The old man, who had launched their fairy boat, turned towards where
once Cecil Place had stood. From some peculiar feeling in the bosoms of
Sir Walter and Lady Cecil, for which it would not be difficult to
account, only a portion of the old structure remained--sufficient, and
just sufficient, to lodge Robin, and Robin's wife, and Robin's
father-in-law, and Robin's children. The fine old gateway was fast
crumbling to decay, and, indeed, it was well known that a kindly
sentiment towards the Buccaneer decided Sir Walter on keeping even so
much of the place standing, as the old man's only wish now was to die in
the Isle of Shepey; and it will be readily believed that Hugh Dalton's
wishes were laws to the family of Cecil. The trees had in many places
been levelled, and the only spot which remained perfectly untouched in
the gardens was one called "The Fairy Ring." The neighbouring peasantry
believed that it was hallowed by some remembrance of which both Lady
Cecil and Barbara partook; for the latter tended every herb and flower
therein with more than common care--with perfect devotion. Did we say
there was but one spot cherished? faithless historians that we are!
there was another--a rustic temple; and, about ten years before the
period of which we now treat, something resembling an altar had been
erected therein, with a quaint device carved in white stone, a braid of
hair encircling two hearts, and a rhyme, or, as it was then called, a
posy, the words of which are not recorded, but were said to have been
written by Lucy Hutchinson, as a compliment to her friend Constantia
Cecil.
The old man, as we have said, turned towards Cecil Place, which then
presented only the appearance of a small and picturesque dwelling.
Issuing thence were two persons whom we may at once introduce as the
manikin, Robin Hays, and the little Puritan, Barbara Iverk, of our
story. Manikin, indeed! He of the gay pink doublet, silken hose, and
plume hat, would little thank us for the term! He was rather over than
under-dressed, more fine than might be expected in a country gentleman
in so lonely an island; but it was evident he loved finery, and loved to
deck his own person: his long black hair curled naturally and gracefully
over his shoulders; his eyes had more to do, during latter years, with
love and home, than with hate and adventure; consequently they sparkled
with pure and kindly feeling; and if sometimes sarcasm lighted its
beacon within their lids, it was quickly extinguished by the devoted
affection and gratitude of his right excellent heart. His figure
appeared much less disproportioned than when first we saw him taunted
into fury in his mother's hostelry by poor Jack Roupall's ill-timed
jests on his deformity: he was much stouter; and the full cavalier dress
was better calculated to hide any defects of person, than the tight
fitting vests of the bygone Roundheads, who looked to every inch of
cloth with a carefulness altogether scouted by their more heedless
successors. He had a free and open air, and a smile of dazzling
brightness. What can we say of Barbara? Female beauty is seldom
stationary; there is no use in disguising the fact, that after
twenty--dear, sweet, fascinating twenty! the freshness of the rose is
gone. We have said freshness--not fragrance. Fragrance to the rose, is
what the soul is to the body--an imperishable essence, that lasts after
the petals have meekly dropped, one by one, upon their mother-earth. A
blessing upon the fragrance of sweet flowers! and a thousand blessings
upon the power that gifted their leaves with such a dowry! Oh, it
partakes of heaven to walk into the pastures and inhale the goodness of
the Lord, from the myriad field-flowers that gem the earth with beauty!
And then in sickness! What, what is so refreshing as the perfume of
sweet plants? We speak not of the glazed and costly things that come
from foreign lands, but of the English nosegay--(how we love the homely
word!)--the sweet briar, lavender, cowslip, violet, lily of the valley,
or a sprig of meadow sweet, a branch of myrtle, a tuft of primroses, or
handful of wild thyme! Such near the couch of sickness are worth a host
of powdered doctors! Again we say, a blessing on sweet flowers! And now
for one who loved them well, and learnt much wisdom "from every leaf
that clothed her native hills." Barbara was no longer the slight,
delicate girl, tripping with an orderly but light step to do the
behests of those she loved; but a sober, diligent, affectionate matron,
zealous in the discharge of her duty, patient in supporting pain,
whether of mind or body; a sincere Christian, a kind mistress, a gentle
daughter, a wise mother, but, above all, a devoted, trusting wife, still
looking upon Robin--her Robin, as the English Solomon,--a system we
advise all wives to follow--when they can. The manner in which this
truly pious woman yielded to all her husband's whims was almost
marvellous--one of the miracles of that miracle-worker--LOVE! With the
simple, yet discriminating tact, of itself a gift from nature, which no
earthly power can either bestow or teach, she understood the wishes of
Robin almost before he was himself acquainted with his own thoughts. And
had she been on her death-bed, that excellent creature could have
declared before Him, to whom all things are known, that "God and her
husband" had been her true heart's motto.