The Buccaneer - A Tale

If you, my son, should now prevaricate,

And, to your own particular lusts, employ

So great and catholic a bliss; be sure

A curse will follow, yea, and overtake

Your subtle and most secret ways.

BEN JONSON

Whatever passed between Cromwell and the Lady Constantia must remain

secret, as neither were of a particularly communicative disposition.

Lady Frances, indeed, laboured hard to succeed and comprehend the whole

matter, but in vain. She waylaid her friend on her passage from the room

of audience, and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her

anxiety on the subject, "My father and you have had a long conference!"

"He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and kindness," was

Constantia's reply.

"Do you know whom he has closeted up so strangely in Cecil Place? I was

going into the oak parlour, when a sentry at the door--(What rough

fellows those soldiers are!)--cried 'Stand!' as if I had been a statue.

With that I repaired to the small oriel chamber; but there, too, was

another 'Stand!' Why, the house is at once a prison and a garrison!"

"Not quite."

"Oh, you take it more gently than I should--to have persons in your own

house, and not know who they are."

"Your father, I suppose, knows them; and I may have sufficient

confidence in the Protector of England to believe in the wisdom of all

he does--nothing doubting."

"My father is very anxious about Sir Robert."

"He is indeed."

"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."

"He has ever been to justice as its right hand."

How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her father had

talked about Sir Willmott--if there were any tidings of Walter De

Guerre, or where he had been since his disappearance with Major

Wellmore! but she could not--she dared not ask another question: indeed,

Constantia effectually prevented her so doing, for, taking her hand with

that extraordinary combination of frankness and reserve which is ever

the characteristic of a great and honest mind, she said-"My sweet friend, do not question me; I have either answered your

father's questionings as I answer every one, truly, in word and spirit,

or told him, when he asked what I must not reveal, that I could not

tell. I never equivocated in my whole life; equivocation is a

subterfuge, mean as well as sinful--the special pleading of a lie."

"My dear Lady Perfection!"

"Do not mock me, sweet Frances: the world will say, and say rightly, you

are much nearer perfection than I am; you have far more of the

woman--the open, cheerful, confiding woman. But hear me say a few words

more,--and apply them as you will. I once saw a young fresh tree--it was

an oak--a bright tree and a beautiful! It flourished on the hill-side,

and injured nothing; for its shadow was harmless, and served but as a

kindly shelter for the modest violet and the pale primrose. The

woodcutter looked upon it as he passed it by, and said it would grow to

be the pride of the forest;--the village children held their innocent

revelry beneath its gay branches:--but, Frances, dear Frances, the storm

gathered, and the thunder leaped from cloud to cloud in the angry

heavens, and the lightning--the forked lightning, darted among its

leaves, and struck it to the heart. The next morning the sun saw that it

was blighted; and the sun said, 'My beautiful tree and my brave, that my

beams delighted to shine upon, is blasted; but I will throw forth my

warmest rays, and my favourite shall revive, and again be glorious!' And

the sun came in all its power, and it shone upon the tree; but the more

it shone, the more quickly the tree withered--for it fainted beneath the

kindness which had the will, but not the gift, of renovation."