"I dare say she will come out in the twilight," replied Barbara, who had
sufficient of the sensitiveness of her sex to feel deeply mortified at
Robin's heedlessness of her delicate allusion, adding, "Good day; I
cannot stay any longer with you; so give you good day;" and she added in
a lower tone, "a more gentle humour when next we meet." Woman's pride
impelled her footsteps with extraordinary alacrity; woman's affection,
or curiosity, both of which are oftentimes at war with her reason,
obliged her to look back as she entered the postern, and then she
enjoyed the little triumph of observing that Robin remained on the same
spot gazing after her.
"I don't think I said any thing very unkind to him," she thought while
passing along the gallery. "I have a great mind to go back and ask him
if he wanted to send any message to my lady; I did not give the poor
fellow time to speak--I ought not to serve anyone so. What would good
Mr. Fleetword say, if he knew I spoke so snappishly to any
fellow-christian?--Keep your cold nose away from my hand, Master
Bright-eye; you forget how you behaved to my friend Crisp yesterday."
Just as she arrived at this point of her soliloquy, she stood before a
window, overlooking the part of the garden where she had left Robin.--He
was no longer there! and the fond heart of little Barbara, at once
forgetful of the harshness and waywardness of her early friend, was only
aroused from profound reasoning upon her own unworthiness, by a smart
tap on the shoulder from the fair hand of Lady Frances Cromwell.
"Pretty Barbara in meditation!" she exclaimed;--"but this is no time to
ask upon what or why. What is the meaning of your lady's sudden
resolve?"
"What resolve, madam?"
"Why, a resolve to marry Sir Willmott Burrell within this week."
Barbara was panic-struck: she remained silent for a few minutes, and
then clasping her hands, implored Lady Frances to do--she knew not what.
"Ah! she will die, my lady, she will die! for who could live married to
such a man? He is, indeed, a fearful husband for such a one. My lady, I
know she does not love him--she never did--never could. I have heard her
say in her sleep----"
"What, good maid?" asked Lady Frances eagerly, and with her usual
curiosity. But the habitual integrity of Barbara's mind was awakened:
with tears and sobs she replied,-"What I must not, as a true girl, repeat. I crave your pardon, my lady,
but it would ill become me to speak of what is said in sleep: only,
dear, dear lady, if you love my dear mistress--if her life be dear to
you--prevent, if possible, this marriage."