The Buccaneer - A Tale

Robin grasped his hands convulsively together--shook back the hair that

curled over his forehead, as if it prevented his seeing clearly--his

breathing became still more painfully distinct--large drops of moisture

burst upon his brow--his tongue moved, but he could utter no sound--his

under lip worked in fearful convulsion--and, despite Dalton's efforts to

restrain him, he sprang to the side of the couch with the bound of a red

deer, and falling on his knees, succeeded in exclaiming,-"She lives! she lives!"

The sweet sleeper at once awoke; the long dark lashes separated, and the

mild hazel eye of Barbara turned once more upon Robin Hays; a weak smile

separated lips that were as white as the teeth they sheltered, as she

extended her hand towards the Ranger. But, as if the effort was too

much, her eyes again closed; and she would have looked as if asleep in

death, but that Robin kissed her hand with a respectful feeling that

would have done honour to men of higher breeding. The maiden blood

tinged her cheek with a pale and gentle colour--the hue that tints the

inner leaves of a blush rose.

The Buccaneer had been a silent spectator of this scene, and it had

taught him a new lesson--one, too, not without its bitterness. When

Robin, with more discretion than could have been expected from him,

silently withdrew into the outer room, he beheld Dalton standing in an

attitude of deep and painful thought near its furthermost entrance. As

the Ranger approached, his heart swelling with an overflowing of joy and

gratitude--his head reeling with sensations so new, so undefinable, that

he doubted if the air he breathed, the earth he trod on, was the same as

it had been but an hour, a moment before--yet suffering still from

previous agony, and receiving back Barbara as an offering from the

grave, that might have closed over her;--as the Ranger approached the

Buccaneer, in a frame of mind which it is utterly impossible to define,

Dalton threw upon him a look so full of contempt, as he glanced over his

diminutive and disproportioned form, that Robin never could have

forgotten it, had it not passed unnoticed in the deep feeling of joy and

thankfulness that possessed his whole soul. He seized the Skipper's hand

with a warmth and energy of feeling that moved his friend again towards

him. The generous heart is rarely indifferent to the generous-hearted.

Dalton gave back the pressure, although he turned away the next moment

with a heavy sigh.

Ah! it is a common error with men to believe that women value beauty as

much as it is valued by themselves. Such a feeling as that his daughter

entertained for Robin Hays, Dalton, even in his later years, could no

more understand than an eagle can comprehend the quiet affection of the

cooing ring-dove for its partner: the one would glory in sailing with

his mate in the light of the tropical sun, would scream with her over

the agonies of a dying fawn, and dip the beaks of their callow young in

blood; the other, nested in some gentle dell, the green turf beneath

watered by a brook, rippling its cadences to his sweet, though

monotonous, melody--would peel for his companion the husk from the

ripening corn, and shadow his brood from the noonday heat. Yet the love

of both is perfect, according to its kind.