The Buccaneer - A Tale

But such it is: and though we may be taught

To have in childhood life, ere love we know,

Yet life is useless till by reason taught,

And love and reason up together grow.

SIR W. DAVENANT

"And, indeed, my grave Lady Constance plays with the poor fish in a very

sportsmanlike manner; only, methinks, a little too shy, and a trifle too

sensitive! Marry, girl! what a most yielding, docile, and affectionate

wife you would make!--like one of the heroines in the ancient Spanish

romances; or such a one as--Judith!--no--for you would never venture to

chop off a man's head--Stay--did she so?--or--Barbara! you are well read

in Scripture history; and, though you ply your needle so industriously,

that will not prevent your calling to mind some of the holy women in the

Bible, to whom your mistress may be compared."

Barbara Iverk, who had no other duty at Cecil Place than to wait upon

the young heiress or assist in her embroidery, was considered and

treated more as a humble companion than a menial; and Lady Frances

Cromwell talked just as freely to Mistress Cecil in her presence as if

they were perfectly alone. Nor was such confidence ever abused by the

gentle girl. She moved within her small circle like an attendant

satellite upon a brilliant star--silent and submissive--yet ever in her

place, ever smiling, innocent, and happy,-"A maid whom there were few to praise,

And very few to love."

Simple and single-minded, her soul had never been contaminated by the

idea, much less the utterance, of falsehood. Even to Constantia, the

fulness of her worth and fidelity was unknown; although the bare

contemplation of Barbara's ever parting from her was one of actual

pain.

She replied to the lively question of the Lady Frances in her usual

straightforward and unpresuming manner: a manner that afforded

considerable amusement to the merry trifler, by whom the little Puritan

was commonly spoken of, while absent, as "the fresh primrose."

"Indeed, my lady, I do not like mixing up profane and holy things

together."

"Fie, Barbara! to call your mistress profane. Constance, do put down

those heavy poems of Giles Fletcher, and listen to your bower-maiden,

describing you as one of the profane."

Constance looked up and smiled; while poor Barbara endeavoured to free

herself from the charge with earnestness and humility.

"My Lady Frances, I ask your pardon; but I can hardly, I fear, make you

understand what I mean. I know that Mistress Cecil is always aiming at

the excellence to which the holy women of Scripture attained--but----"