The Buccaneer - A Tale

A few weeks had wrought a fearful change upon his countenance and form:

the eyes were more hollow, the cheeks more pale, the hair ribanded with

white, where but a little before there had been few grey hairs, and the

shoulders were much rounded since his interview with the Buccaneer. He

proceeded courteously to meet his guest, bowing, and expressing the

honour he felt in being introduced (through the Lord's mercy) to the

preserver of his friend. The baronet had approached slowly towards De

Guerre during this salutation, but either his dim sight, or the

obscurity of the further end of the room, prevented his being at first

struck with his appearance. As the young man advanced, Sir Robert

Cecil's gaze was fastened on his countenance with a gasping earnestness,

that shook every fibre of his frame; his lips trembled, and remained

apart, and he seemed for a few moments unable to move to the seat he had

quitted.

The "friend" he had alluded to was seated in a carved chair near the

fire, his foot placed upon a cushioned stool, and his arms folded over

his bosom, his head rested on his chest, but his eyes were fixed on the

beautiful face of Constance Cecil, who had risen on the stranger's

entrance; nor did it escape the notice of so keen an observer, that the

lady's cheek was suddenly suffused by a deep hue of crimson, as suddenly

succeeded by a pallor and trembling, that made her cling to the arm of

Lady Frances Cromwell for support.

"I beg to present," he rose, and said, "to my worthy friend Sir Robert

Cecil, and to you, Lady Frances Cromwell, and to you also, Mistress

Cecil, this young gentleman, by the name of Walter de Guerre, who,

though of French extraction, hath doubtless had an English godfather,

who hath favoured him with an English Christian name. And now, most

worthy baronet, as master of this mansion, I pray you to present me to

him who hath a swift arm and a ready hand for the defence of an attacked

soldier."

"Major Wellmore, young gentleman; a tried and trusty friend to the

English Commonwealth and its Protector!" said Sir Robert at last;

adding, as if in apology for his emotion--"Constance! this strange

megrim in my head!" And Constance, with the watchful care of an

affectionate child, led him to his seat, presented him a glass of

cordial; and not till he had declared himself quite recovered, did she

return to her station on the low sofa, beside her friend Lady Frances

Cromwell.