The Buccaneer - A Tale

And them beside a ladie faire he saw,

Standing alone on foote in foule array;

To whom himself he hastily did draw,

To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,

And to depart them, if so be he may.

SPENSER

The Lady Frances Cromwell was not likely to keep secret, grief or any

thing else she had the power of disclosing: forthwith she proceeded to

assail Constance Cecil with a torrent of exclamations and

expostulations, to support which no inconsiderable degree of philosophy

was requisite. The intention, however, sanctified the deed, and

Constance, for some time, only pressed her hand in reply: at length she

said,-"You see me, dearest Frances, at present under much depression:--a dark

cloud is over me; but, I entreat you, heed it not. I am about to do what

is right, and not even the commands of his Highness, your father, could

prevent it, if indeed you were to act upon the hint you have given me,

and procure his interference. My fate is sealed, irrevocably sealed! And

do you wonder that I tremble at the change I am about to undergo, the

awful change, from maid to wife? Barbara, good maid, let me see no more

of tears, but smiles, as in past times. And now I entreat you both,

sweet friends, (for that humble girl has a heart formed by tenderness

for what is more exalted--friendship,) leave me. You, my dear Lady

Frances, will to-day, for my sake, and for his, be as much as possible

with my father; he must grieve at this parting--it is but natural;--and

you, girl--there, go to your embroidery."

Barbara looked into her lady's face, seized her hand, and pressed it

alternately to her heart and lips.

"I will sit in yonder nook, dear mistress; I will not turn towards you,

nor speak, nor breathe--you may fancy me a statue, so silent, so

immovable will rest your little Barbara. Blanche and Bright-eye, and

even that black wolf-hound, remain in the chamber, and why not I? Am I

less faithful, or less thoughtful, than a dog? and would you treat me

worse? Besides, dear lady, your wedding-clothes! There is not a satin or

a silver robe, nor farthingale, nor cardinal--not a lone ostrich-plume,

that is not of six fashions past! Good, my lady, if it is to be, you

must wed as of a right becomes your high descent. My Lady Frances can

well speak of this; and as there is no time to send to London now, her

tire-women would help me to arrange the robes necessary upon such

occasions."