The Buccaneer - A Tale

"She has a noble mind, Frances, though not so holy a one as the Lady

Claypole."

"Well, dear Constance, you are very good to bear with me. Suppose, now,

my father, instead of sending me here, had commanded that I should

sojourn and mystify with that righteous Mrs. Lambert, whom he magnifies

into a model of holiness; what a time I should have passed! Why, the

nuns, whom the holy Sexburga placed up yonder, had not as much

loneliness; don't you think the place was admirably adapted for an

elopement? I am certain--nay, you need not smile--for I am quite

certain, that every one of the seventy-seven maidens, of whom history

tells us, including the charming Ermenilda herself, fully made up their

minds to run off with the Danes before they came to the island. I wish,

though, that your father could be persuaded to consider this only a

summer residence, for it must be a little dreary, I think. Not that I

feel it such, for you are so kind; and just as we were beginning to grow

a little dull or so, a flourish--and enter Walter De Guerre, under the

auspices of Major Wellmore! Ha! ha! ha! Well it has amused me so much.

He certainly is a most charming person; and if one, who is not here,

were here, I should be inclined to tease him a little by my vast

admiration of this gentleman. By the way, Sir Willmott Burrell has

little reason to thank Major Wellmore for this new introduction; though

it must be quite delightful to make either a lover or a husband jealous.

Ah, I see you do not agree with me--I did not expect you would; but, do

you know, I have taken it into my head that this De Guerre is not De

Guerre."

"Indeed! who is he then?"

"That, Constantia, is exactly what I want to know--and I think you could

unravel the mystery."

"My dear Frances, you are a very unaccountable person; always playing

false yourself, you hardly ever give people credit for being true."

"You are vastly complimentary. Ah, Constance, when you come to Hampton,

you must learn some court observances. When we were children together,

we spoke truth."

"Were we not very happy then?"

"We were," said Frances, drawing a heavy sigh; "but how changed the

times since then! Constance, those who walk along a precipice may well

dread falling. Gay, giddy as I am, Cromwell has not a child who glories

in him more than I do."