Barbara, the young, the beautiful, the innocent Barbara, fell, as the bullet struck her, upon the arm of the imbecile Sir Robert Cecil. It is impossible adequately to describe the scene that followed. Constantia caught the maiden from her father, who shrank at the sight of blood, and drew himself gradually away, like a terrified child from a frightful object, while his daughter, kneeling, supported the stricken girl upon her bosom. After the deed was done, the Jewess stood for a moment with an air of exultation upon the ledge of the oriel window, and then disappeared; but Sir Willmott, who saw that the time was come when, if ever, his prey was to be secured, rushed to the open door, with a view to seize her as she descended, and at once rid himself of all danger by her destruction. At the instant his evil purpose was about to be accomplished, his course was arrested, as he reached the postern, by a powerful arm, which grappled at his throat. The stentorian voice of Dalton shouted "Villain!" so loudly, that many, who had crowded round the dying Barbara, turned in alarm to ascertain who spoke.

"Hinder me not," said Sir Willmott, gasping for breath, "but help me to secure the murderer—the girl is slain!"

"God of Heaven!—what girl?—Who was it fired?" exclaimed the Skipper.—"What means this?" he continued, relaxing his grasp, and advancing up the chancel with a beating heart and a rapid step. Burrell took advantage of the momentary reprieve, and was hastily proceeding round to the window, when the tramp of many horses came upon his ear. The steel caps and polished blades of a detachment of Cromwell's own Ironsides glittered amid the ruins and trees that surrounded the chapel, and his progress was again stayed by no other than Colonel John Jones.

"Sir Willmott Burrell," said the Puritan soldier, in a slow and deliberate tone, "his Highness commands your immediate presence at the house of Hampton, profanely denominated Hampton Court; and I have his Highness's commands also to prevent the taking place of any union between you and Mistress Constantia Cecil."

"It has taken place," interrupted Burrell, turning pale, and trembling.

"It has not taken place," interrupted in her turn Lady Frances, whose habitual and active kindness had prompted her to seek assistance for Barbara, so that she encountered the troop under the command of her step-uncle—"I say it has not taken place—half a ceremony is no marriage. But have you any with you skilled in surgery? for here has been a most foul murder: come with me into the chapel, and behold!" Lady Frances returned, followed by Colonel Jones, Sir Willmott as a prisoner, and the greater number of the soldiery.

Constantia Cecil, still kneeling, supported Barbara, whose life was ebbing fast, as the blood trickled from a small wound, where the ball had entered a little above her right shoulder. Her eyes, gentle and expressive as ever, were fixed upon her father, who stood speechless and powerless by her side. The women gathered, weeping, around. The good clergyman approached to offer spiritual consolation to the departing girl. Hugh Dalton had heard the story of the fatal act repeated by at least a dozen persons, who were ignorant that they spoke in the presence of the poor maiden's parent; but he heeded not their words; he did not even ask how or by whom the dreadful deed was done. Enough to him was the certainty that his daughter was dying, dying before him—that she, to whom his heart had clung through evil report and good report, in sorrow and in sin, but always with confidence and hope, as the star that would at length guide him into a haven of peace and joy, which had been rapidly growing out of repentance; that she, his only, his beloved, his most excellent, and most unspotted child, would, within an hour, become as the clay on which he trod—that her mild, cheerful, and patient spirit, was passing to the God who gave it—unrepiningly passing; for no groan, no murmur came from her lips—lips that had never been stained by deceit or falsehood. Still her eyes rested on her parent, and once she endeavoured to stretch forth her weak arms towards him, but they fell powerless at her side; while he, still mute and motionless as a statue, seemed rooted to the earth. The clergyman spoke a few words of an approaching eternity. It was only then the Buccaneer replied; without a tear, without a sob; or any outward demonstration of sorrow: though all who heard him felt that the words came from a man whose sole sensation was despair.

"No need, sir, to speak so to her. She knows about these things far more than we do. Hush! for the sake of God, and let me hear her breathing."

"Some ten of you look out for the murderer," commanded the stern voice of Colonel Jones, who had by this time received the whole account from the Lady Frances.

"You will not be able to find her," exclaimed the alarmed Burrell, dreading that, if she were secured, she might communicate the secret she still retained. "You will not, I assure you, be able to find her," he repeated, as the sturdy soldiers prepared to obey their officer's command.

"You know the person, then, Sir Willmott," said Colonel Jones, coldly. Burrell looked abashed. "Mistress Constantia will, I hope, forgive me," added the rough soldier, walking towards the steps of the altar, where the lady of Cecil Place still supported the fading form of the poor faithful maiden she had so truly loved—"Mistress Constantia will forgive one of her father's oldest friends for thus breaking in upon and disturbing a most solemn ceremony. His Highness has commanded her bridegroom to be brought before him, and the marriage to be stayed, inasmuch as he charges Sir Willmott Burrell with being already wedded!"

The maiden to whom he spoke looked up, and gazed into the countenance of the speaker; but it would have been difficult to determine the nature of her feelings, save by the cold shudder that seemed to pass over her whole frame.

On Sir Robert Cecil the information made no impression, for he understood it not, though he smiled and bowed several times to his old companion in arms. But the Buccaneer started, roused for a moment from the one absorbing sorrow of his whole soul, but still heedless of the danger he encountered in thus standing face to face with a troop of the hardiest soldiers of the Commonwealth. Turning eagerly towards their officer, he exclaimed,—

"Ha! it is known!—then the papers were received."

"Traitor! double traitor! I have ye now!" shouted Burrell, presenting his pistol at the head of the Buccaneer. Instantly Barbara, as with a last effort, sprang from the arms of the Lady Cecil, and threw herself on her father's bosom. The effort was not needed, for the weapon was snatched from the villain's hand. He had now to encounter the reproof of Colonel Jones.

"Sir Willmott, I thought I could have taken your word, that you had no arms except your sword. I was mistaken."

"That fellow is the famous Buccaneer, Hugh Dalton, upon whose head a price is set. Arrest him, Colonel Jones!" exclaimed Burrell, skilfully turning the attention from himself to the Skipper, who stood embracing the lifeless form of his daughter—gazing upon eyes that were now closed, and upon lips parted no longer by the soft breath of as sweet a maiden as ever was born of woman.

"Are you the Malignant of whom he speaks?" inquired the stern colonel.

"He is the unhappy father of that murdered girl," interposed Constantia.

"Whoever refuses to seize him deserves a traitor's death," reiterated Sir Willmott.

The troopers stood with their hands on their swords, awaiting their officer's commands.

The Buccaneer turned fiercely round, still pressing his child to his bosom with one arm, and holding a pistol within the other hand.

"I am," he said in a bold and fearless, but not an arrogant tone, "I am he whom that accursed villain names. But ye had better not rouse a desperate man. Dare not to touch me; at your peril stay my course. Colonel Jones, tell the Protector of England, that Hugh Dalton craves no pardon now. This, this was my hope—my pride; for her I would have been honest, and well thought of! Behold! she stiffens on my arm. She is nothing now but clay! Yet, by the God that made her! no churlish earth shall sully this fair form. She was as pure as the blue sea that cradled her first months of infancy; and, mark ye, when the rays of the young sun rest upon the ocean, at the morning-watch, by my own ship's side, in the bosom of the calm waters, shall she find a grave. I will no more trouble England—no more—no more! Gold may come dancing on the waves, even to my vessel's prow, I will not touch it. Cromwell may take me if he will, but not till I perform for my good and gentle child the only rite that ever she demanded from me."

Even as the tiger-mother passes through an Indian crowd, bearing the cherished offspring of her fierce but affectionate nature, which some stray arrow has destroyed—terrible in her anguish and awful in her despair—her foes appalled at her sufferings and the bravery of her spirit, though still panting for her destruction—their arrows are on the string—yet the untaught, but secret and powerful respect for the great source of our good as well as of our evil passions—Nature—works within them, and she passes on, unmolested, to her lair:—even so did Dalton pass along, carrying his daughter, as she were a sleeping infant, through the armed warriors, who made way, as if unconscious of what they did;—some, who were themselves fathers, pressed their mailed fingers on their eyes, while others touched their helmets, and raised them a little from their brows.

"Colonel Jones," exclaimed the enraged Burrell, "you will have to answer for this to a high power. The Protector would give its weight in gold for the head of that man; and the weight of that again for a knowledge of his haunts."

"Sir Willmott," was the soldier's reply, who, now that Dalton was really gone, began to fear he had done wrong in permitting his escape, and therefore resolved to brave it haughtily, "I can answer for my own actions. Methinks you are cold and hot as best serves your purpose!" Then turning abruptly from him, he added, "We will but intrude upon the hospitality of this mourning bride," glancing at Constantia's dress, and smiling grimly, "until some tidings be obtained of the person who has perpetrated this horrid murder; and having refreshed our horses, return forthwith; for his Highness is impatient of delay, and 'tis good fifty miles to London. Our orders were, Sir Willmott, that you hold no communion with any; so that, if you have aught to say to Mistress Cecil, it must be said at once."

"I can only offer my protestations against this tyrannical—ay, sir, I speak boldly, and repeat it—this tyrannical mandate—and assure the fair dame that I consider her my lawful wife."

Constantia made no reply. Colonel Jones then gave the Lady Frances a slip of paper from the Protector, which merely stated that he thought she ought to remain with her friend, until the mysterious rumour was either cleared up or confirmed. Lady Frances right joyfully assented; and Constantia, overpowered by a multitude of contending feelings, led the way with her father, who seemed as passive and as uninterested in the events of that most eventful hour, as if he were a child of a twelvemonth old. The soldiers who had been sent to reconnoitre soon returned, for night was closing upon them, and they had searched the ruins of Minster, and galloped over the wild hills of Shepey, without being able to trace the misguided Jewess. Colonel Jones could, therefore, do nothing more than advise Sir Michael Livesey (the sheriff, who resided, as we have stated, at Little Shurland) of the circumstance that had occurred, and send off to King's Ferry, Sheerness, Queenborough, and all the little hamlets along the coast, information of the melancholy event, with orders to prevent any stranger, male or female, from quitting the island, until his Highness's future pleasure was known.

The murder of Lady Cecil's favourite was calculated to excite strong feelings among all classes; for the poor had long considered the residence of so good a family on their island as a blessing from Heaven; more particularly, as the former possessor, Sir Herbert, Sir Robert's elder brother, only lived at Cecil Place occasionally, being of too gay, too cavalier a temperament, to bide long in so solitary a dwelling. He had been warmly attached to the house of Stuart; and while his younger brother sought, and made friends of the Parliamentarian faction, he remained steady in his loyalty, and firm in his attachment to the unfortunate and unpopular Charles. Upon this topic we may hereafter treat: at present, we have to do with the living, not the dead.

We cannot now intrude upon the privacy of either Lady Frances or Constantia; we must content ourselves with simply stating that Colonel Jones took his departure, leaving, at Lady Frances's request, a guard of six soldiers at Cecil Place—a precaution he felt justified in adopting when he had taken late events into consideration, and was made acquainted with the miserable condition of Sir Robert's mind, to whom also he undertook to send immediate medical advice. The servants, particularly Lady Frances's women, assembled in the great hall, and with many tears, real and unfeigned tears, lamented the loss of poor Barbara—talked of the mystery of her birth, and the sudden and almost supernatural appearance of her father. Greatly did they blame themselves for permitting him to remove the body, "not knowing," as they said, "but he would give it heathenish and not Christian burial."

After a little while they conversed upon the malady that had overtaken their master, and then hints and old tales were thought of, and almost forgotten rumours of Sir Herbert and his revelries repeated; and as the lamps burned still more dim, and the embers of the fire dropped one by one into that grey and blue dust that heralds their perfect decay, the legends of the isle were rehearsed—How Sir Robert de Shurland, a great knight and a powerful thane, being angry with a priest, buried him alive in Minster churchyard; and then, fearing the king's displeasure, and knowing he was at the Nore, swam on a most faithful horse to his majesty from the island, to crave pardon for his sin; and the king pardoned him; and then, right joyfully, he swam back to the land, where, on his dismounting, he was accosted by a foul witch, who prophesied that the horse which had saved him should be the cause of his death; but, in order to prevent the accomplishment of the prophecy, he slew the faithful animal upon the beach;—how that some time afterwards he passed by the carcass, and striking a bone with his foot, it entered the flesh, which mortified, and the tyrant died; in testimony whereof the tomb stands in Minster church until this day, in the south wall, under a pointed arch, where he lies, leaning on his shield and banner, and at his feet a page, while behind him is carved the horse's head that caused his death:—and, moreover, how his spirit is seen frequently leaping from turret to turret of the house of Great Shurland, pursued by a phantom steed! Of such like legends did they talk. Then they thanked God that their lady was not likely to be Sir Willmott's wife, and spoke of Dalton and his daring, and many of the old servants shuddered.

Then again they reverted to Barbara, and the women crept more closely together, like a flock of frightened sheep, when one older than the others affirmed that no true maid could ever rest in the ocean's bed, unless a Bible were slung about her neck; and as Dalton, of course, had no Bible, their beloved Barbara could have no rest, but must wander to all eternity on the foam of the white waves, or among the coral-rocks that pave the southern seas, or sigh in the shrouds of a doomed ship. But again, some other said, as she was so pure a Christian, perhaps that would save her from such a fate; and one of the soldiers who sat with them reproved their folly, and lectured, and prayed for their edification, with much zeal and godliness; and when he had concluded, the thought came upon them that the Reverend Jonas Fleetword had not been there since the earliest morning, when somebody declared he was seen talking with Sir Willmott Burrell near the Gull's Nest, and fear for the preacher came over them all—why, they could not tell.