"And Robin----?"

"Has been the means of its destruction."

"Has he?" Barbara paused after she had so exclaimed, and then, clasping

her hands, raised them upwards as she continued, "a blessing, a thousand

blessings on him! for what he does is ever good, and full of wisdom. Ah!

now I see it all: he destroyed the bad vessel that you, dear father,

might no more to sea; but stay on shore with us--with _me_, I would have

said--" she added, hiding, as she spoke, her face on her father's

shoulder.

Five or six of the crew had clambered up the cliff, and clustered round

their Skipper. Roupall, Springall, and the Jewess were close to Barbara,

and Robin stood exactly on the spot where Dalton's rage had left

him--one foot on the edge of the crumbling cliff, his long arms

enwreathing his chest.

The red glare had faded from the waters, the sea-birds were settling in

their nests, but the government-ships were alive with lights, and,

suddenly bursting through the night, came the shrill blast of a trumpet

from Cecil Place. It called Robin Hays into activity, and, while the men

were looking on each other, he advanced and spoke.

"Hugh Dalton, the ship was yours, and yours alone, and to you the

parchment which Springall holds accounts for its destruction; that

destruction, Captain, ought to prove one thing, and one thing only--that

I loved you better than the Fire-fly. Both could not have been

preserved. You have treated me as a dog, to whom you would have given a

dog's death; and I shall not forget it."

"Robin!" exclaimed a small soft voice.

"I cannot forget it," repeated the Ranger; and then the voice again

said, "Robin," in a tone of such sweetness, that all present were moved.

After another pause, hardy Jack Roupall put in his word.

"The Skipper was hurt, and no marvel, to see her burning. You mustn't be

spiteful, Robin Hays,--only what hindered to get her out?"

"She was known, marked, and watched, as I am well assured of," he

replied. "Had you attempted to weigh anchor, every man on board would

have been blown to atoms. Not a life would have been spared. The men who

had charge of her are safe. I sent them to the Essex side--though they

little thought why."

Another trumpet-blast mounted with the breeze, and Robin exclaimed,

"Away, away, lads! It is not yet midnight, and no hindrance will be

offered to any who quit the island before the hour of one. Away, away!

Ye are foxes, and have earths in plenty. Away, for your lives away!"

"Away!" replied Roupall. "Whither, good Ranger? Heard ye not the

trumpet, and know ye not that every outlet will be guarded, every man on

the watch after such a sound?"

"Had your safety not been cared for, there need have been no

trumpet-blast. I pledge my faith--my life--for your security," exclaimed

Robin, energetically. "Only away, and quickly!"

One or two of the men sullenly and quietly dropped down the cliff; but

there were others who would not thus part from their captain,--sailors,

who had braved danger, disease, and death in his company; these would

not leave him now, but, as if in expectation of an attack, they looked

to their pistols and jerked their daggers sharply in their sheaths.

Dalton still remained, uncertain, perhaps, or careless as to his future

course, with Barbara still hanging on his arm, while the Jewess clung

closely to her side.

"Springall!" said Robin, "you have influence with him. Use it for his

good: his pardon is secured if he complies with the terms I have

mentioned."

"Great tidings! glad tidings!" exclaimed a hoarse voice a little above

them. "The Philistines will be overthrown, and the men of Judah triumph!

I have heard in my solitude, yea in my extremity, tidings of exceeding

gladness: and, albeit not of quick hearing, the tramp of Joshua and his

army hath come upon mine ear. Oh, ye Canaanites! ye dwellers in the

accursed land!"

"Fetch him down!" shouted Roupall.

"For your lives touch him not, but to your earths!" exclaimed Robin

impetuously. "The Gull's Nest will be no place of safety now." Then,

springing on Dalton, he snatched the pistols from his belt and flung

them into the sea.

He had hardly done so, when spears and helmets glittered in the faint

starlight on the higher cliff. It was no time for deliberation. Roupall

and the others slunk silently and sorrowingly away, and the little

group--Dalton, Barbara, the Jewess, Fleetword, and Robin--stood nearly

together on the ledge.

Colonel Jones had accompanied the soldiers by direct orders from the

Protector, who, from the firing of the ship, imagined for a time that

Dalton and Robin had acted with treachery--treachery which, with his

usual promptness, he adopted the immediate means to counteract.

Robin advanced to meet the troop, and addressing Colonel Jones

respectfully, said,

"You will have the goodness to observe, sir, that Hugh Dalton is not

only unarmed, but has assembled round him those whose presence were

commanded at Cecil Place before the hour of one."

Colonel Jones vouchsafed no reply to Robin's observation; but it was not

the less heeded on that account. He inquired, in a stern voice,

"By what means have ye wrought the destruction of yonder vessel?"

"I will tell hereafter" was the only reply he could elicit from Robin

Hays. It was repeated more than once--"I will tell hereafter."

By this time the little party was surrounded. The Buccaneer attempted no

resistance. His strength, his spirit, seemed gone; his child lay

fainting, weak, and exhausted at his feet. Colonel Jones felt, though he

did not then express it, much joy at seeing alive the girl he believed

dead. Dalton attempted to raise and carry her with him, but in vain. He

staggered under the light load as a drunken man. One of the troopers

offered horses to the females. Dalton would not commit her to other

guidance than his own, and, mounting, placed her before him.

Robin would have turned to the room that contained his mother's corpse,

but Colonel Jones forbade it.

"My mother, sir, lies dead within that hut," expostulated the Ranger.

"That may be," replied the soldier; "but I say, in the words of

Scripture, 'Let the dead bury their dead.'"

The party then proceeded towards Cecil Place, Zillah entrenching herself

under the protection of the Preacher Fleetword.

CHAPTER XIII.

Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,

Sorrow calls no time that's gone.

Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain

Makes not fresh nor grow again.

Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;

Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see.

Joys, as winged dreams, fly fast:

Why should sadness longer last?

Grief is but a wound to wo:

Gentlest fair! mourn, mourn no mo.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

It was with feelings of considerable anxiety that the Protector waited

the return of Colonel Jones from the second task assigned him in the

Isle of Shepey.

The routing out of a band of lawless smugglers, although commanded by so

daring a skipper as Hugh Dalton, was to him a matter of little

consideration, compared to the restoration of Zillah Ben Israel, and the

positive saving of Constantia Cecil from worse than death: these two

motives weighed deeply upon Cromwell's mind, and he would have made any

sacrifice to have been assured that his purpose, with regard to both,

might be effected before the morning's dawn. When the explosion of the

Fire-fly disturbed his solitude in the purple chamber at Cecil Place, he

directed immediate inquiry to be instituted as to its origin, and

quickly ascertained that it was caused by the destruction of some ship

at sea; his suspicions were at once directed to the vessel of the

Buccaneer.

There was no time to lose; Colonel Jones, whose courage and coolness

were proverbial amongst soldiers more celebrated for these qualities

than even British soldiers have ever been before or since, was instantly

dispatched to the Gull's Nest. At first the command of the Protector was

to "mount silently;" but his pledge to Robin Hays was remembered, and,

at the very moment when the glare of the burning ship was illumining the

island, he could not bring himself to determine that the little deformed

being, with whom he had held commune, had betrayed the confidence

reposed in him.

"Let him know who are coming and prepare for it," thought Cromwell,

whose caution was really subservient to his enthusiasm, powerful as was

at all times this latter quality; and then he gave, in a low, but

earnest and energetic tone, the order, "Sound a brief 'to horse!' trust

in the Lord, and see that your swords be loose in their scabbards."

The troop, on its return, was met by Cromwell himself at the gate to

which we have so frequently alluded. His anxiety had not been often

greater than on that occasion, and it was manifested by an impatience of

manner that almost terrified the attendants who waited in his presence.

He was accompanied by only two officers, and his first question was if

"Colonel Jones had secured Dalton and the Jewess?" A reply in the

affirmative evidently afforded him great relief and satisfaction; but

the feeling was quickly succeeded by one of extreme anger when informed

of the total destruction of the Fire-fly, which he had desired to

preserve for his own special purpose. Yet, until the prisoners had been

conducted into Cecil Place by the private entrance, as he had previously

arranged, his displeasure only found vent in occasional exclamations.

The house was alive with alarm and curiosity, but its inmates received

little information to quiet or to satisfy their eager thirst for

intelligence. As the soldiers passed the gates, lights floated through

the dwelling, and the windows were crowded with inquisitive

countenances; great, therefore, was the disappointment when they

observed the party separate, and one portion of it take a private path,

leading to the Protector's apartments, while the other proceeded round

an angle of the building to the stables. Many of the domestics met them

at the stable gates, but could learn nothing from those trusty soldiers,

who perfectly understood, and invariably acted upon, their master's

favourite motto, "safety in silence;"--still they could not rest, no one

went to bed, for all were in expectation of--they knew not what.

The clock struck one; about five minutes afterwards Cromwell had closed

the door of his chamber; the half-hour chimed. Constance was looking on

her father, sleeping calmly in his chair, in a closet that opened into

his favourite library. He had not been in bed for several nights, and,

since his afflicting insanity, could seldom be prevailed on to enter his

own room. After pausing a few minutes, while her lips appeared to move

with the prayer her heart so fervently formed, she undid the bolt,

quietly opened the door, then partially closed it, and left her wretched

parent alone with his physician.

She could hear within the library, in which she now stood, the heavy

breathings of the afflicted man. A large lamp was burning on the massive

oak-table: it shed a cheerful light, but it was a light too cheerful for

her troubled and feverish spirit--she sank upon a huge carved chair, and

passed her small hand twice or thrice over her brow, where heavy drops

had gathered; then drew towards her the large Bible that had been her

mother's. On the first page, in the hand-writing of that beloved mother,

was registered the day of her marriage, and underneath the births of her

several children, with a short and thanksgiving prayer affixed to each;

a little lower down came a mournful register, the dates and manner of

her sons' deaths; but the Christian spirit that had taught her words and

prayers of gratitude, had been with her in the time of trouble; the

passages were penned in true humility and humble-mindedness, though the

blisterings of many tears remained upon the paper.

Constantia turned over the leaves more carelessly than was her custom;

but her eye dwelt upon one of the beautiful promises, given with so much

natural poetry by the great Psalmist,--"I have been young, and now am

old, yet saw I never the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their

bread." "Alas!" she thought, "I can derive only half consolation from

such as this. One of my parents was indeed righteous; but, alas! what

has the other been?" She bowed her head upon the book, and did not again

raise it, until a soft hand touched her shoulder, and a light voice

whispered "Constance!"

It was Lady Frances Cromwell.

"My dear Constantia! here's a situation! I never knew any thing so

provoking, so tantalising! My father, they say, has taken as many as

twenty prisoners, of one sort or another; and has caged them up in that

purple-room with himself, examining into and searching out every

secret--secrets I want so much to know. He has got the Buccaneer, they

say."

"Who says so?" inquired Constance eagerly.

"Why, everybody. Maud says so. And I have been to the door at least ten

times; but even the key-hole, I verily believe, is plugged. I am sure it

is, for I tried hard to see through it."

"The crisis of my fate is indeed come," murmured Constantia. Then, after

a pause, she was about to address her friend: "My dear Lady Frances--"

"Don't Lady Frances me," interrupted the young maiden, pettishly. "I

hate to be Lady Frances. I should know more about every thing if I were

a chamberlain's daughter."

"Your father can discover nought to your prejudice. I confess I both

dread and hope to hear news of the Gull's Nest. There is nothing which

can affect you there."

"How can I tell? Poor Rich chooses queer postmen sometimes! And that

Manasseh Ben Israel! he is as anxious as myself to know what is going

on. Two rooms locked up! Constance, I wonder you have not more spirit

than to submit to such proceedings. I would not."

"I am sorry for it; because it shows that your confidence in your father

is overbalanced by your curiosity."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the lady, turning from her friend, just in time to

see the doors at the bottom of the room thrown open with much

ceremony:--the Protector, attended by his pages, followed by Dalton,

Fleetword, and Robin, entered.

Constance rose respectfully from her seat, glanced upon the form of the

fearful Buccaneer who now stood before her, and laying her hand on the

arm of her friend, would have withdrawn, had not Cromwell commanded her

to stay.

"Mistress Cecil, you will remain;--both remain," he said, while an

expression of exceeding kindness lent to his harsh countenance the

effect that sunlight gives to a rugged landscape, softening without

destroying a single point of its peculiar and stern character. "I have

no dread of objection on the part of the Lady Frances, and I must

request your presence." He took a large chair at the head of the table,

and seating himself, delivered a slip of writing to his page, who

immediately quitted the room.

"Our young friend will pardon this intrusion upon her privacy, and

moreover allow us to continue an investigation that has already been

attended with much pain, but we should hope with some satisfaction

also."

As he spoke, the door again opened, and Manasseh Ben Israel, pale and

trembling with agitation, walked, or rather, so submissive was his

attitude, crept forward, saluting the Protector and the ladies as he

advanced.

"Will your Highness permit?" inquired Constantia, rising from her own

seat, and pushing it towards the Rabbi.

"Most certainly," was Cromwell's prompt reply; "our friend is aged, but

he is welcome; and we have news that will gladden his heart." In an

instant all trace of the servility which custom had imposed upon the

manners of the children of Israel vanished. The Rabbi stood upright, and

clasping his hands together, exclaimed, "My child! my child!"

"The lost sheep is found--blessed be the Lord!--safe here, within this

house--and I lay my commands upon her father that she be received as a

stray lamb from the fold, and warmed within his bosom. We have all

children, good Rabbi; and the Lord judge between us and them, they are

stiffnecked and stubborn! All, more or less, all--except one or two who

shine forth as bright examples;--such is my own Elizabeth, and such also

is Mistress Constantia here."

"She is found!" repeated the Jew; "but they talked of crime--of her

having--I cannot speak it, please your Highness, but you know what I

would say. Peradventure gold might be made to atone."

"Peace, good friend!" interrupted Oliver sternly; "justice must have its

due; and, by God's blessing, while we are Protector, all the gold your

tribe is worth shall not turn the scale! We would be merciful for

mercy's sake; but for justice--Yet pardon me," he added in compassion to

the Rabbi's horror, "I would not trifle with a father's feelings--she is

guiltless of murder."

He struck the table with the butt-end of his pistol--a private door of

the library opened as of itself--not one, but two females stood beneath

its shadow, each supporting each, as if the one weak creature thought

she could lend a portion of much needed strength to the other. Lady

Frances and Constantia sprang from their seats--all distinction of rank

was forgotten, and Mistress Cecil wept over her affectionate

bower-maiden, as an elder over a younger sister, or even as a mother

over a beloved child. She asked no questions, but kissed her brow and

wept; while Barbara stood curtseying, and smiling, and crying, and

glancing with evident satisfaction, amid her tears, towards her father

and Robin, as if she would have said, "See how my lady, my grand lady,

loves me!"

It did not escape the observation of Lady Frances that Barbara wore the

chain she had given her, and she most heartily wished her father at

Whitehall, or elsewhere, that she might have an opportunity of asking

all the questions at once suggested by her busy brain.

It is impossible to convey an adequate idea of the meeting between the

Jew and his daughter. It was with feelings of terror, more than of

affection, that Zillah prepared to encounter a justly offended parent.

She had heard and believed that crime such as hers--marrying or

intriguing with Christians--was punished by a lingering and cruel death;

and scarcely could the word of Cromwell, pledged twice for her safety,

convince her that such would not be her fate. She instantly prostrated

herself at the Rabbi's feet; and it would seem that, assured of his

daughter's life--assured of her safety under laws--British laws--his

eastern notions with regard to the submission due from woman to her

master, man, returned to him in full force; for he suffered her to

remain, her forehead resting on the ground, and her hands clasped around

it, although he was so deeply agitated that he clung to a pedestal for

support.

The Protector arose from his seat, and, advancing, kindly and tenderly

raised the poor victim of confiding but too violent passion, and placed

her leaning on her father's shoulder.

"Manasseh!" he said, "at times our speech is obscure, and men see

through it darkly. We hope it will not be so now. Your daughter is no

harlot, but a wedded woman who will soon become a mother, and, in virtue

of her husband and her child, is a subject of our own. We regret the

violence of which she has been guilty, but Satan is ever busy in his

work of temptation. If you cast her from you, we take her to ourselves;

as our blessed Lord would have received the prodigal--the sinful, but

repentant son--even so will we receive her. Poor prodigal," he added,

after waiting for a reply from the Rabbi, which came not, for the

feelings of the tribe were struggling with those of the father--"Poor

prodigal! we will not desert thee in thy hour of trial--but seek to

preserve thee from worse crimes than even those of which thou hast been

guilty."

Although Cromwell had placed Zillah resting on the shoulder of her

father, he made no effort to support or keep her there, and the

Protector was in the act of leading her towards his daughter, when Ben

Israel raised a great cry, for the father had triumphed over the Jew,

and snatching her to his bosom, he burst into a fervent but almost

inaudible prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude, that entered the hearts

of those who heard it, and witnessed the terrible strength of his

emotions. The Lady Constance was suffering from various causes; the

nature of which, from past events, may be more easily imagined than

described. Nor were those sufferings either terminated or relieved,

when, on Cromwell's striking the table again in the same manner as

before, Sir Willmott Burrell stood in the apartment.

His entrance caused a sensation of astonishment and confusion through

the whole group. Constantia Cecil unconsciously moved her seat nearer to

that of the Protector. An expression of satisfaction crossed the anxious

and feverish brow of Robin Hays. Dalton folded his arms across his

bosom, and advanced his right foot, as if strengthening his position.

Preacher Fleetword, who had hitherto leaned against a high-backed chair,

his eyes glaring from their sockets on the countenance of "the Lord's

anointed," and drinking in, with open ear and mouth, every word he

uttered--now shrank into the farthest portion of the room, skilfully

keeping a chair in the direction of Burrell, as a sort of fortification

against violence or evil, while he muttered sentences of no gentle or

complimentary nature, which, but for the august presence in which he

stood, would have burst forth in anathemas against the "wolf in sheep's

clothing," by which title he never failed in after years to designate

the traitor. The Jew trembled, and partly rose from his seat; while

Zillah, whose love had turned to hate--whose affection had become as

wormwood--stood erect as he advanced, with a pale but firm look.

Prepared to assert her rights to the last, she was the very model of a

determined woman, who, having been greatly wronged, resolves to be

greatly avenged. If her lip quivered, it was evidently from eagerness,

not from indecision; and her eye had the lightning of hell, not of

heaven, in its glance. Barbara crouched at the feet of her mistress; and

Lady Frances, to whom something new was synonymous with something

delightful, was tip-toe with expectation. She believed, from what her

father had hinted, that Constantia was free, and might wed whom she

pleased: this imparted an hilarity to her countenance and manner,

totally different from the aspect of all others within that room.

Burrell himself looked like a bull turned into the arena, from whence

there is no escape. His deep-set eyes were grown red and dry: but they

rested, for a moment, while he saluted Constance and Lady Frances; their

next movement showed him Zillah and her father, and he shrank within

himself, and quailed beneath the defying gaze of the woman he had so

deeply injured. For an instant, and but for an instant, eye met eye, and

glance encountered glance: the Master of Burrell was overthrown, and

looked round for some relief; but like other sinners, when the hour of

retribution comes, he found none; for those he next saw were Dalton,

Fleetword, and Robin Hays.

"We have more than circumstantial evidence to show now, Sir Willmott

Burrell," exclaimed the Protector, after surveying him with a look of

terrible contempt: "what say you to this lady? Is she, too, a

counterfeit?"

Burrell remained silent; and while Cromwell paused, as if expecting an

answer, the Preacher could no longer hold silence, but vociferated from

behind his intrenchment:--

"Under favour of the Greatness before whom I speak--under the shadow of

his wing--I proclaim thee to be a sinner--even as those who stoned the

holy Stephen, when he was about the Lord's bidding--even as those----"

"Peace!" exclaimed Cromwell, in a voice that sounded like thunder in the

Preacher's ear. "Sir Willmott Burrell, there are now sufficient

proofs--what have you to say why this lady be not declared your lawful

and wedded wife?"

"I desire it not! I desire it not!" murmured the Rabbi: "my wealth he

shall not have, nor my child."

"But I desire it--I demand it!" interrupted Zillah; "not for my own

sake, most gracious judge," and she bent her knee to the Protector; "for

never will I commune with my destroyer after this hour--but for the sake

of an unborn babe, who shall not blush for its parent, when this poor

head and this breaking heart have found the quiet of the grave!"

"May it please your Highness," replied Burrell, "the marriage in a

foreign land is nought, particularly when solemnised between a Christian

and a Jew, unless ratified here; and I will submit to that ratification,

if the Lady Constantia Cecil, whom I was about to wed, and whom the

person your Highness designs for my wife sought to assassinate, will

agree to it,--taking on herself the penalty to which her breach of

contract must of necessity lead."

All eyes were now turned to Constantia, who sat labouring for breath,

and struggling with an agony to which it almost seemed her life would

yield.

"We have ourselves provided for the Lady Constantia a fitting mate, good

Master of Burrell," replied the Protector; "think ye that the fairest of

our land are to be thrown to the dogs?" Again he struck his pistol upon

the oak table, and after a breathless silence, during which Burrell

never removed his eyes from Constantia--(Lady Frances afterwards said

she noted they had all the evil expression of those of the hooded snake,

when preparing to dart upon its prey)--the villain contrived to move

more closely towards his victim, whose misery was but faintly painted on

her blanched cheek.

"A little time," she murmured; "a little time to deliberate."

"Not a moment--not a moment," he replied; "and remember----"

The words had hardly passed from between his closed lips, when Walter de

Guerre was ushered in, and Burrell's brow flushed one deep hue of

crimson. A murmur of congratulation escaped from several of the party;

the Protector turned towards Constantia with the look and manner of one

who has planned what he believes will be a joyful surprise--to be

gratefully received and appreciated as such; instead of beholding her

face beaming with love and hope, he saw that every fibre of her frame

became rigid; and she endeavoured to bury her face in her hands.

"Mistress Cecil seems to approve our choice no better than her

father's," he said, after a pause of intense anxiety to all present: "We

would have taught this youth what is due to ourself and our

Commonwealth, by the gentlest means within our power. Methinks, women

are all alike."

"Father! she is dying!" exclaimed the easily-alarmed Lady Frances.

"One moment, and I shall be well," said Constantia: and then she added,

"Sir Willmott Burrell, you pant for vengeance, and now you may have it.

Believing that lady, in the sight of God, to be your wife, I cannot

wrong her; though I would have sacrificed myself to--to--." She was

prevented from finishing her sentence by the Protector's exclaiming with

the energy and warmth of his natural character,

"We knew it; and now let me present your bridegroom. Frances, it was

excess of joy that caused this agitation."

Constantia interrupted him.

"Not so, your Highness. Alas! God knows, not so. But while I say that

the evil contract shall never be fulfilled--though I will never become

the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell, I also say that the wife of Walter de

Guerre I can never be. Nay more, and I speak patiently, calmly--rather

would I lay my breaking heart, ere it is all broken, beneath the waves

that lash our shore, than let one solitary word escape me, which might

lead you to imagine that even the commands of your Highness could mould

my dreadful destiny to any other shape."

There was no mistaking the expression of the Protector's countenance; it

was that of severe displeasure; for he could ill brook, at any period,

to have his wishes opposed and his designs thwarted. While Constance was

rising from her seat, Sir Willmott Burrell grasped her arm with fiendish

violence, and extending his other hand towards the door leading to the

closet, where she had left her sleeping father, he exclaimed:

"Then I accuse openly, in the face of the Protector and this company,

Robert Cecil, who stands _there_, of the murder of his brother Herbert,

and of the murder of Sir Herbert Cecil's son; and I assert that Hugh

Dalton was accessory to the same!"

A shriek so wild and piercing issued from Constantia's lips that it rang

over the house and terrified all its inmates, who crowded to the portal,

the boundary of which they dared not pass.

It was little to be wondered that she did shriek. Turning toward the

spot at which the villain pointed, the Protector saw the half-demented

Baronet standing in the door-way. He had opened the closet, and come

forth during the momentary absence of his attendant, and now stood

moping and bowing to the assembly in a way that would have moved the

pity of a heart of stone.

"Fiend!" shouted the Protector, grasping in his great anger the throat

of Sir Willmott, and shaking him as he had been a reed--"'tis a false

lie! He is no murderer; and if he had been, is it before his daughter

that ye would speak it! Hah! I see it all now. Such is the threat--the

lie--that gave you power over this excellence." He threw the ruffian

from him with a perfect majesty of resentment. Gross as was the deed,

the Protector condescending to throttle such as Burrell, the manner of

the act was great: it was that of an avenging angel, not of an angry or

impetuous man.

Sir Willmott regained his self-possession, although with feelings of

wounded pride and indignation; fixing his eye upon Constantia with, if

possible, increasing malignity, he spoke:--

"His Highness much honours his subject; but Mistress Cecil herself knows

that what I have spoken is true--so does her father--and so does also

this man! Is it not true, I ask?"

"No! I say it is false--false as hell!" answered the Buccaneer; "and if

his Highness permits, I will explain."

"You say--what?" inquired Constantia, her whole countenance and figure

dilating with that hope which had so long been a stranger to her bosom.

"I say that Robert Cecil is no murderer! Stand forth, Walter Cecil, and

state that within the two last years, you saw your father in a Spanish

monastery; and that----"

"Who is Walter Cecil?" inquired Burrell, struggling as a drowning man,

while losing his last hope of salvation.

"I am WALTER CECIL!" exclaimed our old acquaintance Walter; "my _nom de

guerre_ is no longer necessary."

"It needed not that one should come from the dead to tell us that," said

the Protector, impatiently; "but there are former passages we would have

explained. What means the villain by his charge? Speak, Dalton, and

unravel us this mystery."

"It is well known to your Highness, that few loved the former powers

more than Sir Herbert Cecil; and truth to say, he was wild, and daring,

and bad----"

"Dalton!" exclaimed the young man, in an upbraiding tone.

"Well, young master, I will say no more about it. Gold is a great

tempter, as your Highness knows; and it tempted yonder gentleman, with

whom God has dealt. He is a different sight to look upon now, to what he

was the morning he sought me to commit a crime, which, well for my own

sake, and the sake of others, I did not commit. He came to me----"

"Mercy! mercy! I claim your Highness' mercy!" said Constantia, falling

on her knees, and holding her hands, clasped and trembling, above her

head. "It is not meet that the child hear thus publicly of her father's

sin! The old man, your Highness, has not power to speak!"

"Lady," continued Dalton, "he could not deny--But my tale will soon be

finished, and it will take a load off your heart, and off the hearts of

others. Sir Herbert did not die. I conveyed him to another land; but the

papers--the instructions I had received, remained in my possession. Sir

Herbert's wild character--his fondness for sea-excursions--his careless

life, led to the belief that he had perished in some freak, in which he

too often indulged. His brother apparently mourned and sorrowed; but, in

time, the dynasty of England changed, exactly as he would have wished

it--the Commonwealth soon gave the missing brother's lands to the man

who was its friend, who had fought and laboured in its cause, and seemed

to forget that any one else had any right to the possessions:--but the

son of the injured remained as a plague-spot to his sight. I had but too

good reason to know how this son of this elder brother was regarded, and

I had learned to love the lad: he was ever about the beach, and fond of

me, poor fellow! because I used to bring him little gifts from foreign

parts--by way, I suppose, of a private atonement for grievous wrong. I

took upon myself the removing of that boy to save him from a worse fate,

for I loved him as my own child; and there he stands, and can say

whether my plain speech be true or false. I was myself a father but a

little while before I spirited him away from a dangerous home to a safe

ship. Sir Robert believed they were both dead, and sorrowed not;

although he compassed only the removal of the brother, yet the going

away of his nephew made his possessions the more secure; for, as he

said, times might change, and the boy be restored if he had lived. His

disappearance made a great stir at the time; yet there were many went

from the land then and were seen no more. I thought to rear him in my

own line, but he never took kindly to it, so I just let him have his

fling amongst people of his own thinking--gentry, and the like--who knew

how to train him better than I did. I kept Sir Herbert safe enough until

the act came out which gave Sir Robert right and dominion over his

brother's land, declaring the other to have been a malignant, and so

forth;--but the spirit was subdued within the banished man; he was

bowed and broken, and cared nothing for liberty, but took entirely to

religion, and became a monk; and his son, there, has seen him many a

time; and it comforted me to find that he died in the belief that God

would turn all things right again, and that his child would yet be

master of Cecil Place. He died like a good Christian, forgiving his

enemies, and saying that adversity had brought his soul to God--more

fond of blaming himself than others. As to Walter, he had a desire to

visit this country, and, to own the truth, I knew that if Sir Robert

failed to procure the pardon I wanted, the resurrection of this youth

would be an argument he could not withstand.

"Perhaps I was wrong in the means I adopted; but I longed for an

honest name, and it occurred to me that Sir Robert Cecil could be

frightened, if not persuaded, into procuring my pardon. God is my judge

that I was weary of my reckless habits, and panted for active but legal

employment. A blasted oak will tumble to the earth, if struck by a

thunderbolt,--like a withy. Then my child! I knew that Lady Cecil cared

for her, though, good lady, she little thought, when she first saw the

poor baby, that it was the child of a Buccaneer. She believed it the

offspring of a pains-taking trader, who had served her husband. She

guessed the truth in part afterwards, but had both piety and pity in her

bosom, and did not make the daughter suffer for the father's sin. I

loved the girl!--But your Highness is yourself a father, and would not

like to feel ashamed to look your own child in the face. I threatened

Sir Robert to make known all--and expose these documents----"

The Skipper drew from his vest the same bundle of papers which he had

used in that room, almost on that very spot, to terrify the stricken

Baronet, a few months before. Sir Robert Cecil had remained totally

unconscious of the explanations that had been made, and seemed neither

to know of, nor to heed, the presence of Dalton, nor the important

communication he had given--his eyes wandering from countenance to

countenance of the assembled group,--a weak, foolish smile resting

perpetually on his lip; yet the instant he caught a glimpse of the

packet the Buccaneer held in his hand, his memory returned: he staggered

from his daughter--who, after her appeal to Cromwell, clung to her

father's side, as if heroically resolved to share his disgrace to the

last--and grasped at the papers.

"What need of keeping them?" said the Protector, much affected at the

scene: "give them to him, give them to him."

Dalton obeyed, and Sir Robert clutched them with the avidity of a

maniac: he stared at them, enwreathed as they were by his thin,

emaciated fingers, and then, bursting into a mad fit of exulting

laughter, fell prostrate on the floor, before any one had sufficiently

recovered from the astonishment his renewed strength had occasioned, to

afford him any assistance. He was immediately raised by Constantia and

his attendants, and conveyed to his own apartment, still holding fast

the papers, though he gave little other sign of life. There was another,

besides his daughter, who followed the stricken man--his nephew Walter.

"It is ill talking of marriage," said Cromwell, as the young man paused,

and requested permission to leave the room,--"It is ill talking of

marriage when Death stands at the threshold; but I have little doubt

_you_ will be able to obtain the hand which _I_ could not dispose of.

When I first saw you, I expected to see a different person--a director

of spies--a chief of discord--a master, not a servant. Walter Cecil,

although a bold Cavalier, would hardly have had power to draw me to the

Isle of Shepey, had he not, on board the Fire-fly, chosen to embrown his

face, and carry black ringlets over his own; a trick, perchance, to set

the Protector on a wrong scent. Never hang y'er head at it, young

man--such things have been from the beginning, and will be to the end.

Methinks that old oaks stand friends with the party;--but I quarrel not

with the tree--if it shielded the worthless Charles at Worcester, it

revealed the true Walter at Queenborough. Yet I thank God on every

account that I was led to believe you one whose blood I would fain not

shed, but would rather protect--if that he has the wisdom not to trouble

our country. I thank God that I was brought here to unravel and wind up.

A ruler should be indeed a mortal (we speak it humbly) omnipresent! As

to yonder man--devil I should rather call him--he has, I suppose, no

farther threats or terrors to win a lady's love. Sir Willmott Burrell,

we will at least have the ceremony of your marriage repeated without

delay:--here is my friend's daughter--this night--."

"Not to-night," interrupted Zillah; "to-morrow, and not to-night; I can

bear no more to-night."

"Sir Willmott Burrell," said Dalton, walking to where he stood, beaten

down and trampled, yet full of poison as an adder's tooth, "be it known

that I pity you:--your dagger has been turned into your own heart!--The

human flesh you bribed me to destroy, lives! What message brought

Jeromio from the ocean?"

Dalton was proceeding in a strain that would have quickly goaded Burrell

to some desperate act; for, as the Buccaneer went on, he was lashing his

passion with a repetition of the injuries and baseness of his adversary,

as a lion lashes himself with his tail to stimulate his bravery; but the

Protector demanded if Hugh Dalton knew before whom he stood, and dared

to brawl in such presence. Silenced, but not subdued, he retreated, and

contented himself with secret execrations on his enemy.

"We have rendered some justice to-night," said Cromwell, after striding

once or twice the length of the apartment. "Yet is our task not

finished, although the morning watch is come. Without there! Desire

Colonel Jones that he remove Sir Willmott Burrell to the apartment he

before occupied. The morning sun shall witness the completion of the

ceremony between him and her he has so deeply wronged. We will then

consider the course that justice may point out to us. Dalton, you are a

free man, free to come and free to go, and to go as soon and where you

please. Observe, I said _as soon_." Dalton bowed lowly, and moved to

raise his daughter from the spot on which she had crouched by the seat

of her beloved mistress; Robin instinctively moved also.

"Stay!" continued the Protector, "there is yet more to do. Young man,

you must be well aware your act of this night demands some punishment.

The ship which you destroyed--." Dalton writhed at the remembrance, and

Barbara half unclosed her gentle lips.

"Please your Highness, I knew the man's affection for his ship, and I

loved him better than the timber; he would have destroyed me in his

anger but for poor Barbara."

"That is nothing to us; at the least, fetters must be your portion."

Barbara involuntarily sank on her knees, in an attitude of supplication.

Robin knelt also, and by her side.

So touching was the scene, that Cromwell smiled while he laid his hand

on her head, and with the other raised the long chain his daughter had

given the modest bower-maiden, and which had remained suspended from her

neck, he threw it over the shoulders of Robin, so that it encircled them

both.

"We are clumsy at such matters," he continued, "but the Lord bless you!

and may every virtuous woman in England meet with so warm a heart, and

so wise a head, to love her and direct her ways--though the outward

fashioning of the man be somewhat of the strangest."

CHAPTER XIV.

Know then, my brethren, heaven is clear,

And all the clouds are gone;

The righteous now shall flourish, and

Good days are coming on:

Come then, my brethren, and be glad,

And eke rejoice with me.

FRANCIS QUARLES.

Over the happy and the miserable, the guilty and the good, Time alike

passes; though his step may be light or heavy, according to the feelings

of those who watch his progress, still he pursues, with sure and certain

tread, a course upon which he never turns.

We are about to bid farewell to those who have been our companions

through a long but we trust not a weary path; and we delay them but for

a short space longer to learn how felt the household of Cecil Place,

after the events and excitements of a day which gave birth to so many

marvels, and unravelled so many mysteries.

We have, however, yet to deal out perfect justice,--and would fain tarry

a moment to remark how rarely it is that, even in the sober world of

Fact, the wicked finish their course--and vengeance has not overtaken.

Truly has it been said that "virtue is its own reward:" as truly has it

been added, that "vice brings its own punishment."

How lightly, and with how deep a blessing, did Constance Cecil, when the

day was breaking, offer up a fervent thanksgiving to God that her only

parent, though deeply sinful in intent, was free from blood, and,

though worn in body, was sleeping as quietly as a wearied child when its

task is ended. Her mother's spirit seemed to hover over and bless her,

and imagination pictured another by her side who came to share the

blessing--it was the companion of her childhood, the chosen, and loved,

and trusted of a long and happy and prosperous after-life.

Constantia pressed her couch; but, with the exception of the worn and

weary Sir Robert, whose existence quivered like the parting light of an

expiring lamp, no eyes slumbered in Cecil Place. The Lady Frances

Cromwell, upon that morning, took not up the lays of the foolish Waller,

but the precious volume that, in her vanity, she had too often

slighted--she read therein,--

"Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give

you rest."

And as she so read, a more calm and settled expression spread over her

features; and after much musing and much thankfulness, she sought the

chamber of her friend. Constantia was not alone, for, pale and weak, and

trembling,--still like the aspen which every breeze may agitate,--the

little Puritan Barbara crouched on an old cushion by the side of her

lady's bed.

It did not escape the Lady Frances, that however thankful and comforted

was Constantia by her release from the terrible doom of a union with Sir

Willmott Burrell, she was deeply humbled and smitten by the publicity

that had been given to her father's meditated crime, and she skilfully

avoided any allusion to the scene of the night. The feelings of the

maiden were, however, elicited sufficiently to satisfy even the

curiosity of Frances Cromwell, by one of those simple incidents that

speak more eloquently than words. As Barbara sat on the cushion, she

could see into the garden beneath: the window overhung the very spot

where Walter had gathered the wild rose as he went forth a prisoner,

with Major Wellmore, from the house in which he was already considered a

master; and the simple girl discerned, amid the foliage of the trees,

even Walter himself, whose gaze was fixed upon the casement above.

"Look, Mistress, look!" she exclaimed.

Lady Frances and Constantia did look both at the same moment, and saw

the same sight. They also both at once withdrew their glance, and, as

the eyes of the ladies encountered, a blush, not of shame, or pride, or

anger, overspread the fine features of Constantia--it was the pure

bright colouring of assured affection; it said more than if volumes had

been written to express her feelings. If she seemed less dignified, she

looked more lovely than ever: it was as sunshine lending new warmth and

fresh beauty to a landscape, which needed that alone to vivify and

enlighten, to cheer and charm, to gladden and give life.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Frances, clasping her hands--"thank God!--after

all, Constantia, you are but a woman!"

"My dear friend," replied the lady, literally turning on her couch to

hide her blushes, "this is no time to trifle: the melancholy----"

She paused for want of words: that proneness to dissemble, which

inevitably attends all women who ever were or ever will be in love, was

struggling with her high and truthful nature. But Constantia was still

Constantia, and could not depart from truth, so as successfully to feign

what she did not feel: her sentence consequently remained unfinished,

and Lady Frances was left at full liberty to draw her own conclusions

therefrom,--a matter of no great difficulty.

"I have received a letter from my sister Mary," she said, kindly

changing the subject, "and it will please you to know that my lordly

father is inclined to listen to reason, and manifests a disposition to

admit the reasonableness of his daughter Frances becoming Rich. Beshrew

me! but most fathers like that distinction for their children; only,

alas! in this instance, Rich and riches are not synonymous. What think

you of that? His Highness has not said a word to me on the subject.

There is your prim Barbara smiling. Ah! you too, I suppose, will soon be

saluted as Mistress or Dame Hays. Fie, fie, Barbara! I thought you had

better taste. But never mind, I will not say a word to his

disparagement--no, nor suffer one of the court curs to growl at Crisp

when he visits the buttery at Whitehall or Hampton. What have you done

with the Lady Zillah?"

"So please you, madam," replied Barbara, "the Rabbi would not be

separated from his daughter. He seems to think her only safe under his

own eye. So he forced her to lie on his own bed, and she has fallen,

poor lady, into a deep sleep--and he sits by her side, sometimes gazing

upon a dim old book, full of strange marks and characters, but more

often looking upon the face of his child, until his eyes fill with

tears; and then he clasps his hands, and mutters, what I know must be a

blessing, it is so earnest; and then, if perchance she moves and the

pillow swells, or the coverlet be disturbed, he smooths it so gently you

would think it was a woman's hand, and not that of a man. Ah, my lady!

love makes all things gentle."

"I wonder," observed Lady Frances, "will she turn Christian?"

"She has been a kind nurse to me, in my trouble," replied the puritan;

"but our good preacher says her heart is far from being humbled. She has

a high mind, and is proud of her tribe. While we were in the cell,

Master Fleetword took a deal of pains with her, and expoundiated most

wonderfully for hours together; but I fear me the seed fell upon stony

ground: for, though she sat still enough, I know she did not listen."

"Where is your father?"

Barbara started at the abruptness of the question, and colouring, she

knew not why, said,

"Please you, my lady, though his Highness at first commanded him hence,

he has graciously suffered him to remain until to-morrow's noon. Ah,

madam!" she continued, sinking on the ground at Lady Frances's feet, "if

you would only, only remember the promise you made when you gave me

this,"--she held the clasp of the golden chain towards Lady

Frances,--"and intercede with him, to whom is given the power of life

and death, to pardon to the uttermost, and suffer Hugh Dalton to tarry

on this island, I would--I would--alas! my lady, I am but a poor girl,

and have nothing to give save blessings, and they shower so upon the

heads of greatness that they must weary and not gladden; but my blessing

would come from the heart, and it is not always, I hear, that the heart

beats when the lips speak. So good, my lady, think upon your own great

father; and think that as great as he have ere now asked for mercy; and

then think upon mine--mine, who is as brave, and--and--will be as honest

as the best man in all England. Then, gracious madam, it is not from

presumption I speak, but Robin has wit and wisdom, and wit and wisdom

are sometimes needed by those in high places; but he would lend--ay,

give it all, to serve any one who pleasured me in a smaller thing than

this. I can do nothing; but Robin is one who can always do much."

When Barbara had pleaded thus far, she could get no farther, but

trembled, so that Lady Frances placed her on her cushion, and smilingly

replied,

"So, for this woodbine-sort of assistance, you would have me rouse the

British lion, who has been in such marvellous good temper lately that I

fear me the wind will shift soon; but Cromwell, girl, is not one to

halve his mercy. I can promise, not from my influence, but the knowledge

of his mind, that Hugh Dalton will not be banished; nay, I am sure of

it. But see ye there, the helmets are stirring already. Constantia, your

chamber is delightful for a heroine, but a melancholy one for a curious

maiden. Only behold! one can scarcely catch a glimpse of the court-yard.

When I build a castle, I'll construct a turret with eyes, commonly

called windows, all round it: nothing shall be done in secret!--Good

morn to you, sweet friend! I can soon find out what the stir is about

from the head of the great staircase."

"Adieu, fair Lady Curiosity," said Constantia, as Lady Frances tripped

with a light step on her inquisitive mission: "I will now go to my

father's chamber;" and thither she went, resolved to perform her duty to

the last, though she shuddered at the remembrance of the crime he had

once meditated, and humbly, earnestly prayed that the sin might be

washed away from his soul.

CHAPTER XV.

This even-handed justice

Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice

To our own lips.

SHAKSPEARE.

As the grey and misty twilight brightened into the glowing and happy

morn, there were two men prying about and around the otherwise deserted

cavern of the Gull's Nest Crag.

Nothing is more dreary and lonely to look upon than a scene, where

bustle and traffic have but lately been, changed, as if by magic, into a

place of stillness--forsaken by those who gave to it animation and

existence which before it knew not, and may never know again.

Solitude now covered it as with a pall. At the door of the once noisy

and frequented hostelry, instead of the bent but busy figure of old

Mother Hays, two sea-gulls stalked, and flapped their wings, and

screamed, and thrust their bills into the rude cooking-pots that stood

without.

The two persons, who appeared intent upon investigating the mysteries of

the place, could not be seen without bending over the edge of the

topmost cliff. It was then at once perceived that they were occupied in

fulfilling no ordinary or every-day task. They moved in and out of the

lower entrance like bees intent on forming new cells. For a considerable

time no word was spoken by either: at length the object they had in view

appeared accomplished, and, after climbing to the highest cliff, they

sat down opposite each other, so as to command a full prospect of both

sea and land.

"It was only a little farther on--about a quarter of a mile nearer Cecil

Place--that I first set foot on the Isle of Shepey," said the younger,

"and a precious fright I got--a fright that never was clear explained,

nor ever will be now, I guess."

"I little thought matters would have had such an end," replied the

other. "Gad, I'm hardly paid for the powder of the train by the few bits

I've picked up inside. I couldn't believe, unless I'd seen it myself,

that the place was so cleared out: except the furs and shawls belonging

to the women, there wasn't the wrapping round my finger of anything

worth having. Well, Hugh had many friends--I never thought he'd turn

tail."

"Turn tail!" repeated the youth: "who dares to say he turned tail? If

any one repeats that before me, I'll make free to give him a dose of

cold lead without farther ceremony!"

"All our chickens are game-cocks now-a-days!" returned the elder one,

half laughing: "but, Springall, could you swear that the Skipper and

Robin Hays didn't concert it all together?"

"Let me alone, Jack, and don't put my back up. I'll lay my life, if

there was any concerting in it, 'twas between Robin and the maid

Barbara. Well, girls have queer fancies!--Who'd ha' thought she'd ha'

fancied Robin?--though he's a brave sound-hearted little fellow; yet

who'd ha' thought she'd have preferred him to--to----"

"To you, I suppose. Lord, Springall, there's no coming up to the women.

Bless ye, I've seen those who loved apes, and parrots, and puppy-dogs,

and took more pride and pleasure in them than in their own lawful

husbands and born children! What d'ye think o' that? Why, would you

believe it? a girl I loved better than my heart's blood took a fancy to

an old man, and sent me adrift, though I was a likely fellow then--ah!

different, very different to what I am now;" and Jack Roupall, leaning

his elbows on his knees, that were wide apart, commenced drawing, with

the butt end of his pistol, figures on the sand, which the wind, whether

in anger or sportiveness, had flung upon the crag. After a lengthened

pause, he looked suddenly up at the youth Springall, who still sat

opposite to him, and said abruptly, "Are you sure you made no mistake?"

"Am I sure of the sight of my eyes, or the hearing of my ears?" returned

the lad. "I was as close to the troopers as I am to you, though they saw

me not, and their entire talk was of the Gull's Nest, and how they were

all to be down here soon after sunrise; and a deal of jokes, in their

own way, they passed upon it--stiff dry jokes, that were as hard to

swallow as a poker."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the smuggler; "how they will pray when they see the

crag dancing in the air! It would be ill done towards the secret

stations of our friends on other parts of the coast, to let these

fellows find the ins and outs of such a place as this; it would be

holding a candle to the devil--giving them a guide to lead them on

through all their plans henceforward and for ever. The Gull's Nest shall

go after the Fire-fly. It gives me joy to mar their sport--their peeping

and prying. But we will not let off the train until we see them pretty

close upon us. The Roundhead rascals shall have the full benefit of our

gay bonfire. 'Ods rot it! what else could we do, but make a gay ending

of it at once. A gay ending!" he repeated--"a gay ending! No rock to

mark the spot of so much merriment, so much joviality, so much spoil!

Ah! in a hundred years, few can tell where the watchers of the Gull's

Nest Crag lighted beacon and brand for the free rovers of the free sea!"

Another pause succeeded the rhapsody of Jack Roupall and then Springall

inquired how it was that he could not open the strong room where the

preacher had been left to his prayers.

"How it was? why, because I had not the key. And I am sure there's

nothing in it. I was in with the skipper after the long-legged puritan

was out, and I could see only squashed fruit, broken boxes, and old

good-for-nothing rags. Whatever had been worth moving was moved; but

that room will mount as high as any of them, I warrant me. I laid a good

lot of combustibles to the door. Ah! there was the gleam of a spear, to

my thinking." And he arose as he spoke, groaning out a curse against

Springall the moment after. "My back--a murrain upon you and upon me

too!--aches like the rheumatism from the weight of that old hag's

coffin, which you would have me carry from the Gull's Nest out yonder,

for fear it should be blown up with the crag. What did it signify if it

was, I wonder?"

"You wouldn't like the body of your own mother to go heavenward after

such a fashion, sinner as ye are, would ye, Jack?"

"They are coming," observed the rover, without heeding Springall's

words, "they are coming."

It was a fine sight to see even a small number of such well-disciplined

soldiers winding their way under the shadow of the hill nearest the

scene of so many adventures.

Roupall and the youth crept stealthily down the cliff by a secret path;

then, with the greatest deliberation, Jack struck a light, and prepared

to fire the train they had connected with those within the nest, to

which we alluded at the commencement of our narrative; while Springall

proceeded to perform a similar task a little lower down the Crag,

towards the window from whence the preacher, Fleetword, slung the packet

which so fortunately arrived at the place of its destination.

The instant their purpose was effected by a signal agreed upon between

them they quickly withdrew, and sheltered beneath the shade of a huge

rock left bare by the receding tide, where no injury could befal them.

It was well they did so, for in a moment the report as of a thousand

cannon thundered through the air, and fragments of clay, rock, and

shingle fell, thick as hail, and heavy as millstones, all around.

Immediately after a piercing cry for aid burst upon their ear, and

spread over land and water.

"God of Heaven!" exclaimed Springall, "it is not possible that any human

creature could have been within the place!" and he stretched himself

forward, and looked up to where the cry was uttered.

The young man, whose locks were then light as the golden beams of the

sun, and whose step was as free as that of the mountain roe, lived to be

very old, and his hair grew white, and his free step crippled, before

death claimed his subject; he was moreover one acquainted in after years

with much strife and toil, and earned honour, and wealth, and

distinction; but often has he declared that never had he witnessed any

thing which so appalled his soul as the sight he beheld on that

remembered morning. He seized Roupall's arm with convulsive energy, and

dragged him forward, heedless of the storm of clay and stones that was

still pelting around them. Wherever the train had fired, the crag had

been thrown out; and as there were but few combustibles within its

holes, and the gay sunlight had shorn the flames of their brightness,

the objects that struck the gaze of the lookers on were the dark hollows

vomiting forth columns of black and noisome smoke, streaked with a murky

red.

As the fire made its way according to the direction of the meandering

powder, which Dalton himself had laid in case of surprise, the earth

above reeled, and shook, and sent forth groans, like those of troubled

nature when a rude earthquake bursts asunder what the Almighty united

with such matchless skill. The lower train that Springall fired had cast

forth, amongst rocks and stones, the mass of clay in which was the

loophole through which Fleetword had looked out upon the wide sea.

Within the chasm thus created was the figure of a living man. He stood

there with uplifted hands, lacking courage to advance; for beneath, the

wreathed smoke and dim hot fume of the consuming fire told him of

certain death; unable to retreat,--for the insidious flame had already

destroyed the door which Roupall had failed to move, and danced, like a

fiend at play with destruction, from rafter to rafter, and beam to beam,

of the devoted place.

"Ha!" exclaimed the reckless rover, with a calmness which at the moment

made his young companion upbraid him as the most merciless of human

kind; "ha! I wonder how he got there? I heard that some how or other he

was in limbo at Cecil Place; he wanted to make an escape, I suppose, and

so took to the old earth. Ay, ay! look your last on the bright sun,

that's laughing at man and man's doings--you'll never mount to where it

shines, I trow."

Sir Willmott Burrell--for Roupall had not been deceived either as to the

identity of the person, or the motive which led him to seek refuge in

the Gull's Nest--had effected an almost miraculous escape, considering

how closely he was guarded, a few hours before, and secreted himself in

the very chamber where he had left poor Fleetword to starvation, little

imagining that he was standing on the threshold of retributive justice.

He had caught at flight, even so far, as a sort of reprieve; and was

forming plans of future villany at the very moment the train was fired.

God have mercy on all sinners! it is fearful to be cut off without time

for repentance. Sir Willmott had none. In the flower of manhood, with a

vigorous body and a skilful mind, he had delighted in evil, and panted

for the destruction of his fellows. His face, upon which the glare of

the garish fire danced in derision of his agony, was distorted, and

terrible to look upon: brief as was the space allotted to him, each

moment seemed a year of torture. As the flames rose and encircled their

victim, his cries were so dreadful, that Springall pressed his hands to

his ears, and buried his face in the sand; but Roupall looked on to the

last, thinking aloud his own rude but energetic thoughts.

"Ah! you do not pray, as I have seen some do! Now, there come the

Ironsides," he added, as those grave soldiers drew up on a projection of

the opposite cliff, which, though lower than the ruined Gull's Nest,

commanded a view of the cavern and its sole inmate; "there they come,

and just in time to see your departure for your father the devil's land.

You don't even die game! What an end one of those Ingy chiefs would ha'

made of it on such a funeral pile; but some people have no feeling--no

pride--no care for what looks well!"

At that instant the Preacher Fleetword, who had accompanied the troops,

stood a little in advance of the Protector himself. Cromwell had a

curiosity to inspect the resort of the Buccaneers; and, perfectly

unconscious of Sir Willmott's escape, was petrified with horror and

astonishment on seeing him under such appalling circumstances; the

tumbling crags--the blazing fire--the dense smoke mounting like pillars

of blackness into the clear and happy morning sky--and, above all, the

agonised scorching figure of the wretched knight, writhing in the last

throes of mortal agony!

"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" exclaimed Fleetword: "Pray, pray!" he

continued, elevating his voice, and hoping, with a kindliness of feeling

which Sir Willmott had little right to expect, that he might be

instrumental in directing the wretched man's attention to a future

state. "Pray! death is before you, and you cannot wrestle with it! Pray!

even at the eleventh hour! Pray!--and we will pray with you!"

The Preacher uncovered: the Protector and his soldiers stood also

bareheaded on the cliff. But not upon the prayers of brave and honest

soldiers was the spirit of active villany and cowardly vice to ascend to

the judgment seat of the Almighty--before one word of supplication was

spoken, a column of flame enwreathed the remaining portion of the crag:

it was of such exceeding brightness that the soldiers blinked thereat;

and, when its glare was past, they looked upon a smouldering heap at the

foot of the cliffs: it was the only monument of "The Gull's Nest Crag;"

and the half-consumed body of Sir Willmott Burrell was crushed beneath

it.

While the attention of Cromwell and his friends was fixed upon the

desperate end of the miserable man, Roupall was crawling under a ledge

of black rock, that stretched to a considerable distance into the sea,

where he calculated on remaining safe until high tide drove him to

another burrow. Not so Springall: the moment he saw the Protector on the

cliff, he appeared to have forgotten every thing connected with disguise

or flight; he no longer sought concealment, but hastened to present

himself in front of the soldiers, who still remained uncovered,

expecting, doubtless, that such an event would be followed by exposition

or prayer.

Nothing daunted, he advanced with a steady and determined step, without

so much as removing his hat, until he stood directly opposite to

Cromwell, whose countenance, under the influence of awe and horror, had

something in it more than usually terrific. The clear blue eye of the

young intrepid boy encountered the grey, worn, and bloodshot orb of the

great and extraordinary man.

For an instant, a most brief instant, eye rested upon eye--then the

young seaman's dropped, and it would seem that his gay and lofty head

bent of itself, the hat was respectfully removed, and he confessed to

himself that he trembled in the presence of the mysterious being.

"We would not quench the spirit," said the Protector, addressing

Fleetword, "but let your prayer be short--a word in season is better

than a sermon out of season. We have somewhat to investigate touching

the incendiaries by land as well as sea."

For the first time in his life Springall considered that a prayer might

not be of wearisome length. There he stood, as if nailed to the same

spot, while the smoke of the Gull's Nest ascended, and the soldiers

remained with their helmets in their hands.

Cromwell manifested an occasional impatience, but only by moving first

on one leg, then on the other; which, however, escaped the observation

of Fleetword, who most certainly became a more dignified and

self-important person ever after the hour when he was "permitted to

speak in the presence of the ruler in the New Jerusalem."

His address was brief and emphatic; and upon its conclusion the

Protector commanded Springall to advance.

"It appears to us that you had something to communicate."

"I believe I made a mistake," replied the boy, "I took you--your

Highness, I should say--for one Major Wellmore."

"We know you to be a faithful watchman, but it remains to be proved if

you are an honest witness. Canst tell how came about this business, and

how Sir Willmott Burrell escaped, and took refuge there?"

"It was always settled, please your Highness, that, if any thing

happened, whoever could was to fire off the trains, which were always

ready laid, to make an ending when needed: we little thought that there

was any living being within the nest; but Sir Willmott had access to

many of the cells, being as deep in their secrets as other resorters to

this place--only he never had the bravery of the free trade about him,

seeing he was far from honest."

Springall observed not the warning finger of Robin Hays, nor heard the

murmured sentence of caution that fell upon his ear from the lips of

Walter Cecil. Although he had assumed an attitude of daring, his whole

thoughts were fixed on the Protector. He was proceeding in the same

strain, when Cromwell interrupted him.

"Peace, youngster! it is ill from one who has committed evil, like

yourself, to speak evil of the living, much less the dead;--it was you,

we take it, who reduced this place to destruction?"

"Please your Highness, I did."

"You and another?"

"Well, sir, there was another: but he's gone--no use in trying to find

him, he's away. If," added the young man, with his usual recklessness,

"there should be punishment for destroying a wasp's nest, your Highness

shall see that I will bear it as well as----"

The Protector again interrupted the youth's eloquence by adding, "As

well as you did the hanging over yonder bay? No, no--we can

discriminate, by God's blessing, between the young of the plundering fox

and the cub of a lion: both are destructive, but the one is mean and

cowardly: the other--it shall be our care to train the other to nobler

purposes."

Springall raised his eyes, almost for the first time, from the ground,

and started at seeing his friends standing on a level with the

Protector. Robin's cheek was blanched, and his ken wandered over the

blazing gulf which had swallowed up the dwelling of his early years.

Springall, with the quickness of feeling that passes from kind heart to

kind heart, without the aid of words, sprang towards him, and catching

his arm, exclaimed,

"Your mother's body! it is safe, safe, Robin, under the dark tree, by

the cairn stones. Surely I would not let it be so destroyed."

Cromwell's veneration for his own mother was one of the most beautiful

traits in his character; from that instant the Protector of England

took the boy Springall unto his heart: there was something in common

between them--out of such slight events are destinies moulded.

"Your Highness," said Walter, whom we must now distinguish as WALTER

CECIL, "will pardon one who is indebted to you, not only for a restored

fortune, but for his hopes of happiness. Your Highness will, I trust,

pardon me for so soon becoming a suitor:--that boy----"

"Shall be cared for--it pleased the Almighty that Major Wellmore

encountered more than one brave heart and trusty hand in this same Isle

of Shepey. After a time we trust to show you and your cousin-bride, when

she visits her god-mother, how highly we esteem your friendship; and we

trust, moreover, that the awful lesson of retributive justice, it has

graciously pleased the Lord to write in palpable letters of fire, will

be remembered by all those who hear of Hugh Dalton and the Fire-fly.

Great as is the power given into our keeping, we would not have dared to

execute such awful judgment as that which has fallen upon the man of

many sins. And behold, also, by the hands of the ungodly righteous

punishment has been dealt unto the sticks and stones that have long

given to rapine most unworthy shelter. The wheat, too, mark ye, young

sir!--the wheat has been divided--glory be to God! for it is his doing.

The wheat has been divided from the tares--and from amid the lawless and

the guilty have come forth some who may yet take seats among the

faithful in Israel."

CONCLUDING CHAPTER.

Twelve years--twelve eventful years--had passed, and, ere our work is

done, we must entreat our readers to visit with us, once again, the old

Isle of Shepey. The thoughtless, good-tempered, dissipated, extravagant,

ungrateful, unprincipled Charles, had been called by the sedate,

thinking, and moral people of England to reign over them. But with

English whim, or English wisdom, we have at present nought to do; we

leave abler and stronger heads to determine, when reviewing the page of

history, whether we are or are not a most change-loving people--lovers

of change for the sake of change.

Our business is with an aged man, seated, on a pleasant evening of the

year 1668, under a noble oak, whose spreading branches shadowed a brook

that babbled at his feet.

The beams of the setting sun were deepening the yellow tints of yet

early autumn, and many of the trees looked as if steeped in liquid gold.

In the distance, the ocean, quiet, calm, unruffled, was sleeping beneath

the sober sky, and not a breeze wafted its murmurs to the little

streamlet by the side of which that old man sat. He was but one of a

group; four healthy and handsome children crowded around him, watching,

with all the intense hope and anxiety of that happy age, the progress of

his work. He was occupied, as grandfathers often are, in constructing a

toy for his grandchildren. The prettiest of the party was a dark-eyed

rosy girl of about four, perhaps five--for her countenance had more

intelligence than generally belongs to either age, while her figure was

slight and small, small enough for a child not numbering more than three

years: she, too, was employed--stitching, with a long awkward needle,

something which looked very like the sail of a baby-boat. A boy,

somewhat older than herself, was twisting tow into cordage, while the

eldest, the man of the family, issued his directions, or rather his

commands, to both, in the customary style of lads when overlooking their

juniors. The next to him was probably grandpapa's especial pet, for he

knelt at the old man's knee, watching patiently, and taking good note,

how he secured the principal mast steadily in the centre of the mimic

vessel, it had been his kind task to frame for the youngsters'

amusement.

It must not be forgotten that a very pretty spaniel crouched at the

little maid's feet, and ever and anon lifted its mild gentle eyes to the

countenance of its mistress.

"Con," said the eldest boy, "you are making those stitches as long as

your own little fingers; and you must remember, that if the work is not

done neatly, the wind may get into the turnings and throw the ship on

her beam-ends."

"Grandfather!" exclaimed the child, holding up her work with an

imploring look, "be those stitches too long? If you say so,

grandfather, I will take them all out, because you know."

"They will do very nicely indeed, Conny," replied the old man, with an

approving smile; "and as for you, Master Walter, I wish that your work

was always done as well as your sister's. Bless her! how like her mother

she is!"

"I wish I was like my mother too," said Walter, "for then you would love

me."

"Boys and girl, I love you all, and thank God that, in these bad times,

you are as good as you are! But, Watty, you must never think of the sea;

you were not intended for a sailor, or you would not talk of wind

getting into the stitchings of a topsail, and throwing the ship on her

beam-ends--ha, ha!"

The proud boy turned blushingly away, and began playing with, or rather

teazing, a very old nondescript dog, who was lying comfortably coiled up

on the youngest lad's pinafore, under shelter of the grey stone which

the grandfather used as his seat.

"Wat will be a soldier," said the second boy, whose name was Hugh; "his

godpapa, Sir Walter, says he shall. But you will teach me to be a sailor

before you die, and then I may live to be as great as the great man you

and father talk about, the brave Blake. Oh! how proud I should be if you

could live to see that day," he continued, his bright eyes dancing at

the anticipation of future glory. "And you may, dear grandfather, for

mother says that Crisp is older now for a dog than you are for a man.

Watty, you had better not teaze Crisp, for he has three teeth left."

"Three!" interrupted little Con, whose fine name of Constantia had been

diminished to the familiar appellation--"three! he has four and a half

and a little piece, for I opened his mout and counted them myself."

"When do you mean to speak plain, and be a lady, Miss Con?"

The child looked into her brother's face, and laughed a gleesome laugh,

one of those burstings of a joyous heart that come, we know not how, but

never come after the dancing pulse of youth changes into a measured

time, when we look upon the dial's hand, and note that hours are

passing.

"Grandfather," said Hugh, when the mast was fairly established, and the

rigging properly arranged, "may I call my vessel the 'Firefly?'"

From whence came the rich warm blood that in a moment suffused the old

man's cheek, as his unconscious grandchild pronounced the name of his

darling, his long-lost, but not forgotten ship? He grasped the boy's arm

with the energy of former times, and shook him as he never thought to

have shaken the child of his own Barbara.

"Where heard you those words--where, I say?" he demanded of his

namesake, while the boy cowered, and the other children stood aghast.

"I heard that wild old man who died in our barn last week, although

mother made him so comfortable, and you and father were so kind to him,

say that was the name of a ship you once had," sobbed little Hugh: "and

I only thought I should like to call mine after it."

"And was that indeed all?" inquired the aged Buccaneer, relaxing his

grasp, but still looking into the boy's ingenuous countenance, as if he

expected some evil tidings.

"It was all that I understood," replied the child, now weeping from pain

and terror, "except that I remember he asked to be buried at

East-Church, because that was nearer what he called the Gull's Nest Crag

than the old church of Minster."

"Poor Jack!--poor Jack Roupall!" exclaimed Dalton, forgetting his

momentary displeasure, and musing aloud upon the end of his ever

reckless follower--"Poor Jack! The nut _had_ been good, fresh, sweet,

wholesome, though the rind was rough and bitter; it was the canker that

destroyed it: and I should have been as bad--as blighted--lost--but for

my own sweet child." And then Hugh Dalton's eye fell upon the pouting

boy, whose arm he had, in the anguish of his remembrance, pressed too

roughly, and he caught him to his bosom, and blessed him with all his

heart and soul.

Little Con crept round, and, seeing where her brother's arm was still

red, held it to her grandfather's lip, saying,

"Kiss, kiss it, and make it well."

The old man did as that child in her simplicity directed; and, when she

again looked upon it, there was more than one tear glistening on the

fair firm flesh.

"Let us call her 'King Charles,'" exclaimed the eldest boy, as the

gallant little vessel moved down the stream; while the children, who not

ten minutes before were trembling with alarm at their grandfather's

displeasure, now, with the happy versatility of youthful spirits,

shouted gaily at the ship's progress over the unrippled waters.

"You will call it by no such name," said Dalton gravely. "Yonder comes

your mother, and she or your father can best christen your little ship."

The old man, who had launched their fairy boat, turned towards where

once Cecil Place had stood. From some peculiar feeling in the bosoms of

Sir Walter and Lady Cecil, for which it would not be difficult to

account, only a portion of the old structure remained--sufficient, and

just sufficient, to lodge Robin, and Robin's wife, and Robin's

father-in-law, and Robin's children. The fine old gateway was fast

crumbling to decay, and, indeed, it was well known that a kindly

sentiment towards the Buccaneer decided Sir Walter on keeping even so

much of the place standing, as the old man's only wish now was to die in

the Isle of Shepey; and it will be readily believed that Hugh Dalton's

wishes were laws to the family of Cecil. The trees had in many places

been levelled, and the only spot which remained perfectly untouched in

the gardens was one called "The Fairy Ring." The neighbouring peasantry

believed that it was hallowed by some remembrance of which both Lady

Cecil and Barbara partook; for the latter tended every herb and flower

therein with more than common care--with perfect devotion. Did we say

there was but one spot cherished? faithless historians that we are!

there was another--a rustic temple; and, about ten years before the

period of which we now treat, something resembling an altar had been

erected therein, with a quaint device carved in white stone, a braid of

hair encircling two hearts, and a rhyme, or, as it was then called, a

posy, the words of which are not recorded, but were said to have been

written by Lucy Hutchinson, as a compliment to her friend Constantia

Cecil.

The old man, as we have said, turned towards Cecil Place, which then

presented only the appearance of a small and picturesque dwelling.

Issuing thence were two persons whom we may at once introduce as the

manikin, Robin Hays, and the little Puritan, Barbara Iverk, of our

story. Manikin, indeed! He of the gay pink doublet, silken hose, and

plume hat, would little thank us for the term! He was rather over than

under-dressed, more fine than might be expected in a country gentleman

in so lonely an island; but it was evident he loved finery, and loved to

deck his own person: his long black hair curled naturally and gracefully

over his shoulders; his eyes had more to do, during latter years, with

love and home, than with hate and adventure; consequently they sparkled

with pure and kindly feeling; and if sometimes sarcasm lighted its

beacon within their lids, it was quickly extinguished by the devoted

affection and gratitude of his right excellent heart. His figure

appeared much less disproportioned than when first we saw him taunted

into fury in his mother's hostelry by poor Jack Roupall's ill-timed

jests on his deformity: he was much stouter; and the full cavalier dress

was better calculated to hide any defects of person, than the tight

fitting vests of the bygone Roundheads, who looked to every inch of

cloth with a carefulness altogether scouted by their more heedless

successors. He had a free and open air, and a smile of dazzling

brightness. What can we say of Barbara? Female beauty is seldom

stationary; there is no use in disguising the fact, that after

twenty--dear, sweet, fascinating twenty! the freshness of the rose is

gone. We have said freshness--_not_ fragrance. Fragrance to the rose, is

what the soul is to the body--an imperishable essence, that lasts after

the petals have meekly dropped, one by one, upon their mother-earth. A

blessing upon the fragrance of sweet flowers! and a thousand blessings

upon the power that gifted their leaves with such a dowry! Oh, it

partakes of heaven to walk into the pastures and inhale the goodness of

the Lord, from the myriad field-flowers that gem the earth with beauty!

And then in sickness! What, what is so refreshing as the perfume of

sweet plants? We speak not of the glazed and costly things that come

from foreign lands, but of the English nosegay--(how we love the homely

word!)--the sweet briar, lavender, cowslip, violet, lily of the valley,

or a sprig of meadow sweet, a branch of myrtle, a tuft of primroses, or

handful of wild thyme! Such near the couch of sickness are worth a host

of powdered doctors! Again we say, a blessing on sweet flowers! And now

for one who loved them well, and learnt much wisdom "from every leaf

that clothed her native hills." Barbara was no longer the slight,

delicate girl, tripping with an orderly but light step to do the

behests of those she loved; but a sober, diligent, affectionate matron,

zealous in the discharge of her duty, patient in supporting pain,

whether of mind or body; a sincere Christian, a kind mistress, a gentle

daughter, a wise mother, but, above all, a devoted, trusting wife, still

looking upon Robin--her Robin, as the English Solomon,--a system we

advise all wives to follow--when they can. The manner in which this

truly pious woman yielded to all her husband's whims was almost

marvellous--one of the miracles of that miracle-worker--LOVE! With the

simple, yet discriminating tact, of itself a gift from nature, which no

earthly power can either bestow or teach, she understood the wishes of

Robin almost before he was himself acquainted with his own thoughts. And

had she been on her death-bed, that excellent creature could have

declared before Him, to whom all things are known, that "God and her

husband" had been her true heart's motto.

Even Robin's weaknesses were hallowed, if not cherished things--she

innocently catered to his personal vanity, for she really loved to see

him well appointed; and she avoided every thing bordering on gaiety of

dress, manner, or society, because she felt that jealousy was one of his

infirmities; thus by never arousing his evil passions, their very

existence was forgotten, and the violent, capricious Ranger would have

been hardly recognized (except by his very intimates), as the

self-satisfied, and somewhat important manager of Sir Walter Cecil's

estates.

As Robin and Barbara drew near their father and the children, they

perceived a Cavalier well mounted, and attended by two serving men, also

on horseback, winding along the hill path, or road, as it was called;

and the younger dog--by the way a daughter of our old acquaintance

Blanche--gave notice to the little mariners of the approach, by

bristling her silken hair and rounding her flapping ears, while she

barked long and loudly at the unusual arrival.

The Buccaneer shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out. Robin jerked

his hat a little more on one side, while Barbara drew the Flanders lace

of her silken hood more closely round her face.

"It is a Court Cavalier," exclaimed _Master Hays_, as he was

respectfully termed by his associates, "with two attendants and a dog;

beshrew me! but a noble dog from foreign parts; some friend of our kind

master is that gentleman. One would think he was reconnoitring, so

earnestly does he look out from place to place. Father," he continued,

drawing towards Dalton, "do you note how he peers out yonder, towards

where once--you understand me----"

"I do," replied the old man, "I do note it; and I note also that yon

same Cavalier is no other than one we both knew well. There! he sees

us--his hat is off--he hails us right joyfully. Know you not the bold

brow, and the bright eye--blue, blue as the waters and the heavens he

has so long looked upon? Off with ye'r hats, my boys," he added to the

children; "and, Robin, is yours nailed to your head, that it answers not

his signal?--it is the young sea captain of whom, even here, we have

heard and read so much. It is Springall!"

And so it was; distinguished by the Protector at the very moment when to

be so distinguished makes a man's fortune, the bold intrepid boy quickly

ripened into the able and experienced seaman. His promotion was rapid,

because his talents were appreciated--and, after the death of Cromwell,

he had been too much occupied with England's enemies at sea, to suffer

from the moral blight of Charles's court on shore.

* * * * *

"Now, Springall--I love to call you by that name," said the Buccaneer,

"though you have taken your old one, and made it even more honoured than

it was before,--the evening has closed in--the children a-bed--God bless

them! We will draw nearer round our cheerful hearth, and talk of days

long gone. Barbara, let's have some fresh logs on the fire; and now, for

past and present times."

"I am a bad hand at a long yarn--you know I always was so,

captain,"--said the naval officer, smiling, "and the news of poor Jack's

death has damped my canvass. I always thought he'd make a queer end of

it--so fond of plunder--so careless--so unprincipled--but brave, brave

to the backbone."

"Do you remember what he dared, by way of adventure, not a hundred miles

from this; when Major Wellmore and Walter De Guerre were masquing it

here so gaily?" inquired Robin.

"Ay, ay! But he and Grimstone were both half-seas over, or they'd have

hardly ventured it:--poor Grim paid the penalty."

"And deserved it too," added Robin. "He whom they assaulted was a

wonder--a being that will serve future ages to talk about, when the

rulers of the present day are either execrated or forgotten. Marry! but

it makes one's head swim to think of the warm blood and true that has

been spilled and wasted to raise up a throne for obscenity and folly!

Chambering and wantonness walk together as twin-born, along the very

halls where Cromwell, and Ireton, and Milton, and--my head's too hot to

recollect their names; but they are graven on my heart, as men who made

England a Queen among the nations."

"Then their Popery plots!" chimed in the Buccaneer; "the innocent blood

that has flooded the scaffold, as if the earth was thirsty for it--and

upon what grounds? the evidence, I hear, of one villain, supported by

the evidence of another! I grieve for one thing, truly--that I was ever

instrumental in forwarding the King's views. Robin said a true word in

jest the other day, that men as well as puppies were born blind, only it

takes a much longer period to open our eyes, than those of our

four-footed friends."

"So it does," said Springall, laughing; "that was one of Robin's wise

sayings. Barbara!--I beg your pardon,--Mistress Hays--do you think him

as wise as ever?"

"I always thought him wise; but I know it now," she replied, smiling.

"Sit ye down, Barbara," said Robin, "and our friend here will tell you

how much he admires our children; they are fine, healthy, and, though I

say it, handsome--straight withal--straight as Robin Hood's own arrow;

and I do bless God for that--for that especially! I would rather have

seen them dead at my feet than----"

"Now, God forgive you, Rob! so would not I. I should have loved them as

well, had they been crooked as--" interrupted his wife.

"Their father!"

"For shame, Robin!"

Robin looked at Barbara and laughed, but turned away his head; and then

he looked a second time, and saw that a deep red hue had mounted to his

wife's cheek, while a tear stood in her eye; and he forgot the

stranger's presence, and converted the tear to a gentle satisfied smile,

by a kind and affectionate kiss. How little tenderness, how little, how

very little, does it take to constitute the happiness of a simple mind!

"There was a strange long preacher here, ages ago," inquired Springall,

filling his silver cup with sherris; "he surely did not migrate with the

higher powers?"

"No!" replied Dalton, whose eyes had been fixed upon the burning logs,

as if recapitulating the events of former days; "he was a staunch and

true-hearted Puritan, apt to take wrong notions in tow, and desperately

bitter against Papistry, which same bitterness is a log I never could

read, seeing that the best all sects can accomplish is to act up to the

belief they have. But, as I have said, he was true-hearted, and never

recovered the tale we heard, as to the way in which the new directors

insulted the remains of one whom they trembled even to look at in his

lifetime. He died off, sir, like an autumn breeze, chilly and weak, but

praying, and thankful that God was so good as to remove him from the

blight of the Philistines, who covered the earth as thickly as the

locusts overspread the land of Egypt."

"I never did, nor ever can believe," said Robin, "it was permitted that

such cravens should insult the body of so great a soul. The Protector

wished to be buried on the field of Naseby, and something tells me he

had his wish."

"Your politics changed as well as mine!" replied the sea-captain; "what

cavaliers we were in the days of our youth--heh, Commandant!"

"It is very odd, Springall," replied the old Skipper; "but somehow, my

heart is too full for words; I seem to be living my life over again; and

but now could have sworn I saw poor Sir Robert, as I saw him last,

clutching those dreaded papers. What a night that was, and what a day

the next!"

"And the poor Lady Zillah, when she heard of Sir Willmott's end!" said

Barbara. "She spoke no word, she made no scream; but her trouble came

quickly, and hard and bitter it was; and the child her hope rested on

breathed no breath--there was no heir to the house of Burrell; and she

and her father passed from the land, and were seen no more."

"Seen no more, certainly; but many were the jewels and costly the

tirings she sent from foreign parts to my lady's firstborn," continued

Robin.

"And to me she sent baubles,--not baubles either," added Barbara, "but

things too costly for one in my state. Her last gift was the most

precious in my sight--a gold cross, and along the top these words--'Thy

God shall be my God;' and down the centre--'Thy people my people!' It

gave me great consolation; it was like a token of resignation and peace,

and a wonderful working of God's providence." And after she had so said,

she went out of the room, to conceal the emotion she always felt when

speaking of the Jewish lady.

"So it was undoubtedly," rejoined Robin, who had not noted Barbara's

departure.

"Despite your bravery, Master," said the seaman, "I think you have got a

touch of the past times yourself; I have not heard the breath of an oath

from either?"

"Hush!" replied Robin, looking round the room, and right pleased to find

that Barbara was absent: "were it only to avoid giving her pain, it

would ill become either of us to blaspheme Him in whom we trust."

"And so you say," commenced Dalton, uniting the thread of the discourse,

which had been broken, "that Sir Walter and Lady Cecil are seldom seen

at court? I heard this before, but not for certain."

"Seldom, you may well say," returned Springall; "the king presented Lady

Castlemaine to the Lady Constantia, at one of the drawing-rooms; and our

right noble dame declared it was the last she would ever attend. It was

said that the king spoke to Sir Walter about it; and I think it likely,

as he knew him abroad so well. And Sir Walter was even more high on the

matter than his lady had been; and the king jested, and said it was only

the court fashion; to which Sir Walter returned for answer, that,

however it might be the court fashion, it was scarce courtly to present

an immodest to a modest woman. With that the king chafed, and said he

supposed Lady Constantia's friendship for Dame Frances Russell was

stronger than her loyalty, for she regarded Cromwell's daughter, both as

RICH and RUSSELL, more than she did his favour. And Sir Walter, making a

low bow, replied that Lady Constantia had little thought to displease

her king by her attachment to a lady who had once been honoured by the

offer of his hand. Upon which the king bit his lip, turned upon his

heel, and spoke no farther word to Sir Walter Cecil."

"Good! good! good!" exclaimed Robin with manifest delight, chuckling and

rubbing his hands, "that _was_ good! How it warms my heart when an

honest subject speaks to a king as man to man, feeling he has no cause

to dread his frown or court his smile. Brave! brave, Sir Walter! There

is a moral dignity, a fearlessness in truth, that makes one not

tread--not tread, mind ye, but spurn the earth he walks upon. If we

would not be of the earth, earthy, but of the heavens, heavenly, we must

be independent in thought and action! Brave, brave Sir Walter!"

"Master Robin," said the captain, looking earnestly in his countenance,

and half-inclined to smile at his enthusiasm--"Master Robin, _that_'s

not the court fashion."

"D--n the court!" shouted the Ranger; then suddenly checking himself, he

added, turning to his wife, whose return he had not heeded,--"I beg your

pardon, my dear Barbara,--it was his fault, not mine. Nay, I have said

nothing half so wicked this long, long time. Come, tell me, did you see

Sir Walter's children, Captain? Oliver, he is the first-born, a noble

boy? Then,--I forget their names; but I know there is neither a Herbert

nor a Robert among them. Alas! there are good reasons why it should so

be. I think Richard Cromwell stood godfather to the eldest."

"Richard Cromwell!" repeated Springall, in a tone of contempt.

"He was wise, though; he felt that he had not his father's talents,

consequently could not maintain his father's power," observed Robin.

"Master Hays," inquired Springall, wisely avoiding any topic likely to

excite political difference, "you are an oracle, and can tell me what

has become of my worthy friend, that most excellent compounder of

confections, Solomon Grundy?"

"Poor Solomon!" replied Robin, "he accompanied the family after Sir

Robert's death,--which was lingering enough, to set forth more brightly

the virtues of both daughter and nephew,--to London, and was choked by

devouring too hastily a French prawn! Poor Solomon! it was as natural

for him so to die as for a soldier to fall on the field of battle."

"So it was," replied the seaman; "but having discussed the events and

the persons with whom we had most to do in past years, let us, before

entering on other subjects, fill a bumper to the health of my long

cherished, and, despite his faults, my trusty beloved friend--the OLD

BUCCANEER! Much has he occupied my thoughts, and it joys me to find him,

and leave him, where an old man ought to be--in the bosom of his true

and beautiful family. We have all faults," continued the officer,

somewhat moved by the good sherris and his own good feeling--"for it's a

well-written log that has no blots; but hang it, as I said before, I

never could spin a yarn like my friend Robin here, either from the

wheel, which I mean to typify the head--or the distaff, which, be it

understood, signifies the heart: So here goes--" and, with a trembling

hand, and a sparkling eye, the generous Springall drained the deep

tankard, to the health of his first sea friend.

"It is not seemly in woman to drink of strong waters or glowing wine,"

said Barbara, whose tearful eyes rested upon the time-worn features of

her father: "but, God knows, my heart is often so full of grateful

thanks, that I lack words to speak my happiness; and I have need of

constant watchfulness to prevent the creature from occupying the place

of the Creator. My father has sometimes hours of bitterness, yet I bless

God he is not as a brand consumed in the burning, but rather as gold

purified and cleansed by that which devoureth our impurities, but maketh

great that which deserveth greatness. As to Robin----"

"Don't turn me into a fable, wife!" exclaimed Robin, playfully

interrupting her:--"I am, in my own proper person, an AEsop as it is.

There has been enough of all this for to-night: we will but pledge

another cup to the health of Sir Walter, the Lady Constance, and their

children--and then to bed; and may all sleep well whose hearts are

innocent as yours, Barbara! and I hope I may add without presumption,

purified as mine. You see, Springall, the earth that nourishes the rose

may in time partake of its fragrance."

THE END.

LONDON:

Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE.

* * * * *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as

possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and inconsistent

hyphenation. Obvious typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced

quotes and the like) have been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the

text are noted below:

title page caption:

carved chair, which he leaned over pulpit-fashion, was seen the

lean, lanky figure of Fleetwood[Fleetword].

page 13: added missing quote

"In mine!" ejaculated the Baronet with well-feigned

astonishment; ["]you mistake, good Dalton, I have no interest

page 15: added missing quote

her goodness to my child! Remember," he added, closing the door,

["]remember--one month, and Hugh Dalton!"

page 41: typo fixed

around me grows darker each fair day I live. A bunch of violets

was given me this morning; their fragance[fragrance] was

delicious, yet I could not discern the little yellow germ

page 46: typo fixed

"Nor I either," thought Lady Frances: "but, barbara,[Barbara]

you might think--or--or--see perhaps----"

page 57: added missing quote

"Robin!["] I came not here to talk of cormorants and gulls; I

want to ask you a question, and I expect an honest

page 65: typo fixed

"Then who is she?" he demanded; "I'll not stir in it

uness[unless] I know all."

page 77: typo fixed

used to be a safe place enough; but now that Sir Michael

Livesay[Livesey]--regicide that he is!--abides so continually at

page 77: spurious quote removed

"Pshaw, Robin! but is he indeed so red-nosed?["] You have often

seen him, Captain."

page 80: typo fixed

The Reverend Jonas Fleetwood[Fleetword] had set forth from the

sole desire of "beholding him who was anointed with the oil of

page 92: typo fixed

"Walter De Guerre!--an English christian[Christian] wedded to a

French surname!--'tis strange, but let it pass, let it pass:

page 95: typo fixed

"I thank you for your bounty, sir; but at present I feel

inclined to sheathe, not draw my swoad[sword]."

page 101: typo fixed

he had declared himself quite recovered, did she return to her

station on the low fofa[sofa], beside her friend Lady Frances

page 110: spurious quote removed

pictures; that, if the Rabbi would look, he would observe the

hair and eyes to be much lighter.["]

page 121: typo fixed

"I did hope, sir, that you would have left Cecil Place before

this; Sir Wilmott[Willmott] Burrell will, I am certain, arrive

page 131: typo fixed

she had observed both characters narrowy[narrowly], and was

perfectly convinced of Burrell's worthlessness. She could

page 139: spurious quote removed

feature, as it were, bursting with indignation, she looked like

a youthful priestess denouncing vengeance on a sinful world.["]

page 142: added missing quote

"And you will be happy; or if not, you will not curse him who

has wrought your misery?["]

page 156: added missing quote

"Touch her not,["] exclaimed Burrell, the brutality of his vile

nature fully awakened at perceiving Walter attempt to

page 166: typo fixed

breathe the air of this polluted nest," argued Dalton, all the

father oveflowing[overflowing] at his heart; "if we delay,

page 174: typo fixed

Hugh was prevented from finishing his sentence by the sudden

entrance of Sir Wilmott[Willmott] Burrell, who appeared in the

page 176: typo fixed

They had not gone three steps on their path when Sir

Willmott's[Willmott's] voice arrested their progress.

page 180: typo fixed

had not spent a day beneath the roof were[where] he was now a

prisoner; that she had been any thing but worthy of the

page 180: typo fixed

eyes upon the young Cavalier, who, when perfectly awake,

perceived that his visiter[visitor] was dressed and armed as

\

page 181: added missing quote

["]Lady Frances, I dare say, has," persisted Walter: "light o'

lip, light o' sleep."

page 188: added missing quote

["]We must not so mingle profane and sacred things," murmured

Fleetword, placing his forefinger upon the tempting

page 189: typo fixed

"What! spoil my garnishing!" exclaimed Grundy![,] "look at the

frosting of that horn, and the device, the two doves--see'st

page 192: typo fixed

sudden her lady wanted her to get some flowers, and she had only

time to throw on her cardinal and run for them?[.]"

page 203: typo fixed

Buccaneer and Sir Wilmott[Willmott] Burrell; merely observing

that it had the effect of chafing both in no ordinary degree.

page 237: typo fixed

for minstrelsy was not the fashion; and he almost began to

thing[think] the disguise he had selected was an injudicious

page 238: spurious quote removed

["]The old man shuddered, and said in an agitated voice--"Then,

indeed, you will not do for me on this occasion."

page 255: spurious quote removed

and faithfulness must be a plant of forced and not of natural

growth.["]

page 277: added missing quote

or other; but you, my Lord," he added, pointedly, ["]will have

no difficulty in finding him out."

page 296: typo fixed

"Sit down, my good sir; compose yourelf[yourself]--you are much

agitated--I pray you be composed."

page 330: typo fixed

engaged, and the garden free from visiters[visitors]. He looked

from the window; it was one of the loveliest days of summer--a

page 338: added missing quote

"Do but bury _that_!" said Robin: ["]I would stay and do it, but

that I must to the Nest at once."

page 341: added missing period

down in the dingle, and the beast is driving up the fold as if

he were a man[.]"

page 354: added missing quote

["]Then Barbara, whose blood was streaming from her wound,

sprang to my bosom--sweet girl!--and hung, as I thought,

page 355: added missing quote

["]I carried her round the chapel, and sank with her into the

vault, where I had been concealed--that which contains the

page 360: duplicate word removed

didn't pray more, going that length of road, than you, and I,

and all the [the] crew of the Fire-fly put together, have prayed

page 367: spurious quote removed

clanked against each other impatient of moisture--"Mother, take

but little["] for you have need of prayer; that will stifle

page 368: added comma

the hair from my ears, that I may hear distinctly. Did you mean,

young woman[,] that Sir Robert was distraught--mad?"

page 394: typo fixed

effects of terror and astonishment, looked like the sybil[sibyl]

whose spells and orgies have distracted nature by some terrible

page 414: typo fixed

"Sir Willmot[Willmott] Burrell," said Dalton, walking to where

he stood, beaten down and trampled, yet full of poison as an

page 419: typo fixed

tripped with a light step on her inqusiitive[inquisitive] mission:

"I will now go to my father's chamber;" and thither she went,

page 421: spurious quote removed

and the maid Barbara. Well, girls have queer fancies!--Who'd ha'

thought she'd ha' fancied Robin?["]--though he's a brave

page 430: added missing quote

"They will do very nicely indeed, Conny," replied the old man,

with an approving smile; ["]and as for you, Master Walter,

page 431: typo fixed

asked to be buried at East-church[East-Church], because that was

nearer what he called the Gull's Nest Crag than the old church