"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--hast

thou food?"

"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.

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.

"They are, of a truth, dangerous; yet here is no water, and I am, of a

verity, much athirst."

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--one of those to which he was unhappily

familiar--burst from his lips.

"I cannot learn how he came there," he said; "the thing will sleep till

morning:--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 comforts," 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--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.

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.

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.

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 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--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.

"Silence! silence! silence!" repeated the Buccaneer, in the subdued

voice of a puny girl; and Robin thought his eye glared wildly as he

spoke.

"Where--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--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 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--the little and ugly Crisp--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--so gently, that it would not have

brushed off the down from a butterfly's wing.

Robin grasped his hands convulsively together--shook back the hair that

curled over his forehead, as if it prevented his seeing clearly--his

breathing became still more painfully distinct--large drops of moisture

burst upon his brow--his tongue moved, but he could utter no sound--his

under lip worked in fearful convulsion--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,--

"She lives! she lives!"

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--the hue that tints the

inner leaves of a blush rose.

The Buccaneer had been a silent spectator of this scene, and it had

taught him a new lesson--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--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--yet suffering still from

previous agony, and receiving back Barbara as an offering from the

grave, that might have closed over her;--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.

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--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.

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 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.

"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----. 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,--

"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--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!"

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--the evident

joy of the other--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--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.

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."

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.

CHAPTER VII.

Good sir, look upon him--

But let it be with my eyes, and the care

You should owe to your daughter's life and safety,

Of which, without him, she's uncapable,

And you'll approve him worthy.

MASSINGER.

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 stairs, the other opening into the

passage that was frequented by all who were connected with the Fire-fly.

"Now--now," said Robin, "tell--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!"

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--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--I could

not hear the sound of their horses' hoofs--although within the old abbey

chapel were the bride, the bridegroom--(curse him!)--and their

attendants. Again I listened--the ceremony began--I sniffed the breeze

like a war-steed--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--there was a pistol-shot--it gave speed to my steps. At the door

I encountered Burrell; and he--he, the fiend, screamed into my ears that

my child was slain!"

Dalton and Robin Hays both shuddered, and some minutes had elapsed

before the Buccaneer resumed his story.

"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.

"Then Barbara, whose blood was streaming from her wound, sprang to my

bosom--sweet girl!--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!

"I carried her round the chapel, and sank with her into the vault, where

I had been concealed--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--shall I ever forget the sensation!--I

cannot describe it, so different from anything I ever felt--ever can

feel:--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,----

"I know what must have been your feelings from what I myself felt so

short a time past."

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,--but he

motioned him to remain silent. "We will talk of it hereafter;--only

this--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--the hope--the prop--the stay of his future life. Upon

that weak, helpless, inanimate creature, his heart leans--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 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--a little creature, sleeping in my bosom--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:--but I never forgot

it--never--how she lay over her young, shielding it to the last with her

own body! I used to pray--I could pray whenever I took my Barbara into

my arms!--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!--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--the Jewess Zillah--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--finding herself deserted by

Fleetword, whose faith she relied upon--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--wrought up, in fact, to a pitch of frenzy, she determined on

destroying Burrell's destined 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----"

"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!"

"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."

"Is this Barbara's father!" thought Robin, "and the man who would not

kill a cub-whale?--How wonderful! how strange his modifications of

feeling: the older he grows, the more incomprehensible he becomes."

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.

"I believe it, Rob, I believe it--I am sure you would not betray me! But

I fear we must abandon this place--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

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--Roundhead and rebel as

he is--unless he be marvellously changed--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."

"But," observed Robin, "I dread no such peril for you. Even if danger

awaits you in England, there are other lands--"

"Ah! but my child--my child! Shall I leave her among strangers, or take

her into a world that will rob her of her wealth--innocence?"

"Gold will do much; there are many about the court of Oliver who love

the yellow colour and the pleasant chink of coin."

"No, I have other and stronger means of buying mercy. But mercy is not

all I want--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----"

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--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!"

"Captain o' mine," said the ever-joyous and affectionate sailor, who

deserved the attachment bestowed upon him by the skipper--"Captain o'

mine, I have news for you. You see, 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!--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--the

frippery, insolent baggage! It isn't a month since she called me a chip

of the jib-boom and an ugly fellow!--Ugly fellow, indeed;" repeated

Springall, twitching up his trowsers--"I wonder what she meant by ugly

fellow!"

"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."

"Let me read my log my own way, or I cannot read it at all--and you

know, master, I never spin a long yarn, except when I can't help it."

Dalton smiled, for, of all the youths he had ever known, Springall loved

the most to hear himself talk.

"When I had delivered my message, and had the satisfaction of knowing

that a rascally Roundhead, and a princess (as 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--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?"

Dalton saw no necessity for reply, and Springall continued:--

"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 the crew of

the Fire-fly put together, have prayed during the last twelve, ay, twice

twelve months!--How is Mistress Barbara?"

"What a giddy mind is yours, Springall," said Dalton; "in the same

breath you speak of danger, and ask for my peace-loving child."

"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 because of a murder, or a

wedding--neither of which he cares much about."

"Except when they come home--quite home--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--sails--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."

"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--there's little Robin Hays, he loves her timbers as he loves his

life--there's the boatswain, and a lot of honest hands. Let's ship the

ballast--the women I mean--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."

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--the one for life, the other for justice--his own desire

for pardon, too, struggling with his affection for his vessel.

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.

CHAPTER VIII.

E'en such is Time; which takes in trust

Our youth, our joys, and all we have;

And pays us nought but age and dust,

Which in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wander'd all our ways,

Shuts up the story of our days.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

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.

"I shall be well--soon well again, Robin," she murmured; "and I know you

will be glad when I am so."

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, 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--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--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--gifted with that gentle and holy wisdom, which instructed her in

the honest rule of right, and rendered her unobtrusively impervious to

temptation.

"I shall be soon well again," she repeated; "and do not look so sadly on

me, Robin; indeed I shall soon be well."

"Thank God for that, Barbara!" he replied. "I bless God that it is so!"

"Robin! Do you really mean that you do thank God: is it your heart, or

your lips that speak?"

"As God sees me, I think that both speak, Barbara."

"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."

"Because you think we need them doubly?" inquired the Ranger, smiling.

"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--and--I have

prayed very much for you, Robin Hays."

"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?"

"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,--that your God was my God."

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,--

"Barbara, teach me your faith, and I will learn it--learn any thing from

your lips: I will cast aside my waywardness--my nature shall be

changed--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!"

"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?"

"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?"

A smile, succeeded by an expression of much anxiety, passed over her

innocent countenance, and then she spoke.

"God knows, Robin, that I have much trouble--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--never set his heart on things above--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 age brought wisdom; and,

if so, methinks wisdom brings sorrow."

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!"

"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;--and yet my dear father, he is the soul, and the ship the

body--the worthless body that ties him to the earth!"

"And has Barbara no little fable of her own to make that come out

prettily?"

"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."

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.

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.

"Raise me up, Robin--Robin--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."

"Mother," replied Robin, "her own troubles are many."

"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--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!"

Robin did as she desired, but with evident unwillingness.

"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--for your poor father--(honest man that

he was, far above your mother in wisdom and goodness)--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--I sat at the door, and you were in my arms."

The aged woman's mind appeared to wander for a few moments, as if she

was calling her thoughts from a long distance.

"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:--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--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."

The woman again paused, but soon resumed her story.

"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--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!--now I hear it!--Robin, another drink of the strong waters, that

will silence it!"

"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--"Mother, take but little for you have need

of prayer; that will stifle the cry far better than this."

"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--mind your mother now, Robin,--another man came to the cliff--to the

brow of the same cliff--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."

Robin shuddered; his mother after a brief pause continued.

"Now, who think you, Robin--my child, Robin, who think you was the

murdered man--and who think you was he who came last, and saw the

murderers departing in peace--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!"

"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?"

"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 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--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--"

Farther communication was interrupted by the entrance of Constantia's

maid, who came to ascertain if the widow Hays were really dying.

"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."

"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[,] that Sir Robert was

distraught--mad?"

"Alack! yes," replied the girl; "mad, poor gentleman!"

"It is enough--enough--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?"

"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.

"Robin Hays! you must leave even your dying mother--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."

Robin stood for a moment at the porch, and heard the booming 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.

Robin returned for a moment to his mother's room.

"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--a hundred lives may rest upon that hour!"

His mother appeared scarcely conscious of what he said, but with her

finger pointed to the chest.

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---- 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.

"It will all be known," he thought; "there can be no pardon for the

murderer--no peace for Barbara--the sinless child of sin!"

CHAPTER IX.

Mainly they all att once about him laid,

And sore beset on every side arownd,

That nigh he breathless grew: yet nought dismaid

He ever to them yielded foot of grownd.

SPENSER.

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--

"Captain, I would speak a few words with you in private, after which we

will talk of the danger that surrounds us."

Dalton and Robin withdrew together, and remained alone 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.

"Were all hands aboard," said Springall, whose youth joyed in perpetual

hope--"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!"

"Through their hulks, do you mean?" inquired Jack Roupall, who had but

just joined the party.

"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--every spar is a spirit!"

"What sort of spirit?--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.

"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."

"Well, pepper away, brave boys! pepper away! I'll have my revenge on you

all yet!" continued the trooper.

"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.

"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.

"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--I think it's called poetry:--verse-making and

verse-thinking, that 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--as

I heard this morning at Queenborough. The evening is closing, and

neither of the other ships--whose slovenly rigging wants Blake's

dressing--hae any guns a-board to signify."

"Ay," said another, "so much for our near neighbours: what say you to

our farther ones, at t'other side the island--just at the entrance to

the Mersey?"

"Say!" said Springall, "why, that they could be round in less than no

time if they knew who's who."

"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--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,--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."

"But let us," chimed in Springall--"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!"

"Which they won't, I think; because, if they know who she is, they know

her cargo's safe--where Noll himself can't get at it, unless he drags

the cellars--and the stomachs too, by this time--of half his

prayer-loving subjects along the Kent and Essex coast."

"Stuff, stuff! every enemy destroyed is a shade nearer safety," said

Springall; "and Noll knows it."

"That's well said, Spring," replied Jack, winking on his companion; "and

I'll tell you what's true, too, shall I?"

"Ay, ay."

"Young geese are the greatest cacklers."

"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.--D'ye read my

riddle?"

A good-humoured burst of approbation followed Springall's speech, which

was hushed by some one of the party saying,

"Here comes our Captain, and we can form no plan till he is present."

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.

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,--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--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--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 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."

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.

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.

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.

"Cut him down!" exclaimed one ruffian, drawing a cutlass, long and

strong enough to destroy three at a blow.

"Fill his pinnacle hat with gunpowder, and blow him to the devil!" said

another.

"He is a spy and a Roundhead," vociferated a third, "and, wherever

there's one, there's sure to be more o' the breed."

"Search his pockets," shouted a fourth; "I'll lay my hand there's

villany in them."

"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. 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.

"Children of Satan!" he said at last, recovering his breath during their

laughter--"Imps of darkness!" he added, holding out both hands in front,

as he would keep them from contaminating him by their touch--"if that ye

ever hope for pardon----"

"I told ye he was a Roundhead--a negotiator," shouted one of the rudest;

"stop his gab at once--yard-arm him."

"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--if ye

hadn't something else to think of."

"Hear him, hear him!" exclaimed the thoughtless fellows, who forgot

their own and their ship's danger in expectation of some revelry.

"Hear him," repeated Roupall, while occupied in searching his pockets.

"Albeit I was not sent unto ye, ye worthless, blasphemous, and accursed

crew--" began Fleetword.

"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.

"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,--d'ye hear that, master officer--that was--but is not?"

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.

"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?"--Dalton desired Springall to show him to the room of Mother

Hays.

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--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--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;--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 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.

"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---- 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--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--

"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--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."

We trust none of our readers will echo the prayer of Jack Roupall, as we

draw towards the conclusion of our story.

CHAPTER X.

Vain is the bugle horn,

Where trumpets men to manly work invite!

That distant summons seems to say, in scorn,

We hunters may be hunted hard ere night.

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.

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 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;--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.

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.

"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?"

Constantia hid her face on the Lady Cromwell's shoulder, and wept; but

her grief appeared of a less feverish kind than heretofore.

"Hope for the best--my father can work marvels when he wills. He may

read all right; and as yet you are unwedded."

"He cannot restore the sweet life of one I loved so dearly,--one whose

place I can never see filled, and upon whose innocent countenance I can

ne'er again look."

"I wonder who is in my father's carriage?--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 a troop of them; the very soldiers

look like masses of grey stone, stuck on the horses' backs with iron

paste."

"The second carriage," said Constantia, "looks as if it contained a

prisoner--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--

"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--so much for woman's curiosity!"

"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."

"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--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?"

"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.

"Constantia, nothing frights you from your propriety!--I am ready."

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:--not one but felt the warmest interest in all that

concerned their dear master, and still more dear mistress; they would

have gladly 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--the meeting of that rugged and warlike man with two such

females;--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,--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--her own

cousin, who followed close to his indulgent master--the mixture of

carriage and cuirass, of spear and pennon, set out against the green

meadows, and still farther off the blue and beautiful sea--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--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--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.

"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."

Constantia bowed, and from her heart thanked the Protector for the

kindness and delicacy of his thoughts.

"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."

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.

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--the

Puritans holding all such observances as profane things; nor was there

any allusion 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.

"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."

"I am sorry, Mistress Frances," replied Colonel Jones, "to find your

thoughts still turning to these follies--follies anathematized in this

regenerated land."

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.

"I assure Lady Frances," observed her father, rising from the table at

the same time, and laying a particular emphasis on the word _lady_, as

if he would reprove Colonel Jones's plainness--"I assure _Lady_ Frances

that I am a most excellent unraveller of mysteries,--of _all_

mysteries," he repeated with a stress on the word ALL, 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."

Cromwell conducted the lady from the room with an air that would not

have disgraced the descendant of a race of kings.

CHAPTER XI.

If you, my son, should now prevaricate,

And, to your own particular lusts, employ

So great and catholic a bliss; be sure

A curse will follow, yea, and overtake

Your subtle and most secret ways.

BEN JONSON.

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, and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her

anxiety on the subject,

"My father and you have had a long conference!"

"He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and kindness," was

Constantia's reply.

"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--(What rough

fellows those soldiers are!)--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!"

"Not quite."

"Oh, you take it more gently than I should--to have persons in your own

house, and not know who they are."

"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--nothing doubting."

"My father is very anxious about Sir Robert."

"He is indeed."

"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."

"He has ever been to justice as its right hand."

How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her father had

talked about Sir Willmott--if there were any tidings of Walter De

Guerre, or where he had been since his disappearance with Major

Wellmore! but she could not--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--

"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--the special pleading of a lie."

"My dear Lady Perfection!"

"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--the open, cheerful, confiding woman. But hear me say a few words

more,--and apply them as you will. I once saw a young fresh tree--it was

an oak--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;--the village children held their innocent

revelry beneath its gay branches:--but, Frances, dear Frances, the storm

gathered, and the thunder leaped from cloud to cloud in the angry

heavens, and the lightning--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--for it fainted beneath the

kindness which had the will, but not the gift, of renovation."

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.

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.

"Only ask him if he will see me, dear lady!--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.--But ask quickly, dear

lady--quickly, as ye would seek heaven!"

"See you, Robin! The Protector see and counsel with you, Robin?"

"Ay, dear lady--the lion and the mouse--the lion and the mouse--only let

it be quickly--quickly."

"Stay, Robin; you of all men are the most likely to know--can you tell

me aught concerning one, I believe, we both loved?"

"Ask me not, dear mistress, now; only quickly, quickly to the

Protector."

In a few minutes Robin Hays again stood before the great and

extraordinary man he both respected and feared.

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.

"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:--when

our parent discards us, what have we to expect from mankind?"

"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."

"With all humility, your Highness, no:--I would speak of Hugh Dalton and

the Fire-fly."

"Of his ship, which may be at sea, say you?"

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.

"It is indeed of Hugh Dalton I would speak," continued Robin, "and

intreat in his behalf, what I need myself, yet ask not for--a pardon."

"Pardon!" repeated Cromwell, "Pardon!--on what grounds?"

"Those of mercy--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----"

"Ah! what of her?"

"Is in his keeping, and a certain preacher also--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."

"And Dalton----"

"Saved this Fleetword!"

"Ah, Fleetword!" interrupted Cromwell, "I have heard of his

disappearance--and he is safe?"

"Perfectly."

"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--perhaps, hope for pardon. But, if I judge rightly, he expected

more than pardon,--pardon for his ship also, and farther grace towards

himself:--ran it not thus?"

"Please your Highness, yes. The man loves his ship, which is but

natural; and then his men----"

"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--Devon--Essex--Kent--Sussex--everywhere;--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--it shall burn upon the high seas,

as an example to all like it; and, as to his crew,--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!"

"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."

"His child, said you--I heard he had but one, and that, through some

mystery, the girl was here, and----"

Cromwell would have added, "shot," but he remembered 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!--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,--whose homage is generally of the lip, not the heart.

After a pause, more full of meaning than if it had been crammed with

words, Robin said----

"Please your Highness, the girl is not dead, though badly wounded."

"I thank God!--I thank God for every blessing. Have you so said to the

Lady Constantia?"

"I did not like to mention it, yet, as I did not know----"

"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."

"The Skipper has secrets touching this family in his keeping which I

have reason to think he will retain, unless----"

Wily as he was, Robin now paused, for he dreaded to rouse the

Protector's ire, and Cromwell, seeing his hesitation, exclaimed,

"Speak on--speak out, young man--this fellow would dictate to us--but

speak--speak, I say; what are his gracious terms?"

Although the last words were uttered in an ironical tone, Robin did

speak, and boldly.

"Pardon for himself, his registered followers, and safety for his ship;

I know such to be his feelings, and know he would so say."

The Protector replied calmly--"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--what

hinders that I blow not his nest into the sky? what care I for the

vultures of his eyrie!

"But the doves, your Highness,--the doves that shelter there!"

"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?"

"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--he is a man of

unspeakable firmness."

"Granted," said the Protector; "but I am a father--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----" he stopped

abruptly, and fixed his eye upon the timepiece that was set over the

chimney--a huge heavy iron machine, that one would fancy even Time found

it difficult to deal with. "You see the hour--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--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, _all_ men may travel in safety,--in safety _by land_, 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 that avenge! The ship must

not remain unpunished; of her, justice _shall_ have its due. Your

Buccaneer should think of this, and bless the God that has made us

merciful."

"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----"

"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."

"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.

"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--within four hours from this time,--the

Jewess, the man of God, Dalton and his daughter--secretly, mark,

_secretly_--within this chamber. During this period my soldiers sleep;

but the vessel must not be unmoored. Remember, if its anchor is

weighed--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."

Robin bowed with great submission, but still lingered.

"Please your Highness, he does so love that vessel!"

"You practise on our humanity, young man, and forget to whom you speak."

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.

CHAPTER XII.

So up he arose upon his stretched sails,

Fearless expecting his approaching death;

So up he arose, that the air starts and fails,

And overpressed sinks his load beneath;

So up he arose, as doth a thunder cloud

Which all the earth with shadows black doth shroud;

So up he arose.

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

"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!"

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.

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.

"Has the spirit long passed!" at length inquired Robin, in a voice so

low that the aged woman started, as if the whisper sounded from below

the earth.

"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--that is, not to say much at the very last--

'And at the last your bed shall be,

Ay, near the broad and briny sea!'"

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.

"Do it decently, good dame, decently and gently too, and you shall be

rewarded," said Robin, deeply affected,--aware how impossible it was for

him to remain and see that every thing was well ordered.

"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."

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--the mysterious wind that

comes--whence?--we know not; and goes--where?--we cannot tell--yet moves

along upon its appointed way--felt, although unseen, on the vast earth

and the wide sea--now rejoicing over pleasant fields, and filling the

leaves with harmony--kissing in its gentleness the blushing bosom of the

rose, and wafting the humble bee on its industrious voyage!--then

stirring up oceans by its breath, and shouting to the clouds its

mandates!--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!

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--no haze, no moon--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 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,--a note like that of the frightened

plover. It was speedily answered, and in a moment Roupall stood by his

side.

"Are any gone off to the ship?--and where is the Skipper?"

"The Skipper's with the women, and, I think, has been looking out for

you," replied Roupall.

"Tell him, then,--tell all--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--the stars shine bright

enough for that. And now, Jack, I'm going to make a confidant of you--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."

"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--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 them!) that

they suspect--ah! now you've finished, pray tell me what the signal will

be--a red light?"

"A red light!" repeated Robin musingly, as he rolled up the parchment;

"oh, yes! it will be a very red light."

"But, Bob, won't that alarm the ships?"

"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--it is broader than mine."

Roupall did as he requested, demanding, in his turn, if Robin was mad

enough to think of swimming to the Fire-fly.

"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."

He plunged into the ocean as he spoke; and presently, the sound of the

dividing waters was lost in the distance.

"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--the minute a sailor touches land, good-by to his

well-doing."

Before the speaker had climbed the topmost cliff, he met the Buccaneer.

"Hast seen Robin Hays?" was his first question.

"Ay, sir; and, if it was day, you might see him too--at least, the best

part of him--his head, yonder--making for the Fire-fly."

"How! making for the Fire-fly! What do ye mean. Jack? this is no time

for jesting."

"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----"

"And what?"

"Why, he is to make a signal--a red light from the ship."

"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?"

"None," replied Roupall; thinking to himself, "a piece of parchment's no

message, so that's no lie."

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--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:--there was no storm--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.

Suddenly, a strong light, a fierce blaze, as if the ocean had thrown up

one immense pyramid of flame, to dispel the darkness and divide the

clouds, sprang into the heavens! and then a peal, loud as the straggling

thunder! The cliff shook beneath their feet--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

sibyl 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--the line of

coast now rising boldly from the ocean, each projecting point catching

the glaring blaze, and seeming itself on fire--the caverns overhung by

creeping plants, revelling in gorgeous colours from every changing light

that touched their beauties:--then the wild figures clasping by the

rocks, panting with terror and excitement--the sibyl on her

pinnacle--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.

"Read! read!" at length exclaimed Roupall, thrusting the parchment into

the hand of the Buccaneer. "Read! read!" he repeated, for Dalton heeded

him not.

"Read what?" said the Skipper, in a voice which entered the heart of all

who heard it; "do I not read--do I not read--black, bitter, burning

treachery?--It is my own ship--I know every spar that flits like a

meteor through the air. My heart was never crushed till now."

"Read--I will read it, if I can," said Springall, who had joined the

party. With some difficulty he succeeded in making audible its contents.

"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--and all the rest may leave the island,

provided they depart before the hour of one."

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."

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 stood a

harmless unresisting man, subdued by a look and overpowered by a touch.

Barbara never was a girl of energy, or a seeker after power. She

considered obedience as woman's chief duty--duty as a child to the

parent--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.

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.

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--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.

"Father! you frighten me by those wild passions--and this wild place!

let us go from it, and be at peace; poor Robin is your true friend,

father. Be friends with him."

"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."

"Father, huge masses of burning wood, floating over the ocean, and borne

to other shores by the rising breeze."

"And know you what that burning wood was scarce a minute since?"

"Father--no."

"Those blazing masses were once the Fire-fly--my own ship--my own ship!"