear thus publicly of her father's sin! The old man,
your Highness, has not power to speak!"</p>

<p>"Lady," continued Dalton, "he could not deny&mdash;But
my tale will soon be finished, and it will take a load off your
heart, and off the hearts of others. Sir Herbert did not die.
I conveyed him to another land; but the papers&mdash;the instructions
I had received, remained in my possession. Sir Herbert's
wild character&mdash;his fondness for sea-excursions&mdash;his careless
life, led to the belief that he had perished in some freak, in
which he too often indulged. His brother apparently mourned
and sorrowed; but, in time, the dynasty of England changed,
exactly as he would have wished it&mdash;the Commonwealth soon
gave the missing brother's lands to the man who was its friend,
who had fought and laboured in its cause, and seemed to forget
that any one else had any right to the possessions:&mdash;but
the son of the injured remained as a plague-spot to his
sight. I had but too good reason to know how this son of
this elder brother was regarded, and I had learned to love the
lad: he was ever about the beach, and fond of me, poor fellow!
because I used to bring him little gifts from foreign parts&mdash;by
way, I suppose, of a private atonement for grievous
wrong. I took upon myself the removing of that boy to save
him from a worse fate, for I loved him as my own child; and
there he stands, and can say whether my plain speech be true
or false. I was myself a father but a little while before I
spirited him away from a dangerous home to a safe ship. Sir
Robert believed they were both dead, and sorrowed not;
although he compassed only the removal of the brother, yet
the going away of his nephew made his possessions the more
secure; for, as he said, times might change, and the boy be
restored if he had lived. His disappearance made a great stir
at the time; yet there were many went from the land then
and were seen no more. I thought to rear him in my own
line, but he never took kindly to it, so I just let him have his
fling amongst people of his own thinking&mdash;gentry, and the
like&mdash;who knew how to train him better than I did. I kept
Sir Herbert safe enough until the act came out which gave Sir
Robert right and dominion over his brother's land, declaring
the other to have been a malignant, and so forth;&mdash;but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span>
spirit was subdued within the banished man; he was bowed
and broken, and cared nothing for liberty, but took entirely to
religion, and became a monk; and his son, there, has seen him
many a time; and it comforted me to find that he died in the
belief that God would turn all things right again, and that his
child would yet be master of Cecil Place. He died like a good
Christian, forgiving his enemies, and saying that adversity had
brought his soul to God&mdash;more fond of blaming himself than
others. As to Walter, he had a desire to visit this country,
and, to own the truth, I knew that if Sir Robert failed to procure
the pardon I wanted, the resurrection of this youth would
be an argument he could not withstand.</p>

<p>"Perhaps I was wrong in the means I adopted; but I
longed for an honest name, and it occurred to me that Sir
Robert Cecil could be frightened, if not persuaded, into procuring
my pardon. God is my judge that I was weary of my
reckless habits, and panted for active but legal employment. A
blasted oak will tumble to the earth, if struck by a thunderbolt,&mdash;like
a withy. Then my child! I knew that Lady
Cecil cared for her, though, good lady, she little thought, when
she first saw the poor baby, that it was the child of a Buccaneer.
She believed it the offspring of a pains-taking trader, who had
served her husband. She guessed the truth in part afterwards,
but had both piety and pity in her bosom, and did not make
the daughter suffer for the father's sin. I loved the girl!&mdash;But
your Highness is yourself a father, and would not like to
feel ashamed to look your own child in the face. I threatened
Sir Robert to make known all&mdash;and expose these documents&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The Skipper drew from his vest the same bundle of papers
which he had used in that room, almost on that very spot, to
terrify the stricken Baronet, a few months before. Sir Robert
Cecil had remained totally unconscious of the explanations
that had been made, and seemed neither to know of, nor to
heed, the presence of Dalton, nor the important communication
he had given&mdash;his eyes wandering from countenance to
countenance of the assembled group,&mdash;a weak, foolish smile
resting perpetually on his lip; yet the instant he caught a
glimpse of the packet the Buccaneer held in his hand, his memory
returned: he staggered from his daughter&mdash;who, after
her appeal to Cromwell, clung to her father's side, as if heroi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span>cally
resolved to share his disgrace to the last&mdash;and grasped
at the papers.</p>

<p>"What need of keeping them?" said the Protector, much
affected at the scene: "give them to him, give them to him."</p>

<p>Dalton obeyed, and Sir Robert clutched them with the
avidity of a maniac: he stared at them, enwreathed as they
were by his thin, emaciated fingers, and then, bursting into a
mad fit of exulting laughter, fell prostrate on the floor, before
any one had sufficiently recovered from the astonishment his
renewed strength had occasioned, to afford him any assistance.
He was immediately raised by Constantia and his attendants,
and conveyed to his own apartment, still holding fast the
papers, though he gave little other sign of life. There was
another, besides his daughter, who followed the stricken man&mdash;his
nephew Walter.</p>

<p>"It is ill talking of marriage," said Cromwell, as the young
man paused, and requested permission to leave the room,&mdash;"It
is ill talking of marriage when Death stands at the threshold;
but I have little doubt <i>you</i> will be able to obtain the hand
which <i>I</i> could not dispose of. When I first saw you, I expected
to see a different person&mdash;a director of spies&mdash;a chief
of discord&mdash;a master, not a servant. Walter Cecil, although a
bold Cavalier, would hardly have had power to draw me to the
Isle of Shepey, had he not, on board the Fire-fly, chosen to
embrown his face, and carry black ringlets over his own; a
trick, perchance, to set the Protector on a wrong scent. Never
hang y'er head at it, young man&mdash;such things have been
from the beginning, and will be to the end. Methinks that
old oaks stand friends with the party;&mdash;but I quarrel not
with the tree&mdash;if it shielded the worthless Charles at Worcester,
it revealed the true Walter at Queenborough. Yet I
thank God on every account that I was led to believe you one
whose blood I would fain not shed, but would rather protect&mdash;if
that he has the wisdom not to trouble our country. I thank
God that I was brought here to unravel and wind up. A
ruler should be indeed a mortal (we speak it humbly) omnipresent!
As to yonder man&mdash;devil I should rather call him&mdash;he
has, I suppose, no farther threats or terrors to win a
lady's love. Sir Willmott Burrell, we will at least have the
ceremony of your marriage repeated without delay:&mdash;here is
my friend's daughter&mdash;this night&mdash;."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span></p>

<p>"Not to-night," interrupted Zillah; "to-morrow, and not
to-night; I can bear no more to-night."</p>

<p>"Sir <a name="Page_414t" id="Page_414t"></a><a href="#Page_414tn">Willmott</a> Burrell," said Dalton, walking to where he
stood, beaten down and trampled, yet full of poison as an
adder's tooth, "be it known that I pity you:&mdash;your dagger
has been turned into your own heart!&mdash;The human flesh
you bribed me to destroy, lives! What message brought
Jeromio from the ocean?"</p>

<p>Dalton was proceeding in a strain that would have quickly
goaded Burrell to some desperate act; for, as the Buccaneer
went on, he was lashing his passion with a repetition of the injuries
and baseness of his adversary, as a lion lashes himself with
his tail to stimulate his bravery; but the Protector demanded
if Hugh Dalton knew before whom he stood, and dared to brawl
in such presence. Silenced, but not subdued, he retreated, and
contented himself with secret execrations on his enemy.</p>

<p>"We have rendered some justice to-night," said Cromwell,
after striding once or twice the length of the apartment. "Yet
is our task not finished, although the morning watch is come.
Without there! Desire Colonel Jones that he remove Sir
Willmott Burrell to the apartment he before occupied. The
morning sun shall witness the completion of the ceremony
between him and her he has so deeply wronged. We will
then consider the course that justice may point out to us.
Dalton, you are a free man, free to come and free to go, and
to go as soon and where you please. Observe, I said <i>as soon</i>."
Dalton bowed lowly, and moved to raise his daughter from
the spot on which she had crouched by the seat of her beloved
mistress; Robin instinctively moved also.</p>

<p>"Stay!" continued the Protector, "there is yet more to
do. Young man, you must be well aware your act of this
night demands some punishment. The ship which you destroyed&mdash;."
Dalton writhed at the remembrance, and Barbara
half unclosed her gentle lips.</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, I knew the man's affection for
his ship, and I loved him better than the timber; he would
have destroyed me in his anger but for poor Barbara."</p>

<p>"That is nothing to us; at the least, fetters must be your
portion."</p>

<p>Barbara involuntarily sank on her knees, in an attitude of
supplication. Robin knelt also, and by her side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p>

<p>So touching was the scene, that Cromwell smiled while he
laid his hand on her head, and with the other raised the long
chain his daughter had given the modest bower-maiden, and
which had remained suspended from her neck, he threw it
over the shoulders of Robin, so that it encircled them both.</p>

<p>"We are clumsy at such matters," he continued, "but the
Lord bless you! and may every virtuous woman in England
meet with so warm a heart, and so wise a head, to love her
and direct her ways&mdash;though the outward fashioning of the
man be somewhat of the strangest."</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV_II" id="CHAPTER_XIV_II"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Know then, my brethren, heaven is clear,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And all the clouds are gone;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The righteous now shall flourish, and<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Good days are coming on:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come then, my brethren, and be glad,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And eke rejoice with me.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Francis Quarles.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>

<p>Over the happy and the miserable, the guilty and the good,
Time alike passes; though his step may be light or heavy,
according to the feelings of those who watch his progress, still
he pursues, with sure and certain tread, a course upon which
he never turns.</p>

<p>We are about to bid farewell to those who have been our
companions through a long but we trust not a weary path;
and we delay them but for a short space longer to learn how
felt the household of Cecil Place, after the events and excitements
of a day which gave birth to so many marvels, and unravelled
so many mysteries.</p>

<p>We have, however, yet to deal out perfect justice,&mdash;and
would fain tarry a moment to remark how rarely it is that,
even in the sober world of Fact, the wicked finish their course&mdash;and
vengeance has not overtaken. Truly has it been said
that "virtue is its own reward:" as truly has it been added,
that "vice brings its own punishment."</p>

<p>How lightly, and with how deep a blessing, did Constance
Cecil, when the day was breaking, offer up a fervent thanksgiving
to God that her only parent, though deeply sinful in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span>
intent, was free from blood, and, though worn in body, was
sleeping as quietly as a wearied child when its task is ended.
Her mother's spirit seemed to hover over and bless her, and
imagination pictured another by her side who came to share
the blessing&mdash;it was the companion of her childhood, the
chosen, and loved, and trusted of a long and happy and prosperous
after-life.</p>

<p>Constantia pressed her couch; but, with the exception of
the worn and weary Sir Robert, whose existence quivered like
the parting light of an expiring lamp, no eyes slumbered in
Cecil Place. The Lady Frances Cromwell, upon that morning,
took not up the lays of the foolish Waller, but the precious
volume that, in her vanity, she had too often slighted&mdash;she
read therein,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest."</p>

<p>And as she so read, a more calm and settled expression
spread over her features; and after much musing and much
thankfulness, she sought the chamber of her friend. Constantia
was not alone, for, pale and weak, and trembling,&mdash;still
like the aspen which every breeze may agitate,&mdash;the
little Puritan Barbara crouched on an old cushion by the side
of her lady's bed.</p>

<p>It did not escape the Lady Frances, that however thankful
and comforted was Constantia by her release from the terrible
doom of a union with Sir Willmott Burrell, she was deeply
humbled and smitten by the publicity that had been given to
her father's meditated crime, and she skilfully avoided any
allusion to the scene of the night. The feelings of the maiden
were, however, elicited sufficiently to satisfy even the curiosity
of Frances Cromwell, by one of those simple incidents that
speak more eloquently than words. As Barbara sat on the
cushion, she could see into the garden beneath: the window
overhung the very spot where Walter had gathered the wild
rose as he went forth a prisoner, with Major Wellmore, from
the house in which he was already considered a master; and
the simple girl discerned, amid the foliage of the trees, even
Walter himself, whose gaze was fixed upon the casement
above.</p>

<p>"Look, Mistress, look!" she exclaimed.</p>

<p>Lady Frances and Constantia did look both at the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span>
moment, and saw the same sight. They also both at once withdrew
their glance, and, as the eyes of the ladies encountered, a
blush, not of shame, or pride, or anger, overspread the fine
features of Constantia&mdash;it was the pure bright colouring of
assured affection; it said more than if volumes had been
written to express her feelings. If she seemed less dignified,
she looked more lovely than ever: it was as sunshine lending
new warmth and fresh beauty to a landscape, which needed
that alone to vivify and enlighten, to cheer and charm, to
gladden and give life.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" exclaimed Frances, clasping her hands&mdash;"thank
God!&mdash;after all, Constantia, you are but a woman!"</p>

<p>"My dear friend," replied the lady, literally turning on
her couch to hide her blushes, "this is no time to trifle: the
melancholy&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused for want of words: that proneness to dissemble,
which inevitably attends all women who ever were or ever will
be in love, was struggling with her high and truthful nature.
But Constantia was still Constantia, and could not depart from
truth, so as successfully to feign what she did not feel: her
sentence consequently remained unfinished, and Lady Frances
was left at full liberty to draw her own conclusions therefrom,&mdash;a
matter of no great difficulty.</p>

<p>"I have received a letter from my sister Mary," she said,
kindly changing the subject, "and it will please you to know
that my lordly father is inclined to listen to reason, and manifests
a disposition to admit the reasonableness of his daughter
Frances becoming Rich. Beshrew me! but most fathers like
that distinction for their children; only, alas! in this instance,
Rich and riches are not synonymous. What think you of
that? His Highness has not said a word to me on the subject.
There is your prim Barbara smiling. Ah! you too,
I suppose, will soon be saluted as Mistress or Dame Hays.
Fie, fie, Barbara! I thought you had better taste. But never
mind, I will not say a word to his disparagement&mdash;no, nor
suffer one of the court curs to growl at Crisp when he visits
the buttery at Whitehall or Hampton. What have you done
with the Lady Zillah?"</p>

<p>"So please you, madam," replied Barbara, "the Rabbi
would not be separated from his daughter. He seems to think
her only safe under his own eye. So he forced her to lie on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span>
his own bed, and she has fallen, poor lady, into a deep sleep&mdash;and
he sits by her side, sometimes gazing upon a dim old
book, full of strange marks and characters, but more often looking
upon the face of his child, until his eyes fill with tears;
and then he clasps his hands, and mutters, what I know must
be a blessing, it is so earnest; and then, if perchance she
moves and the pillow swells, or the coverlet be disturbed, he
smooths it so gently you would think it was a woman's hand,
and not that of a man. Ah, my lady! love makes all things
gentle."</p>

<p>"I wonder," observed Lady Frances, "will she turn
Christian?"</p>

<p>"She has been a kind nurse to me, in my trouble," replied
the puritan; "but our good preacher says her heart is far from
being humbled. She has a high mind, and is proud of her
tribe. While we were in the cell, Master Fleetword took a
deal of pains with her, and expoundiated most wonderfully for
hours together; but I fear me the seed fell upon stony ground:
for, though she sat still enough, I know she did not listen."</p>

<p>"Where is your father?"</p>

<p>Barbara started at the abruptness of the question, and colouring,
she knew not why, said,</p>

<p>"Please you, my lady, though his Highness at first commanded
him hence, he has graciously suffered him to remain
until to-morrow's noon. Ah, madam!" she continued, sinking
on the ground at Lady Frances's feet, "if you would only,
only remember the promise you made when you gave me this,"&mdash;she
held the clasp of the golden chain towards Lady Frances,&mdash;"and
intercede with him, to whom is given the power of
life and death, to pardon to the uttermost, and suffer Hugh
Dalton to tarry on this island, I would&mdash;I would&mdash;alas!
my lady, I am but a poor girl, and have nothing to give save
blessings, and they shower so upon the heads of greatness that
they must weary and not gladden; but my blessing would come
from the heart, and it is not always, I hear, that the heart
beats when the lips speak. So good, my lady, think upon
your own great father; and think that as great as he have ere
now asked for mercy; and then think upon mine&mdash;mine, who
is as brave, and&mdash;and&mdash;will be as honest as the best man in
all England. Then, gracious madam, it is not from presumption
I speak, but Robin has wit and wisdom, and wit and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span>
wisdom are sometimes needed by those in high places; but he
would lend&mdash;ay, give it all, to serve any one who pleasured
me in a smaller thing than this. I can do nothing; but Robin
is one who can always do much."</p>

<p>When Barbara had pleaded thus far, she could get no farther,
but trembled, so that Lady Frances placed her on her
cushion, and smilingly replied,</p>

<p>"So, for this woodbine-sort of assistance, you would have
me rouse the British lion, who has been in such marvellous
good temper lately that I fear me the wind will shift soon;
but Cromwell, girl, is not one to halve his mercy. I can promise,
not from my influence, but the knowledge of his mind, that
Hugh Dalton will not be banished; nay, I am sure of it. But
see ye there, the helmets are stirring already. Constantia,
your chamber is delightful for a heroine, but a melancholy one
for a curious maiden. Only behold! one can scarcely catch a
glimpse of the court-yard. When I build a castle, I'll construct
a turret with eyes, commonly called windows, all round
it: nothing shall be done in secret!&mdash;Good morn to you,
sweet friend! I can soon find out what the stir is about from
the head of the great staircase."</p>

<p>"Adieu, fair Lady Curiosity," said Constantia, as Lady
Frances tripped with a light step on her <a name="Page_419t" id="Page_419t"></a><a href="#Page_419tn">inquisitive</a> mission:
"I will now go to my father's chamber;" and thither she went,
resolved to perform her duty to the last, though she shuddered
at the remembrance of the crime he had once meditated, and
humbly, earnestly prayed that the sin might be washed away
from his soul.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV_II" id="CHAPTER_XV_II"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>

<div class="block"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">This even-handed justice<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To our own lips.</span>
</div><div class="auright">
<span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br /><br />
</div></div></div>

<p>As the grey and misty twilight brightened into the glowing
and happy morn, there were two men prying about and around
the otherwise deserted cavern of the Gull's Nest Crag.</p>

<p>Nothing is more dreary and lonely to look upon than a scene,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span>
where bustle and traffic have but lately been, changed, as if by
magic, into a place of stillness&mdash;forsaken by those who gave
to it animation and existence which before it knew not, and
may never know again.</p>

<p>Solitude now covered it as with a pall. At the door of the
once noisy and frequented hostelry, instead of the bent but
busy figure of old Mother Hays, two sea-gulls stalked, and
flapped their wings, and screamed, and thrust their bills into
the rude cooking-pots that stood without.</p>

<p>The two persons, who appeared intent upon investigating
the mysteries of the place, could not be seen without bending
over the edge of the topmost cliff. It was then at once perceived
that they were occupied in fulfilling no ordinary or
every-day task. They moved in and out of the lower entrance
like bees intent on forming new cells. For a considerable
time no word was spoken by either: at length the object
they had in view appeared accomplished, and, after climbing
to the highest cliff, they sat down opposite each other, so as to
command a full prospect of both sea and land.</p>

<p>"It was only a little farther on&mdash;about a quarter of a mile
nearer Cecil Place&mdash;that I first set foot on the Isle of Shepey,"
said the younger, "and a precious fright I got&mdash;a fright
that never was clear explained, nor ever will be now, I
guess."</p>

<p>"I little thought matters would have had such an end,"
replied the other. "Gad, I'm hardly paid for the powder of
the train by the few bits I've picked up inside. I couldn't
believe, unless I'd seen it myself, that the place was so cleared
out: except the furs and shawls belonging to the women, there
wasn't the wrapping round my finger of anything worth having.
Well, Hugh had many friends&mdash;I never thought he'd
turn tail."</p>

<p>"Turn tail!" repeated the youth: "who dares to say he
turned tail? If any one repeats that before me, I'll make
free to give him a dose of cold lead without farther ceremony!"</p>

<p>"All our chickens are game-cocks now-a-days!" returned
the elder one, half laughing: "but, Springall, could you
swear that the Skipper and Robin Hays didn't concert it all
together?"</p>

<p>"Let me alone, Jack, and don't put my back up. I'll lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span>
my life, if there was any concerting in it, 'twas between Robin
and the maid Barbara. Well, girls have queer fancies!&mdash;Who'd
ha' thought she'd ha' fancied <a name="Page_421t" id="Page_421t"></a><a href="#Page_421tn">Robin?</a>&mdash;though he's
a brave sound-hearted little fellow; yet who'd ha' thought
she'd have preferred him to&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"To you, I suppose. Lord, Springall, there's no coming
up to the women. Bless ye, I've seen those who loved apes,
and parrots, and puppy-dogs, and took more pride and pleasure
in them than in their own lawful husbands and born children!
What d'ye think o' that? Why, would you believe it? a
girl I loved better than my heart's blood took a fancy to an
old man, and sent me adrift, though I was a likely fellow
then&mdash;ah! different, very different to what I am now;"
and Jack Roupall, leaning his elbows on his knees, that were
wide apart, commenced drawing, with the butt end of his pistol,
figures on the sand, which the wind, whether in anger or
sportiveness, had flung upon the crag. After a lengthened
pause, he looked suddenly up at the youth Springall, who still
sat opposite to him, and said abruptly, "Are you sure you
made no mistake?"</p>

<p>"Am I sure of the sight of my eyes, or the hearing of my
ears?" returned the lad. "I was as close to the troopers as I
am to you, though they saw me not, and their entire talk was
of the Gull's Nest, and how they were all to be down here
soon after sunrise; and a deal of jokes, in their own way, they
passed upon it&mdash;stiff dry jokes, that were as hard to swallow
as a poker."</p>

<p>"Ha, ha!" laughed the smuggler; "how they will pray
when they see the crag dancing in the air! It would be ill
done towards the secret stations of our friends on other parts
of the coast, to let these fellows find the ins and outs of such
a place as this; it would be holding a candle to the devil&mdash;giving
them a guide to lead them on through all their
plans henceforward and for ever. The Gull's Nest shall go
after the Fire-fly. It gives me joy to mar their sport&mdash;their
peeping and prying. But we will not let off the train until
we see them pretty close upon us. The Roundhead rascals
shall have the full benefit of our gay bonfire. 'Ods rot it! what
else could we do, but make a gay ending of it at once. A gay
ending!" he repeated&mdash;"a gay ending! No rock to mark the
spot of so much merriment, so much joviality, so much spoil!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span>
Ah! in a hundred years, few can tell where the watchers of
the Gull's Nest Crag lighted beacon and brand for the free
rovers of the free sea!"</p>

<p>Another pause succeeded the rhapsody of Jack Roupall
and then Springall inquired how it was that he could not
open the strong room where the preacher had been left to his
prayers.</p>

<p>"How it was? why, because I had not the key. And I
am sure there's nothing in it. I was in with the skipper
after the long-legged puritan was out, and I could see only
squashed fruit, broken boxes, and old good-for-nothing rags.
Whatever had been worth moving was moved; but that room
will mount as high as any of them, I warrant me. I laid a
good lot of combustibles to the door. Ah! there was the
gleam of a spear, to my thinking." And he arose as he
spoke, groaning out a curse against Springall the moment after.
"My back&mdash;a murrain upon you and upon me too!&mdash;aches
like the rheumatism from the weight of that old hag's coffin,
which you would have me carry from the Gull's Nest out
yonder, for fear it should be blown up with the crag. What
did it signify if it was, I wonder?"</p>

<p>"You wouldn't like the body of your own mother to go
heavenward after such a fashion, sinner as ye are, would ye,
Jack?"</p>

<p>"They are coming," observed the rover, without heeding
Springall's words, "they are coming."</p>

<p>It was a fine sight to see even a small number of such well-disciplined
soldiers winding their way under the shadow of
the hill nearest the scene of so many adventures.</p>

<p>Roupall and the youth crept stealthily down the cliff by a
secret path; then, with the greatest deliberation, Jack struck
a light, and prepared to fire the train they had connected with
those within the nest, to which we alluded at the commencement
of our narrative; while Springall proceeded to perform a
similar task a little lower down the Crag, towards the window
from whence the preacher, Fleetword, slung the packet which
so fortunately arrived at the place of its destination.</p>

<p>The instant their purpose was effected by a signal agreed
upon between them they quickly withdrew, and sheltered beneath
the shade of a huge rock left bare by the receding tide,
where no injury could befal them. It was well they did so,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span>
for in a moment the report as of a thousand cannon thundered
through the air, and fragments of clay, rock, and shingle fell,
thick as hail, and heavy as millstones, all around.</p>

<p>Immediately after a piercing cry for aid burst upon their
ear, and spread over land and water.</p>

<p>"God of Heaven!" exclaimed Springall, "it is not possible
that any human creature could have been within the
place!" and he stretched himself forward, and looked up to
where the cry was uttered.</p>

<p>The young man, whose locks were then light as the golden
beams of the sun, and whose step was as free as that of the
mountain roe, lived to be very old, and his hair grew white,
and his free step crippled, before death claimed his subject;
he was moreover one acquainted in after years with much
strife and toil, and earned honour, and wealth, and distinction;
but often has he declared that never had he witnessed
any thing which so appalled his soul as the sight he beheld on
that remembered morning. He seized Roupall's arm with
convulsive energy, and dragged him forward, heedless of the
storm of clay and stones that was still pelting around them.
Wherever the train had fired, the crag had been thrown out;
and as there were but few combustibles within its holes, and
the gay sunlight had shorn the flames of their brightness, the
objects that struck the gaze of the lookers on were the dark
hollows vomiting forth columns of black and noisome smoke,
streaked with a murky red.</p>

<p>As the fire made its way according to the direction of the
meandering powder, which Dalton himself had laid in case of
surprise, the earth above reeled, and shook, and sent forth
groans, like those of troubled nature when a rude earthquake
bursts asunder what the Almighty united with such matchless
skill. The lower train that Springall fired had cast forth,
amongst rocks and stones, the mass of clay in which was the
loophole through which Fleetword had looked out upon the
wide sea. Within the chasm thus created was the figure of a
living man. He stood there with uplifted hands, lacking
courage to advance; for beneath, the wreathed smoke and dim
hot fume of the consuming fire told him of certain death; unable
to retreat,&mdash;for the insidious flame had already destroyed
the door which Roupall had failed to move, and danced, like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span>
fiend at play with destruction, from rafter to rafter, and beam
to beam, of the devoted place.</p>

<p>"Ha!" exclaimed the reckless rover, with a calmness which
at the moment made his young companion upbraid him as the
most merciless of human kind; "ha! I wonder how he got
there? I heard that some how or other he was in limbo at
Cecil Place; he wanted to make an escape, I suppose, and so
took to the old earth. Ay, ay! look your last on the bright
sun, that's laughing at man and man's doings&mdash;you'll never
mount to where it shines, I trow."</p>

<p>Sir Willmott Burrell&mdash;for Roupall had not been deceived
either as to the identity of the person, or the motive which
led him to seek refuge in the Gull's Nest&mdash;had effected an
almost miraculous escape, considering how closely he was
guarded, a few hours before, and secreted himself in the very
chamber where he had left poor Fleetword to starvation, little
imagining that he was standing on the threshold of retributive
justice. He had caught at flight, even so far, as a
sort of reprieve; and was forming plans of future villany at
the very moment the train was fired. God have mercy on all
sinners! it is fearful to be cut off without time for repentance.
Sir Willmott had none. In the flower of manhood, with a
vigorous body and a skilful mind, he had delighted in evil,
and panted for the destruction of his fellows. His face, upon
which the glare of the garish fire danced in derision of his
agony, was distorted, and terrible to look upon: brief as was
the space allotted to him, each moment seemed a year of torture.
As the flames rose and encircled their victim, his cries
were so dreadful, that Springall pressed his hands to his ears,
and buried his face in the sand; but Roupall looked on to the
last, thinking aloud his own rude but energetic thoughts.</p>

<p>"Ah! you do not pray, as I have seen some do! Now,
there come the Ironsides," he added, as those grave soldiers
drew up on a projection of the opposite cliff, which, though
lower than the ruined Gull's Nest, commanded a view of the
cavern and its sole inmate; "there they come, and just in
time to see your departure for your father the devil's land.
You don't even die game! What an end one of those Ingy
chiefs would ha' made of it on such a funeral pile; but some
people have no feeling&mdash;no pride&mdash;no care for what looks
well!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p>

<p>At that instant the Preacher Fleetword, who had accompanied
the troops, stood a little in advance of the Protector
himself. Cromwell had a curiosity to inspect the resort of
the Buccaneers; and, perfectly unconscious of Sir Willmott's
escape, was petrified with horror and astonishment on seeing
him under such appalling circumstances; the tumbling crags&mdash;the
blazing fire&mdash;the dense smoke mounting like pillars of
blackness into the clear and happy morning sky&mdash;and, above
all, the agonised scorching figure of the wretched knight,
writhing in the last throes of mortal agony!</p>

<p>"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" exclaimed Fleetword:
"Pray, pray!" he continued, elevating his voice, and
hoping, with a kindliness of feeling which Sir Willmott had
little right to expect, that he might be instrumental in directing
the wretched man's attention to a future state. "Pray!
death is before you, and you cannot wrestle with it! Pray!
even at the eleventh hour! Pray!&mdash;and we will pray with
you!"</p>

<p>The Preacher uncovered: the Protector and his soldiers stood
also bareheaded on the cliff. But not upon the prayers of
brave and honest soldiers was the spirit of active villany and
cowardly vice to ascend to the judgment seat of the Almighty&mdash;before
one word of supplication was spoken, a column of
flame enwreathed the remaining portion of the crag: it was
of such exceeding brightness that the soldiers blinked thereat;
and, when its glare was past, they looked upon a smouldering
heap at the foot of the cliffs: it was the only monument of
"The Gull's Nest Crag;" and the half-consumed body of
Sir Willmott Burrell was crushed beneath it.</p>

<p>While the attention of Cromwell and his friends was fixed
upon the desperate end of the miserable man, Roupall was
crawling under a ledge of black rock, that stretched to a considerable
distance into the sea, where he calculated on remaining
safe until high tide drove him to another burrow. Not
so Springall: the moment he saw the Protector on the cliff,
he appeared to have forgotten every thing connected with disguise
or flight; he no longer sought concealment, but hastened
to present himself in front of the soldiers, who still remained
uncovered, expecting, doubtless, that such an event would be
followed by exposition or prayer.</p>

<p>Nothing daunted, he advanced with a steady and deter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span>mined
step, without so much as removing his hat, until he
stood directly opposite to Cromwell, whose countenance, under
the influence of awe and horror, had something in it more
than usually terrific. The clear blue eye of the young intrepid
boy encountered the grey, worn, and bloodshot orb of
the great and extraordinary man.</p>

<p>For an instant, a most brief instant, eye rested upon eye&mdash;then
the young seaman's dropped, and it would seem that his gay
and lofty head bent of itself, the hat was respectfully removed,
and he confessed to himself that he trembled in the presence of
the mysterious being.</p>

<p>"We would not quench the spirit," said the Protector,
addressing Fleetword, "but let your prayer be short&mdash;a
word in season is better than a sermon out of season. We
have somewhat to investigate touching the incendiaries by
land as well as sea."</p>

<p>For the first time in his life Springall considered that a
prayer might not be of wearisome length. There he stood, as
if nailed to the same spot, while the smoke of the Gull's Nest
ascended, and the soldiers remained with their helmets in
their hands.</p>

<p>Cromwell manifested an occasional impatience, but only by
moving first on one leg, then on the other; which, however,
escaped the observation of Fleetword, who most certainly became
a more dignified and self-important person ever after the
hour when he was "permitted to speak in the presence of the
ruler in the New Jerusalem."</p>

<p>His address was brief and emphatic; and upon its conclusion
the Protector commanded Springall to advance.</p>

<p>"It appears to us that you had something to communicate."</p>

<p>"I believe I made a mistake," replied the boy, "I took
you&mdash;your Highness, I should say&mdash;for one Major Wellmore."</p>

<p>"We know you to be a faithful watchman, but it remains
to be proved if you are an honest witness. Canst tell how came
about this business, and how Sir Willmott Burrell escaped,
and took refuge there?"</p>

<p>"It was always settled, please your Highness, that, if any
thing happened, whoever could was to fire off the trains,
which were always ready laid, to make an ending when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span>
needed: we little thought that there was any living being
within the nest; but Sir Willmott had access to many of the
cells, being as deep in their secrets as other resorters to this
place&mdash;only he never had the bravery of the free trade about
him, seeing he was far from honest."</p>

<p>Springall observed not the warning finger of Robin Hays,
nor heard the murmured sentence of caution that fell upon his
ear from the lips of Walter Cecil. Although he had assumed
an attitude of daring, his whole thoughts were fixed on the
Protector. He was proceeding in the same strain, when
Cromwell interrupted him.</p>

<p>"Peace, youngster! it is ill from one who has committed
evil, like yourself, to speak evil of the living, much less the
dead;&mdash;it was you, we take it, who reduced this place to
destruction?"</p>

<p>"Please your Highness, I did."</p>

<p>"You and another?"</p>

<p>"Well, sir, there was another: but he's gone&mdash;no use in
trying to find him, he's away. If," added the young man,
with his usual recklessness, "there should be punishment for
destroying a wasp's nest, your Highness shall see that I will
bear it as well as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The Protector again interrupted the youth's eloquence by
adding, "As well as you did the hanging over yonder bay?
No, no&mdash;we can discriminate, by God's blessing, between the
young of the plundering fox and the cub of a lion: both are
destructive, but the one is mean and cowardly: the other&mdash;it
shall be our care to train the other to nobler purposes."</p>

<p>Springall raised his eyes, almost for the first time, from the
ground, and started at seeing his friends standing on a level
with the Protector. Robin's cheek was blanched, and his ken
wandered over the blazing gulf which had swallowed up the
dwelling of his early years.</p>

<p>Springall, with the quickness of feeling that passes from
kind heart to kind heart, without the aid of words, sprang
towards him, and catching his arm, exclaimed,</p>

<p>"Your mother's body! it is safe, safe, Robin, under the
dark tree, by the cairn stones. Surely I would not let it be
so destroyed."</p>

<p>Cromwell's veneration for his own mother was one of the
most beautiful traits in his character; from that instant the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span>
Protector of England took the boy Springall unto his heart:
there was something in common between them&mdash;out of such
slight events are destinies moulded.</p>

<p>"Your Highness," said Walter, whom we must now distinguish
as <span class="smcap">Walter Cecil</span>, "will pardon one who is indebted
to you, not only for a restored fortune, but for his
hopes of happiness. Your Highness will, I trust, pardon me
for so soon becoming a suitor:&mdash;that boy&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Shall be cared for&mdash;it pleased the Almighty that Major
Wellmore encountered more than one brave heart and trusty
hand in this same Isle of Shepey. After a time we trust to
show you and your cousin-bride, when she visits her god-mother,
how highly we esteem your friendship; and we trust,
moreover, that the awful lesson of retributive justice, it has
graciously pleased the Lord to write in palpable letters of fire,
will be remembered by all those who hear of Hugh Dalton
and the Fire-fly. Great as is the power given into our keeping,
we would not have dared to execute such awful judgment
as that which has fallen upon the man of many sins. And
behold, also, by the hands of the ungodly righteous punishment
has been dealt unto the sticks and stones that have long given
to rapine most unworthy shelter. The wheat, too, mark ye,
young sir!&mdash;the wheat has been divided&mdash;glory be to God!
for it is his doing. The wheat has been divided from the
tares&mdash;and from amid the lawless and the guilty have come
forth some who may yet take seats among the faithful in
Israel."</p>


<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CONCLUDING_CHAPTER" id="CONCLUDING_CHAPTER"></a>CONCLUDING CHAPTER.</h2>

<p>Twelve years&mdash;twelve eventful years&mdash;had passed, and, ere
our work is done, we must entreat our readers to visit with
us, once again, the old Isle of Shepey. The thoughtless,
good-tempered, dissipated, extravagant, ungrateful, unprincipled
Charles, had been called by the sedate, thinking, and
moral people of England to reign over them. But with English
whim, or English wisdom, we have at present nought to
do; we leave abler and stronger heads to determine, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span>
reviewing the page of history, whether we are or are not a
most change-loving people&mdash;lovers of change for the sake of
change.</p>

<p>Our business is with an aged man, seated, on a pleasant
evening of the year 1668, under a noble oak, whose spreading
branches shadowed a brook that babbled at his feet.</p>

<p>The beams of the setting sun were deepening the yellow tints
of yet early autumn, and many of the trees looked as if steeped
in liquid gold. In the distance, the ocean, quiet, calm, unruffled,
was sleeping beneath the sober sky, and not a breeze
wafted its murmurs to the little streamlet by the side of which
that old man sat. He was but one of a group; four healthy
and handsome children crowded around him, watching, with
all the intense hope and anxiety of that happy age, the progress
of his work. He was occupied, as grandfathers often
are, in constructing a toy for his grandchildren. The prettiest
of the party was a dark-eyed rosy girl of about four, perhaps
five&mdash;for her countenance had more intelligence than generally
belongs to either age, while her figure was slight and
small, small enough for a child not numbering more than three
years: she, too, was employed&mdash;stitching, with a long awkward
needle, something which looked very like the sail of a
baby-boat. A boy, somewhat older than herself, was twisting
tow into cordage, while the eldest, the man of the family,
issued his directions, or rather his commands, to both, in the
customary style of lads when overlooking their juniors. The
next to him was probably grandpapa's especial pet, for he knelt
at the old man's knee, watching patiently, and taking good
note, how he secured the principal mast steadily in the centre
of the mimic vessel, it had been his kind task to frame for the
youngsters' amusement.</p>

<p>It must not be forgotten that a very pretty spaniel crouched
at the little maid's feet, and ever and anon lifted its mild gentle
eyes to the countenance of its mistress.</p>

<p>"Con," said the eldest boy, "you are making those stitches
as long as your own little fingers; and you must remember,
that if the work is not done neatly, the wind may get into the
turnings and throw the ship on her beam-ends."</p>

<p>"Grandfather!" exclaimed the child, holding up her work
with an imploring look, "be those stitches too long? If you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span>
say so, grandfather, I will take them all out, because you
know."</p>

<p>"They will do very nicely indeed, Conny," replied the old
man, with an approving smile; <a name="Page_430t" id="Page_430t"></a><a href="#Page_430tn">"and</a> as for you, Master Walter,
I wish that your work was always done as well as your sister's.
Bless her! how like her mother she is!"</p>

<p>"I wish I was like my mother too," said Walter, "for
then you would love me."</p>

<p>"Boys and girl, I love you all, and thank God that, in these
bad times, you are as good as you are! But, Watty, you
must never think of the sea; you were not intended for a
sailor, or you would not talk of wind getting into the stitchings
of a topsail, and throwing the ship on her beam-ends&mdash;ha,
ha!"</p>

<p>The proud boy turned blushingly away, and began playing
with, or rather teazing, a very old nondescript dog, who was
lying comfortably coiled up on the youngest lad's pinafore,
under shelter of the grey stone which the grandfather used as
his seat.</p>

<p>"Wat will be a soldier," said the second boy, whose name
was Hugh; "his godpapa, Sir Walter, says he shall. But
you will teach me to be a sailor before you die, and then I
may live to be as great as the great man you and father talk
about, the brave Blake. Oh! how proud I should be if you
could live to see that day," he continued, his bright eyes dancing
at the anticipation of future glory. "And you may, dear
grandfather, for mother says that Crisp is older now for a dog
than you are for a man. Watty, you had better not teaze
Crisp, for he has three teeth left."</p>

<p>"Three!" interrupted little Con, whose fine name of
Constantia had been diminished to the familiar appellation&mdash;"three!
he has four and a half and a little piece, for I
opened his mout and counted them myself."</p>

<p>"When do you mean to speak plain, and be a lady, Miss
Con?"</p>

<p>The child looked into her brother's face, and laughed a gleesome
laugh, one of those burstings of a joyous heart that
come, we know not how, but never come after the dancing
pulse of youth changes into a measured time, when we look
upon the dial's hand, and note that hours are passing.</p>

<p>"Grandfather," said Hugh, when the mast was fairly esta<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span>blished,
and the rigging properly arranged, "may I call my
vessel the 'Firefly?'"</p>

<p>From whence came the rich warm blood that in a moment
suffused the old man's cheek, as his unconscious grandchild
pronounced the name of his darling, his long-lost, but not
forgotten ship? He grasped the boy's arm with the energy
of former times, and shook him as he never thought to have
shaken the child of his own Barbara.</p>

<p>"Where heard you those words&mdash;where, I say?" he demanded
of his namesake, while the boy cowered, and the
other children stood aghast.</p>

<p>"I heard that wild old man who died in our barn last week,
although mother made him so comfortable, and you and father
were so kind to him, say that was the name of a ship you
once had," sobbed little Hugh: "and I only thought I should
like to call mine after it."</p>

<p>"And was that indeed all?" inquired the aged Buccaneer,
relaxing his grasp, but still looking into the boy's ingenuous
countenance, as if he expected some evil tidings.</p>

<p>"It was all that I understood," replied the child, now
weeping from pain and terror, "except that I remember he
asked to be buried at <a name="Page_431t" id="Page_431t"></a><a href="#Page_431tn">East-Church</a>, because that was nearer
what he called the Gull's Nest Crag than the old church of
Minster."</p>

<p>"Poor Jack!&mdash;poor Jack Roupall!" exclaimed Dalton, forgetting
his momentary displeasure, and musing aloud upon the
end of his ever reckless follower&mdash;"Poor Jack! The nut <i>had</i>
been good, fresh, sweet, wholesome, though the rind was rough
and bitter; it was the canker that destroyed it: and I should
have been as bad&mdash;as blighted&mdash;lost&mdash;but for my own
sweet child." And then Hugh Dalton's eye fell upon the
pouting boy, whose arm he had, in the anguish of his remembrance,
pressed too roughly, and he caught him to his bosom,
and blessed him with all his heart and soul.</p>

<p>Little Con crept round, and, seeing where her brother's
arm was still red, held it to her grandfather's lip, saying,</p>

<p>"Kiss, kiss it, and make it well."</p>

<p>The old man did as that child in her simplicity directed;
and, when she again looked upon it, there was more than one
tear glistening on the fair firm flesh.</p>

<p>"Let us call her 'King Charles,'" exclaimed the eldest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span>
boy, as the gallant little vessel moved down the stream; while
the children, who not ten minutes before were trembling with
alarm at their grandfather's displeasure, now, with the happy
versatility of youthful spirits, shouted gaily at the ship's progress
over the unrippled waters.</p>

<p>"You will call it by no such name," said Dalton gravely.
"Yonder comes your mother, and she or your father can best
christen your little ship."</p>

<p>The old man, who had launched their fairy boat, turned towards
where once Cecil Place had stood. From some peculiar
feeling in the bosoms of Sir Walter and Lady Cecil, for which
it would not be difficult to account, only a portion of the old
structure remained&mdash;sufficient, and just sufficient, to lodge
Robin, and Robin's wife, and Robin's father-in-law, and
Robin's children. The fine old gateway was fast crumbling
to decay, and, indeed, it was well known that a kindly sentiment
towards the Buccaneer decided Sir Walter on keeping
even so much of the place standing, as the old man's only wish
now was to die in the Isle of Shepey; and it will be readily
believed that Hugh Dalton's wishes were laws to the family
of Cecil. The trees had in many places been levelled, and the
only spot which remained perfectly untouched in the gardens
was one called "The Fairy Ring." The neighbouring peasantry
believed that it was hallowed by some remembrance of
which both Lady Cecil and Barbara partook; for the latter
tended every herb and flower therein with more than common
care&mdash;with perfect devotion. Did we say there was but one
spot cherished? faithless historians that we are! there was
another&mdash;a rustic temple; and, about ten years before the
period of which we now treat, something resembling an altar
had been erected therein, with a quaint device carved in white
stone, a braid of hair encircling two hearts, and a rhyme, or,
as it was then called, a posy, the words of which are not recorded,
but were said to have been written by Lucy Hutchinson, as a
compliment to her friend Constantia Cecil.</p>

<p>The old man, as we have said, turned towards Cecil Place,
which then presented only the appearance of a small and
picturesque dwelling. Issuing thence were two persons whom
we may at once introduce as the manikin, Robin Hays, and the
little Puritan, Barbara Iverk, of our story. Manikin, indeed!
He of the gay pink doublet, silken hose, and plume hat,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span>
would little thank us for the term! He was rather over than
under-dressed, more fine than might be expected in a country
gentleman in so lonely an island; but it was evident he loved
finery, and loved to deck his own person: his long black hair
curled naturally and gracefully over his shoulders; his eyes had
more to do, during latter years, with love and home, than with
hate and adventure; consequently they sparkled with pure and
kindly feeling; and if sometimes sarcasm lighted its beacon
within their lids, it was quickly extinguished by the devoted
affection and gratitude of his right excellent heart. His figure
appeared much less disproportioned than when first we saw
him taunted into fury in his mother's hostelry by poor Jack
Roupall's ill-timed jests on his deformity: he was much
stouter; and the full cavalier dress was better calculated to
hide any defects of person, than the tight fitting vests of the
bygone Roundheads, who looked to every inch of cloth with a
carefulness altogether scouted by their more heedless successors.
He had a free and open air, and a smile of dazzling
brightness. What can we say of Barbara? Female beauty is
seldom stationary; there is no use in disguising the fact, that
after twenty&mdash;dear, sweet, fascinating twenty! the freshness
of the rose is gone. We have said freshness&mdash;<i>not</i> fragrance.
Fragrance to the rose, is what the soul is to the
body&mdash;an imperishable essence, that lasts after the petals
have meekly dropped, one by one, upon their mother-earth.
A blessing upon the fragrance of sweet flowers! and a thousand
blessings upon the power that gifted their leaves with such
a dowry! Oh, it partakes of heaven to walk into the pastures
and inhale the goodness of the Lord, from the myriad field-flowers
that gem the earth with beauty! And then in sickness!
What, what is so refreshing as the perfume of sweet
plants? We speak not of the glazed and costly things that
come from foreign lands, but of the English nosegay&mdash;(how
we love the homely word!)&mdash;the sweet briar, lavender, cowslip,
violet, lily of the valley, or a sprig of meadow sweet, a
branch of myrtle, a tuft of primroses, or handful of wild
thyme! Such near the couch of sickness are worth a host of
powdered doctors! Again we say, a blessing on sweet flowers!
And now for one who loved them well, and learnt much
wisdom "from every leaf that clothed her native hills."
Barbara was no longer the slight, delicate girl, tripping with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span>
an orderly but light step to do the behests of those she loved;
but a sober, diligent, affectionate matron, zealous in the discharge
of her duty, patient in supporting pain, whether of mind
or body; a sincere Christian, a kind mistress, a gentle daughter,
a wise mother, but, above all, a devoted, trusting wife,
still looking upon Robin&mdash;her Robin, as the English Solomon,&mdash;a
system we advise all wives to follow&mdash;when they can.
The manner in which this truly pious woman yielded to all her
husband's whims was almost marvellous&mdash;one of the miracles
of that miracle-worker&mdash;<span class="smcapc">LOVE</span>! With the simple, yet discriminating
tact, of itself a gift from nature, which no earthly
power can either bestow or teach, she understood the wishes
of Robin almost before he was himself acquainted with his
own thoughts. And had she been on her death-bed, that excellent
creature could have declared before Him, to whom all
things are known, that "God and her husband" had been her
true heart's motto.</p>

<p>Even Robin's weaknesses were hallowed, if not cherished
things&mdash;she innocently catered to his personal vanity, for she
really loved to see him well appointed; and she avoided every
thing bordering on gaiety of dress, manner, or society, because
she felt that jealousy was one of his infirmities; thus by never
arousing his evil passions, their very existence was forgotten,
and the violent, capricious Ranger would have been hardly recognized
(except by his very intimates), as the self-satisfied,
and somewhat important manager of Sir Walter Cecil's estates.</p>

<p>As Robin and Barbara drew near their father and the
children, they perceived a Cavalier well mounted, and attended
by two serving men, also on horseback, winding along the hill
path, or road, as it was called; and the younger dog&mdash;by the
way a daughter of our old acquaintance Blanche&mdash;gave notice
to the little mariners of the approach, by bristling her silken
hair and rounding her flapping ears, while she barked long and
loudly at the unusual arrival.</p>

<p>The Buccaneer shaded his eyes with his hand and looked
out. Robin jerked his hat a little more on one side, while
Barbara drew the Flanders lace of her silken hood more closely
round her face.</p>

<p>"It is a Court Cavalier," exclaimed <i>Master Hays</i>, as he
was respectfully termed by his associates, "with two attendants
and a dog; beshrew me! but a noble dog from foreign<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span>
parts; some friend of our kind master is that gentleman. One
would think he was reconnoitring, so earnestly does he look out
from place to place. Father," he continued, drawing towards
Dalton, "do you note how he peers out yonder, towards where
once&mdash;you understand me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I do," replied the old man, "I do note it; and I note
also that yon same Cavalier is no other than one we both knew
well. There! he sees us&mdash;his hat is off&mdash;he hails us right
joyfully. Know you not the bold brow, and the bright eye&mdash;blue,
blue as the waters and the heavens he has so long looked
upon? Off with ye'r hats, my boys," he added to the children;
"and, Robin, is yours nailed to your head, that it
answers not his signal?&mdash;it is the young sea captain of
whom, even here, we have heard and read so much. It is
Springall!"</p>

<p>And so it was; distinguished by the Protector at the very
moment when to be so distinguished makes a man's fortune,
the bold intrepid boy quickly ripened into the able and experienced
seaman. His promotion was rapid, because his
talents were appreciated&mdash;and, after the death of Cromwell,
he had been too much occupied with England's enemies at
sea, to suffer from the moral blight of Charles's court on
shore.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>"Now, Springall&mdash;I love to call you by that name," said
the Buccaneer, "though you have taken your old one, and
made it even more honoured than it was before,&mdash;the evening
has closed in&mdash;the children a-bed&mdash;God bless them!
We will draw nearer round our cheerful hearth, and talk of
days long gone. Barbara, let's have some fresh logs on the
fire; and now, for past and present times."</p>

<p>"I am a bad hand at a long yarn&mdash;you know I always
was so, captain,"&mdash;said the naval officer, smiling, "and the
news of poor Jack's death has damped my canvass. I always
thought he'd make a queer end of it&mdash;so fond of plunder&mdash;so
careless&mdash;so unprincipled&mdash;but brave, brave to the backbone."</p>

<p>"Do you remember what he dared, by way of adventure,
not a hundred miles from this; when Major Wellmore and
Walter De Guerre were masquing it here so gaily?" inquired
Robin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ay, ay! But he and Grimstone were both half-seas over,
or they'd have hardly ventured it:&mdash;poor Grim paid the
penalty."</p>

<p>"And deserved it too," added Robin. "He whom they
assaulted was a wonder&mdash;a being that will serve future ages
to talk about, when the rulers of the present day are either
execrated or forgotten. Marry! but it makes one's head swim
to think of the warm blood and true that has been spilled and
wasted to raise up a throne for obscenity and folly! Chambering
and wantonness walk together as twin-born, along the
very halls where Cromwell, and Ireton, and Milton, and&mdash;my
head's too hot to recollect their names; but they are
graven on my heart, as men who made England a Queen
among the nations."</p>

<p>"Then their Popery plots!" chimed in the Buccaneer;
"the innocent blood that has flooded the scaffold, as if the
earth was thirsty for it&mdash;and upon what grounds? the evidence,
I hear, of one villain, supported by the evidence of
another! I grieve for one thing, truly&mdash;that I was ever instrumental
in forwarding the King's views. Robin said a true
word in jest the other day, that men as well as puppies were
born blind, only it takes a much longer period to open our
eyes, than those of our four-footed friends."</p>

<p>"So it does," said Springall, laughing; "that was one of
Robin's wise sayings. Barbara!&mdash;I beg your pardon,&mdash;Mistress
Hays&mdash;do you think him as wise as ever?"</p>

<p>"I always thought him wise; but I know it now," she replied,
smiling.</p>

<p>"Sit ye down, Barbara," said Robin, "and our friend here
will tell you how much he admires our children; they are fine,
healthy, and, though I say it, handsome&mdash;straight withal&mdash;straight
as Robin Hood's own arrow; and I do bless God for
that&mdash;for that especially! I would rather have seen them
dead at my feet than&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Now, God forgive you, Rob! so would not I. I should
have loved them as well, had they been crooked as&mdash;" interrupted
his wife.</p>

<p>"Their father!"</p>

<p>"For shame, Robin!"</p>

<p>Robin looked at Barbara and laughed, but turned away his
head; and then he looked a second time, and saw that a deep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span>
red hue had mounted to his wife's cheek, while a tear stood
in her eye; and he forgot the stranger's presence, and converted
the tear to a gentle satisfied smile, by a kind and affectionate
kiss. How little tenderness, how little, how very little,
does it take to constitute the happiness of a simple mind!</p>

<p>"There was a strange long preacher here, ages ago," inquired
Springall, filling his silver cup with sherris; "he
surely did not migrate with the higher powers?"</p>

<p>"No!" replied Dalton, whose eyes had been fixed upon the
burning logs, as if recapitulating the events of former days;
"he was a staunch and true-hearted Puritan, apt to take wrong
notions in tow, and desperately bitter against Papistry, which
same bitterness is a log I never could read, seeing that the best
all sects can accomplish is to act up to the belief they have.
But, as I have said, he was true-hearted, and never recovered
the tale we heard, as to the way in which the new directors
insulted the remains of one whom they trembled even to look
at in his lifetime. He died off, sir, like an autumn breeze,
chilly and weak, but praying, and thankful that God was so
good as to remove him from the blight of the Philistines, who
covered the earth as thickly as the locusts overspread the land
of Egypt."</p>

<p>"I never did, nor ever can believe," said Robin, "it was
permitted that such cravens should insult the body of so great
a soul. The Protector wished to be buried on the field of
Naseby, and something tells me he had his wish."</p>

<p>"Your politics changed as well as mine!" replied the sea-captain;
"what cavaliers we were in the days of our youth&mdash;heh,
Commandant!"</p>

<p>"It is very odd, Springall," replied the old Skipper; "but
somehow, my heart is too full for words; I seem to be living
my life over again; and but now could have sworn I saw poor
Sir Robert, as I saw him last, clutching those dreaded papers.
What a night that was, and what a day the next!"</p>

<p>"And the poor Lady Zillah, when she heard of Sir Willmott's
end!" said Barbara. "She spoke no word, she made
no scream; but her trouble came quickly, and hard and bitter
it was; and the child her hope rested on breathed no breath&mdash;there
was no heir to the house of Burrell; and she and her
father passed from the land, and were seen no more."</p>

<p>"Seen no more, certainly; but many were the jewels and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span>
costly the tirings she sent from foreign parts to my lady's firstborn,"
continued Robin.</p>

<p>"And to me she sent baubles,&mdash;not baubles either," added
Barbara, "but things too costly for one in my state. Her last
gift was the most precious in my sight&mdash;a gold cross, and
along the top these words&mdash;'Thy God shall be my God;'
and down the centre&mdash;'Thy people my people!' It gave
me great consolation; it was like a token of resignation and
peace, and a wonderful working of God's providence." And
after she had so said, she went out of the room, to conceal the
emotion she always felt when speaking of the Jewish lady.</p>

<p>"So it was undoubtedly," rejoined Robin, who had not
noted Barbara's departure.</p>

<p>"Despite your bravery, Master," said the seaman, "I
think you have got a touch of the past times yourself; I have
not heard the breath of an oath from either?"</p>

<p>"Hush!" replied Robin, looking round the room, and right
pleased to find that Barbara was absent: "were it only to
avoid giving her pain, it would ill become either of us to blaspheme
Him in whom we trust."</p>

<p>"And so you say," commenced Dalton, uniting the thread
of the discourse, which had been broken, "that Sir Walter
and Lady Cecil are seldom seen at court? I heard this before,
but not for certain."</p>

<p>"Seldom, you may well say," returned Springall; "the
king presented Lady Castlemaine to the Lady Constantia, at
one of the drawing-rooms; and our right noble dame declared
it was the last she would ever attend. It was said that the
king spoke to Sir Walter about it; and I think it likely, as he
knew him abroad so well. And Sir Walter was even more
high on the matter than his lady had been; and the king jested,
and said it was only the court fashion; to which Sir Walter
returned for answer, that, however it might be the court
fashion, it was scarce courtly to present an immodest to a modest
woman. With that the king chafed, and said he supposed
Lady Constantia's friendship for Dame Frances Russell was
stronger than her loyalty, for she regarded Cromwell's daughter,
both as <span class="smcap">Rich</span> and <span class="smcap">Russell</span>, more than she did his favour.
And Sir Walter, making a low bow, replied that Lady Constantia
had little thought to displease her king by her attachment
to a lady who had once been honoured by the offer of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span>
hand. Upon which the king bit his lip, turned upon his heel,
and spoke no farther word to Sir Walter Cecil."</p>

<p>"Good! good! good!" exclaimed Robin with manifest
delight, chuckling and rubbing his hands, "that <i>was</i> good!
How it warms my heart when an honest subject speaks to a
king as man to man, feeling he has no cause to dread his
frown or court his smile. Brave! brave, Sir Walter! There
is a moral dignity, a fearlessness in truth, that makes one not
tread&mdash;not tread, mind ye, but spurn the earth he walks
upon. If we would not be of the earth, earthy, but of the
heavens, heavenly, we must be independent in thought and
action! Brave, brave Sir Walter!"</p>

<p>"Master Robin," said the captain, looking earnestly in his
countenance, and half-inclined to smile at his enthusiasm&mdash;"Master
Robin, <i>that</i>'s not the court fashion."</p>

<p>"D&mdash;n the court!" shouted the Ranger; then suddenly
checking himself, he added, turning to his wife, whose return
he had not heeded,&mdash;"I beg your pardon, my dear Barbara,&mdash;it
was his fault, not mine. Nay, I have said nothing half
so wicked this long, long time. Come, tell me, did you see
Sir Walter's children, Captain? Oliver, he is the first-born,
a noble boy? Then,&mdash;I forget their names; but I know
there is neither a Herbert nor a Robert among them. Alas!
there are good reasons why it should so be. I think Richard
Cromwell stood godfather to the eldest."</p>

<p>"Richard Cromwell!" repeated Springall, in a tone of
contempt.</p>

<p>"He was wise, though; he felt that he had not his father's
talents, consequently could not maintain his father's power,"
observed Robin.</p>

<p>"Master Hays," inquired Springall, wisely avoiding any
topic likely to excite political difference, "you are an oracle,
and can tell me what has become of my worthy friend, that
most excellent compounder of confections, Solomon Grundy?"</p>

<p>"Poor Solomon!" replied Robin, "he accompanied the
family after Sir Robert's death,&mdash;which was lingering enough,
to set forth more brightly the virtues of both daughter and
nephew,&mdash;to London, and was choked by devouring too hastily
a French prawn! Poor Solomon! it was as natural for him
so to die as for a soldier to fall on the field of battle."</p>

<p>"So it was," replied the seaman; "but having discussed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span>
the events and the persons with whom we had most to do in
past years, let us, before entering on other subjects, fill a
bumper to the health of my long cherished, and, despite his
faults, my trusty beloved friend&mdash;the <span class="smcap">Old Buccaneer</span>!
Much has he occupied my thoughts, and it joys me to find
him, and leave him, where an old man ought to be&mdash;in the
bosom of his true and beautiful family. We have all faults,"
continued the officer, somewhat moved by the good sherris
and his own good feeling&mdash;"for it's a well-written log that
has no blots; but hang it, as I said before, I never could spin
a yarn like my friend Robin here, either from the wheel, which
I mean to typify the head&mdash;or the distaff, which, be it understood,
signifies the heart: So here goes&mdash;" and, with a
trembling hand, and a sparkling eye, the generous Springall
drained the deep tankard, to the health of his first sea friend.</p>

<p>"It is not seemly in woman to drink of strong waters or
glowing wine," said Barbara, whose tearful eyes rested upon
the time-worn features of her father: "but, God knows, my
heart is often so full of grateful thanks, that I lack words to
speak my happiness; and I have need of constant watchfulness
to prevent the creature from occupying the place of the Creator.
My father has sometimes hours of bitterness, yet I bless God
he is not as a brand consumed in the burning, but rather as
gold purified and cleansed by that which devoureth our impurities,
but maketh great that which deserveth greatness.
As to Robin&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Don't turn me into a fable, wife!" exclaimed Robin,
playfully interrupting her:&mdash;"I am, in my own proper person,
an ?sop as it is. There has been enough of all this for
to-night: we will but pledge another cup to the health of Sir
Walter, the Lady Constance, and their children&mdash;and then
to bed; and may all sleep well whose hearts are innocent as
yours, Barbara! and I hope I may add without presumption,
purified as mine. You see, Springall, the earth that nourishes
the rose may in time partake of its fragrance."</p>

<h4>THE END.</h4>

<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">London</span>:<br />
Printed by <span class="smcap">A. Spottiswoode.</span><br />
</p>

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