Where though prison'd, he doth finde,
Hee's still free, that's free in minde;
And in trouble, no defence
Is so firm as innocence.
WITHER.
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 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--and I will leave these
documents, 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."
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.
Two classes of persons peruse the Sacred Book; one from pure love of,
and entire dependence on, the words and precepts contained therein; the
other from habit--"their mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers
did so before them--always on a Sunday--and sometimes (when they had
time) during the week--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--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--whether the hastiness of his
nature was not at times opposed to the meek and unupbraiding example of
his Divine Master--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.
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: 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--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.
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--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 growth.
"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?---- Yet--" 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 performed by one she loved so dearly, and of whose truth
and uprightness there could be no doubt.
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.
"Has she slept thus all the night?" he whispered.--"Has she slept thus
soundly all the night, Lady Frances?"
"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."
"But, lady, see how sweet, how gentle her repose! Surely, she could not
sleep thus with a heavy heart?"
"Sir Robert," replied Lady Frances, "the heart's heaviness will make
heavy the eyelids; nay, with greater certainty, when they are swollen
with weeping."
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.
"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.
In one of the passages she met Barbara weeping bitterly.
"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?"
"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 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--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--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!)--little Crisp seized it, somewhere by the neck, and in a
moment it was dead!"
"You should smile at that, not weep," observed Lady Frances, patting her
cheek as she would that of a petted child.
"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."
"Ah, my poor maid! you will have worse troubles soon than that which
bids you mourn over an adder's death."
"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--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----" She
paused abruptly.
"Tell me what you wish, my pretty Barbara--a new cap, kirtle, hood, or
farthingale? What, none of these!"
"I was only wishing that Robin Hays was come back, because he would
understand my troubles."
"You pay a poor compliment to my understanding, Barbara," observed Lady
Frances, with whom Barbara was at all times an especial favourite.
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 wren, because it would understand and feel exactly the cares and
troubles of its own kind."
"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."
"Not to a parrot!" repeated Barbara; "such a beautiful bird! that looks
so handsome and talks so well!"
"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.
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.
"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--no, I must not be proud--how grateful I am!
If my father, _my_ 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.