The Buccaneer - A Tale

Fleetword, having explained what he had done with the required papers,

would have willingly departed, but Dalton detained him, frankly saying,

that he cared not, just then, to trust any one abroad, who had seen so

much of the mysteries of his singular palace. Without further ceremony,

he was again confined, in a small cupboard-like cavity, close to the

hostelry of the Gull's Nest.

It was not long after the preacher's second imprisonment, that Robin

Hays might have been seen, treading the outward mazes of the cliff, and,

without pausing at his mother's dwelling, approaching the spot where, on

a former occasion, Burrell had received the signal for entrance from

Hugh Dalton. He was ignorant of his mother's illness; but the

information that Jack Roupall unwittingly communicated was not lost upon

him; and he had earnestly scanned the waters, to see if the Fire-fly

were off the coast. Though the gallant sparkling ship hardly hoisted the

same colours twice in the same week, and though she had as many false

figure-heads as there are days in January, yet Robin thought he never

could be deceived in her appearance, and he saw at once, that though

there were many ships in the offing, she certainly was not within sight

of land. The feeling that he should look on Barbara no more was another

source of agony to the unhappy Ranger. Yet he could hardly believe that

the Buccaneer would so soon part with the beautiful form of a child he

so dearly loved. He struck his own peculiar signal against the rock, and

it was quickly answered by the Skipper himself, who extended his hand

towards his friend with every demonstration of joy. Robin started at

seeing the Buccaneer in so cheerful a mood, and was endeavouring to

speak, when the other prevented his words from coming forth, by placing

his hand on his lips. The Ranger's head grew dizzy--his knees smote

against each other, and he gazed on Dalton's countenance, eager to

ascertain if there was a possibility of hope, or if excess of grief had

deranged his intellect.

"Silence! silence! silence!" repeated the Buccaneer, in the subdued

voice of a puny girl; and Robin thought his eye glared wildly as he

spoke.

"Where--where is she?" muttered Robin, leaning for support against a

projecting stone, that served as one of the slides for the rough, but

skilfully-managed doorway--his heart panting with anxiety to behold, and

yet dreading to look upon the form of the dead Barbara. The Buccaneer

pointed to where the skins had hung when Fleetword was in the chamber,

and the Ranger attempted to move towards it; but his feet were as if

rooted to the earth. Dalton watched his agitation with a curious eye;

yet Robin perceived it not. He made several ineffectual attempts to stir

from his position; but continued fixed in the same spot, unable to

withdraw his gaze from the opening. At length the blood circulated more

freely in his veins, his chest heaved, as if the exertion of breathing

was an effort he could not long continue; and he staggered, as a

drunken man, towards the entrance. The uncertainty of his step was such

that he would have fallen into the chamber, had not the Buccaneer seized

him within his powerful grasp, on the threshold of the inner chamber,

and silently directed his attention towards a pile of cushions, covered

with a variety of coloured silks and furs, on which lay a form he could

not mistake. The hair, divested of its usual cap, rested in shadowy

masses on the throat and bosom, and the light of the small lamp fell

upon a cheek and brow white as monumental marble. By the side of this

rude, yet luxurious couch, crouched another female, holding a fan, or

rather a mass of superb ostrich feathers, which she moved slowly to and

fro, so as to create a current of air within the cell. It contained one

other inmate--the little and ugly Crisp--lying, coiled up, at the foot

of the cushions, his nose resting between his small, rough paws; his

eyes fixed upon his master, to hail whom he sprang not forward, as was

his custom, with a right joyful and doggish salutation, but, mutely and

quietly, wagged his dwarfish tail--so gently, that it would not have

brushed off the down from a butterfly's wing.