The Buccaneer Part 42

"Some other time, my dear sir," interrupted Burrell, whose apprehension was confirmed; "you must cheer up, and not think of these matters: you must take some wine." He filled a goblet from a silver flagon that stood with refreshments on the table; but the baronet's hand was so unsteady, that Sir Willmott was obliged to hold the cup to his lips. "Now, my dear sir, collect your thoughts; you know all things are safe and secret: there is no possibility of your ever being otherwise than beloved and respected."

"Not by my child," said the unhappy man two or three times, twisting his hands convulsively--"Not by my child, my pride, my Constantia! Her kiss is as cold as ice upon my brow; and I thought--perhaps 'twas but a dream, for I have been sleeping a little--I thought she wiped her lips after she kissed me. Do you think she would destroy the taste of her father's kiss?"

"Most certainly not: she loves you as well and as dearly as ever."

"I cannot believe it, Sir Willmott, I cannot believe it;--besides, there's no safety for me till Hugh Dalton's pardon is granted."

"d.a.m.n him!" growled Burrell, and the curse grated through his closed teeth--"d.a.m.n him, deeply, doubly, everlastingly!"

"Ay, so he will be d.a.m.ned," replied Sir Robert, in a calm, quiet tone, "and we shall all be d.a.m.ned, except Constantia; but he must be pardoned--on earth I mean--for all that."

Burrell looked daggers at Sir Robert Cecil, but he heeded them not, saw them not. Sir Willmott's first suspicion was right--the injured were avenged! The unhappy man retained his memory, though his words and actions were no longer under the control of reason: his conscience lived on--his intellect had expired. "It is even so," thought Sir Willmott the next moment: "and now, Constantia, despite your scorn, your hatred, your contempt, I do pity you."

Burrell understood not how superior was Constance in every respect, either to his pity or his praise.

Exactly as the clock struck six, the doors at the bottom of the room were thrown open, and Lady Frances Cromwell entered with her friend; Barbara and the waiting-maidens of Lady Frances followed; but nothing could exceed Burrell's displeasure and mortification, when he perceived that his bride was habited in the deepest mourning. Her hair, braided from her brow, hung in long and luxuriant tresses down her back, and were only confined by a fillet of jet. Upon her head was a veil of black gauze, that fell over her entire figure; and her dress was of black Lucca silk, hemmed and bordered with c.r.a.pe. She advanced steadily to her father, without noticing her bridegroom, and, throwing up her veil, said, in a low voice,--

"Father, I am ready."

Burrell, who feared that even in the very brief s.p.a.ce which now remained, Sir Robert would betray the weakness of his mind, stepped forward, and would have taken her hand; but she put him from her, with a single gesture, saying,--

"Not yet, sir, I am still _all_ my father's.--Father, I am ready."

It was pitiable to see the vacant eye which Sir Robert fixed upon her pale, fine face, and most painful to observe the look of anxious inquiry with which she regarded him.

"Dear father," she exclaimed at length, sinking on her knees, "dear father, speak to me."

The gesture and the voice recalled him for a little to himself. He kissed her cheek affectionately, and, rising with much of the dignity of former years, pressed her to his bosom.

"Forgive me, child;--my Lady Frances, I crave your pardon--I am myself again--I was a trifle indisposed, but it is over. Fill me some wine," he commanded to the attendants, who gathered in the doorway--"Yes--up--full--more full; I drink--" he continued, with a gaiety of manner suiting ill with his grey hairs and pallid face--"I drink to the happiness and prosperity of my daughter and her bridegroom!" He quaffed to the bottom of the cup, then flung it from him.

"Now go we to the bridal," he said, leading Constantia forward, while Sir Willmott conducted Lady Frances, who hardly condescended to touch the hand he presented to her. As they pa.s.sed an open court, leading to the little chapel, Sir Robert stopped abruptly, and addressing his daughter, said,--

"But I have not blessed you yet; you would not like to die without my blessing."

"Die, my father!" repeated Constance.

"I pray your pardon, child," he replied, in a half muttering, half speaking voice--"I was thinking of your mother: but now I quite remember me, this is a bridal," and he hurried her forward to the altar where the clergyman stood ready to receive them.

"Sir Willmott Burrell," said Constantia to the knight, as he placed himself at her side, "my father is ill, and I cannot think upon what his malady may be with any thing like calmness; if what I dread is true, you will not force me from him."

"Let the ceremony proceed, and, villain as I know you think me, I will not oppose any plan you may form for him," was Burrell's reply. Lady Frances stood close beside her friend; and Barbara, in her white robes and simple beauty, headed the group of servants who crowded round the steps.

The clergyman commenced the service according to the form of the Established Church, and concluded the opening address without any interruption. He then proceeded to the solemn and beautiful appeal made as to the liberty of those who present themselves at the altar.

"I require and charge you both, (as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed,) that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it?"

At this point Sir Robert Cecil, his enfeebled mind still more relaxed after the strong effort made at self-possession, and weakened and heated by the wine he had taken, exclaimed,--

"Those two joined together in matrimony! It is impossible--she has not on a wedding-garment! What does she here?" Then looking round, he left his daughter's side, and seizing Barbara's hand, dragged her to the altar, saying, "This must be our bride--our lady bride--no one would wed in sables."

It is impossible to describe the consternation which this circ.u.mstance occasioned; but the baronet had hardly uttered the words, when the window that Barbara had taken so much pains in adorning, was darkened by a figure springing into and standing on the open cas.e.m.e.nt, and the shrill voice of the Jewess Zillah shouted, in a tone that was heard most audibly over the murmurs of the little crowd, and echoed fearfully along the chancel, "Justice--vengeance!" and, suiting the action to her words, she discharged a pistol with but too steady an aim at the innocent Barbara, whom on this occasion, as before, she had mistaken for her rival, Constantia Cecil.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

VOLUME THE THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

Behold!

What blessings ancient prophesie foretold, Bestow'd on her in death. She past away So sweetly from the world, as if her clay Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.

But, if th'art too much woman, softly weepe Lest grief disturbe the silence of her sleepe.

HABINGTON.

Barbara, the young, the beautiful, the innocent Barbara, fell, as the bullet struck her, upon the arm of the imbecile Sir Robert Cecil. It is impossible adequately to describe the scene that followed. Constantia caught the maiden from her father, who shrank at the sight of blood, and drew himself gradually away, like a terrified child from a frightful object, while his daughter, kneeling, supported the stricken girl upon her bosom. After the deed was done, the Jewess stood for a moment with an air of exultation upon the ledge of the oriel window, and then disappeared; but Sir Willmott, who saw that the time was come when, if ever, his prey was to be secured, rushed to the open door, with a view to seize her as she descended, and at once rid himself of all danger by her destruction. At the instant his evil purpose was about to be accomplished, his course was arrested, as he reached the postern, by a powerful arm, which grappled at his throat. The stentorian voice of Dalton shouted "Villain!" so loudly, that many, who had crowded round the dying Barbara, turned in alarm to ascertain who spoke.

"Hinder me not," said Sir Willmott, gasping for breath, "but help me to secure the murderer--the girl is slain!"

"G.o.d of Heaven!--what girl?--Who was it fired?" exclaimed the Skipper.--"What means this?" he continued, relaxing his grasp, and advancing up the chancel with a beating heart and a rapid step. Burrell took advantage of the momentary reprieve, and was hastily proceeding round to the window, when the tramp of many horses came upon his ear.

The steel caps and polished blades of a detachment of Cromwell's own Ironsides glittered amid the ruins and trees that surrounded the chapel, and his progress was again stayed by no other than Colonel John Jones.

"Sir Willmott Burrell," said the Puritan soldier, in a slow and deliberate tone, "his Highness commands your immediate presence at the house of Hampton, profanely denominated Hampton Court; and I have his Highness's commands also to prevent the taking place of any union between you and Mistress Constantia Cecil."

"It has taken place," interrupted Burrell, turning pale, and trembling.

"It has _not_ taken place," interrupted in her turn Lady Frances, whose habitual and active kindness had prompted her to seek a.s.sistance for Barbara, so that she encountered the troop under the command of her step-uncle--"I say it has not taken place--half a ceremony is no marriage. But have you any with you skilled in surgery? for here has been a most foul murder: come with me into the chapel, and behold!" Lady Frances returned, followed by Colonel Jones, Sir Willmott as a prisoner, and the greater number of the soldiery.

Constantia Cecil, still kneeling, supported Barbara, whose life was ebbing fast, as the blood trickled from a small wound, where the ball had entered a little above her right shoulder. Her eyes, gentle and expressive as ever, were fixed upon her father, who stood speechless and powerless by her side. The women gathered, weeping, around. The good clergyman approached to offer spiritual consolation to the departing girl. Hugh Dalton had heard the story of the fatal act repeated by at least a dozen persons, who were ignorant that they spoke in the presence of the poor maiden's parent; but he heeded not their words; he did not even ask how or by whom the dreadful deed was done. Enough to him was the certainty that his daughter was dying, dying before him--that she, to whom his heart had clung through evil report and good report, in sorrow and in sin, but always with confidence and hope, as the star that would at length guide him into a haven of peace and joy, which had been rapidly growing out of repentance; that she, his only, his beloved, his most excellent, and most unspotted child, would, within an hour, become as the clay on which he trod--that her mild, cheerful, and patient spirit, was pa.s.sing to the G.o.d who gave it--unrepiningly pa.s.sing; for no groan, no murmur came from her lips--lips that had never been stained by deceit or falsehood. Still her eyes rested on her parent, and once she endeavoured to stretch forth her weak arms towards him, but they fell powerless at her side; while he, still mute and motionless as a statue, seemed rooted to the earth. The clergyman spoke a few words of an approaching eternity. It was only then the Buccaneer replied; without a tear, without a sob; or any outward demonstration of sorrow: though all who heard him felt that the words came from a man whose sole sensation was despair.

"No need, sir, to speak so to her. She knows about these things far more than we do. Hush! for the sake of G.o.d, and let me hear her breathing."

"Some ten of you look out for the murderer," commanded the stern voice of Colonel Jones, who had by this time received the whole account from the Lady Frances.

"You will not be able to find her," exclaimed the alarmed Burrell, dreading that, if she were secured, she might communicate the secret she still retained. "You will not, I a.s.sure you, be able to find her," he repeated, as the st.u.r.dy soldiers prepared to obey their officer's command.

"You know the person, then, Sir Willmott," said Colonel Jones, coldly.

Burrell looked abashed. "Mistress Constantia will, I hope, forgive me,"