Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness--
Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness;
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
JOSHUA SILVESTER.
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 consider inferior to themselves: indeed, the best of us are more
ready to pardon bare-faced wickedness than designing cunning;--we may
reconcile ourselves to the being overpowered by the one, but scarcely
ever to the being over-reached by the other.
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.
"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."
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.
"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."
"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."
"Marry, it's no woman," observed Mother Hays; "I could not be
deceived--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."
"Robin," said Dalton, taking the Ranger aside, "if this most loathsome
marriage cannot be stayed--if what I mean to do should fail--my daughter
must seek another home and another protector. Were Miss Cecil to become
the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell, under _their_ roof Barbara should not
bide--the kite's nest is a bad shelter for the ring-dove."
"Where would you take her?--who would protect her?" inquired Robin
earnestly.
"Faith, I know not. I'll to Sir Robert Cecil this day--speak to him
about some matters of our own, and then be guided by circumstances as to
the disposal of my daughter.--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--yet it is most wild, and most improbable!--What disguise will you
adopt in this pursuit of our heedless friend?"
"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."
"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?"
"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."
"I hope he has a better chance of selling them than that affords. Noll
will hardly dare it; his name--Protector--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?"
"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--at the court, sir, they talked of
nothing else--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;--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;--and then, I forget
me what was the next--and the next--and the next--and the next; but it
was mighty fine trafficking, that I know."
"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 _his_ freedom--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--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!"
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."
"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."
"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.
"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.
We must now proceed with Hugh Dalton a second time to Cecil Place. His
interview with the baronet was of a nature 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--the hand, though trembling almost to
palsy, fumble with the sword-handle--that racked the poor, withering,
and shrinking brain, within its multiplied cabinets, by a thousand
terrors--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!--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--the voice, sweet,
though feeble, giving a benison to all the living things of this fair
earth--the eye, gentle and subdued, sleeping calmly within its
socket--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!
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.
"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."
"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--I
am as a leper in her eyes."
"Your daughter!--your daughter know your crime!" said the Buccaneer:
"How, how was that?--Who told, who could have told her such a
thing?--who had the heart?--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:--"stay, you need not tell me; there is but one man upon
earth who could so act, and that man is Sir Willmott Burrell.--The
villain made a shrewd guess, and fooled ye into a confession. I see
through it all!--And are you so mean a coward?" he continued, turning
upon Sir Robert a look of ineffable contempt--"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--_you_ 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--I--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--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 _my_ humble child to
sacrifice the least portion of herself for me!"
Dalton paused for breath; Sir Robert Cecil hid his face from the
flashing of his angry eye.
"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----"
"--Him to be what I have often declared him, and will again once more--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--"What have I to do with it? My revenge upon you
both is certain, unless my own purpose be accomplished--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 gathering his cloak around him, he left the room without
uttering another word.
We may omit our account of the interview between the Buccaneer and Sir
Willmott Burrell; merely observing that it had the effect of chafing
both in no ordinary degree.
"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--Let
them look to it, then."
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.
"Barbara," he said, "you are afraid of me--you are afraid of me, child,"
he repeated, almost angry with her at the moment, although the feeling
was so perfectly natural.
"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!"
"I see you want me to be as far away from you as possible, Barbara," he
replied, smiling mournfully.
"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--but I beg
your pardon" (bowing her head)--"I make too free, perhaps?" Dalton,
gratified at any mark of confidence, encouraged her to go on--"The
second was--your name;--I heard of a daring man called Hugh Dalton--a
ruthless, cruel man--a man of----"
"Speak out, Barbara; you cannot anger me."
"A man of blood!" and she shuddered at her own words. "But I am sure one
thing Mistress Cecil said was true--'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--that you knew my father--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!"
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,--
"You--you are my father!"
"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!"
"And my mother loved you?" she inquired.
"Ay, girl. Why do you ask?"
"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."
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.
"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."
"Tell her nothing, sweet, about me. In a little time I shall be able to
take you to a proper home; only mark this, you must never go to the home
of Sir Willmott Burrell."
"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.
"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."
"I do not see how I can help it."
"Why?"
"Because she has ever told me to tell her all things, and I have obeyed.
Ah, sir--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."
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--_that_ his delicate love of his child would have
prevented--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.