The Buccaneer - A Tale

He had slept but for a short time, when he was suddenly awakened by the

pressure of a hand upon his shoulder; he looked up, and by the dim light

of the fading lamp saw it was Major Wellmore who disturbed his repose.

He started at once from his couch; but the officer seated himself upon

an opposite chair, placed his steeple-crowned and weather-beaten hat on

the floor, and resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin between the

palms of his hands, fixed his keen eyes upon the young Cavalier, who,

when perfectly awake, perceived that his visitor was dressed and armed

as usual.

"Is it morning, sir?" inquired De Guerre, anxious to break the silence.

"No, sir," was the concise reply.

"The whole house sleeps," resumed Walter; "why then are you up and

dressed? and why am I disturbed?"

"You are mistaken, young man. Know you a pretty, demure,

waiting-gentlewoman, called Barbara?"

"Mistress Cecil's attendant?"

"The same:--she has but now left the house, to communicate, I suppose,

with your respectable friends at the Gull's Nest, and devise means for

your escape."

"If so, I am sure I know nothing of the foolish plan."

"I believe you. There is another who slumbers not."

"What, Constantia!--is she ill?" inquired the Cavalier, with an

earnestness that caused something of a smile to visit the firm-set lip

of the hardy soldier.

"No; I know nothing of young ladies' slumbers; I dare say she and her

loquacious friend, Lady Frances, have talked themselves to sleep long

since."

"Lady Frances, I dare say, has," persisted Walter: "light o' lip, light

o' sleep."

"I spoke of neither of the women," said the Major, sternly; "I allude to

Sir Willmott Burrell--he sleeps not."

"By my troth I am glad of it," exclaimed the Cavalier; "right glad am I

that slumber seals not the craven's lids. Would that I were by his side,

with my good steel, and where there could be no interruption; the sun

should never rise upon his bridal morn."

"Ah! you would show your regard for Mistress Cecil, I presume, by

destroying the man she has chosen to be her husband; such is the

Malignant's love!"

"Love, sir! I have not spoken of love. But could Constantia Cecil love a

dastard like this Burrell? Listen!--I thought to tell you--yet, when I

look on you, I cannot--there is that about you which seems at war with

tenderness. Age sits upon your brow as if it were enthroned on

Wisdom--the wisdom learned in a most troubled land--the wisdom that

takes suspicion as its corner stone; yet once, mayhap, blood, warm and

gentle too, flowed in those very veins that time hath wrought to sinews;

and then, sir--then you looked on love and youth with other eyes:--was

it not so?"