The Buccaneer - A Tale

"It is well thought on," she said, recovering her self-command much more

quickly than he could have imagined possible. "I will give it you; it

would be sinful to keep it after that dread to-morrow; even now, what do

I with your gift?" She drew forth from her bosom the locket of which we

have before spoken, and, looking on it fondly for a moment, thought,

though not aloud, "Poor little fragment of the glittering sin that

tempts mankind to their destruction! I heeded not your chasing nor your

gems; but once (forgive it, God, forgive it!) thought far too much of

him who gave it: I should have known better. I will not look on you

again, lest you take root within the heart on which you have rested:

though it was then in innocence, yet now it is a crime; there--" she

held it towards him with a trembling hand. While her arm was thus

extended, Burrell rushed from behind the covert of a wide-spreading

laurel, and, with an action at once unmanly and insulting, snatched the

trinket from her hand and flung it on the sward.

Magic itself could not have occasioned a greater change in the look, the

manner, the entire appearance of the heiress of Cecil. She drew herself

up to her full height, and instantly demanded, "How Sir Willmott Burrell

dared to act thus in her presence?"

The Cavalier drew his sword from its sheath; Burrell was not backward in

following the example. He returned Constantia's look of contempt with

one of sarcasm--the peculiar glance that becomes so effective from under

a half-closed lid--and then his eye glared like that of the hooded

snake, while he replied,-"Methought the lady in her chamber: the destined bride, during the day,

keeps to her own apartment; 'tis the soft night that draws her forth to

interchange love-pledges and soft sayings."

"Villain!" exclaimed De Guerre with startling energy, "hold thy

blaspheming tongue, nor dare to imagine, much less express, aught of

this lady that is not pure as heaven's own firmament!"

"Oh, my good sir," said the other, "I know you now! the braggart

at my Lady Cecil's funeral--the pall-bearer--the church-yard

lounger--the----!"

"Hold, coward!" interrupted the Cavalier, grinding the words between his

teeth. "Lady, I entreat you to retire; this is no scene for you:--nay,

but you must!"

"Touch her not," exclaimed Burrell, the brutality of his vile nature

fully awakened at perceiving Walter attempt to take her hand; "touch her

not, though you are doubtless the youth to whom her heart is given."