"I have sought thee as a friend," observed the simple-minded man,--"as a
petitioner, I had almost said, so earnest was the lady about it--from
the Lady Frances Cromwell, to beg that the bridal, which even now,
according to thy directions, he of the Episcopalian faith was preparing
to solemnise, might be delayed until evening, in consequence of Mistress
Cecil being somewhat ill at ease, either in body or in mind, or, it may
be the Lord's will, in both;--very ill of a surety she is."
"This is trifling," exclaimed Burrell in anger. "She asked delay, and I
granted till this morning. I can brook no such vain excuse."
"Of a verity," quoth Fleetword, "thy reply is, as I deem it, given in a
most unchristian spirit. Thy bride elect is ill; and instead of a shower
(which is emblematic of tears) cometh a storm, which (in poetic
language) signifieth anger!"
"Forgive me, sir," replied Burrell, who perceived that the delay, under
such circumstances, however dangerous, must be granted; "but it is
natural for a bridegroom to feel disappointed when there arises any
postponement to his long looked-for happiness, particularly when there
be reasons strong as mine against it."
Fleetword little comprehended the meaning of this last sentence; but
drawing forth a pocket Bible, which on more than one occasion had given
much trouble to Sir Willmott Burrell, he told him he had considered that
admirable portion of the Scripture touching the duty of husband and
wife, so well set forth therein, and that he had composed a discourse
thereon, which he meant to deliver unto them after the holy ceremony,
but that he would now expound much upon the subject, as they journeyed
homeward.
"I am not going direct to Cecil Place," was Burrell's excuse; "I am
looking after one Robin Hays, who dwells somewhere near, or at, a place
called the Gull's Nest Crag: he was once my servant, and I desire to see
him."
"It is even one with me," replied Fleetword; "I know the lad Robin, too;
so I will go with thee, and read the while. I covet a holy exercise; and
for it every time, yea, and every place, is fitting."
Most cordially did Burrell wish the good preacher--no matter where; but
his wishes availed nought, for he remained close to his side, holding
forth, without intermission, in the same monotonous tone, that sounded
like the ding-dong, ding-dong of a curfew-bell to the knight's
bewildered ear.
Yet this was not the only source of embarrassment Sir Willmott was that
morning doomed to encounter. We have elsewhere had occasion to mention
an old tower that supported Gull's Nest, in which Barbara Iverk found
shelter the evening she did her lady's errand to the Crag: as Burrell
and his companion turned the corner by this tower, Zillah Ben Israel,
still habited as a boy, but wearing a tunic of cloth that reached below
her knee, stood before him!