"The black-eyed boy has not been near the house all day," added
Springall, "and my own belief is, that he's no he, but a woman in
disguise. My faith on it, Jeromio's in the secret, as sure as my name is
Obey Springall! Jeromio understands all manner of lingoes, and would be
likely to consort with any foreigners for filthy lucre: he has ever
ventures of his own, and this is one."
"There may be wisdom in thy giddy pate," observed the Buccaneer
thoughtfully. "God help me! dangers and plots gather thickly around, and
my wits are not brightening with my years."
"Marry, it's no woman," observed Mother Hays; "I could not be
deceived--it's a dark-browed boy," lowering her voice, "very like what
Prince Charlie was, as I remember him, but with rather a Jewish look for
a Christian prince."
"Robin," said Dalton, taking the Ranger aside, "if this most loathsome
marriage cannot be stayed--if what I mean to do should fail--my daughter
must seek another home and another protector. Were Miss Cecil to become
the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell, under their roof Barbara should not
bide--the kite's nest is a bad shelter for the ring-dove."
"Where would you take her?--who would protect her?" inquired Robin
earnestly.
"Faith, I know not. I'll to Sir Robert Cecil this day--speak to him
about some matters of our own, and then be guided by circumstances as to
the disposal of my daughter.--My daughter! that word sends the blood to
and from my heart in cold and then in hot gushing streams! But, Robin,
you must not tarry; close watch shall be set for this dangerous imp, to
prevent farther mischief; and if Springall's conjecture should be
right--yet it is most wild, and most improbable!--What disguise will you
adopt in this pursuit of our heedless friend?"
"As yet, I know not; I must suit it to the times and to the persons I
encounter; a pedlar's will do me best at present; a pack is a fitting
nook for concealment. Dear Captain, look well to Jeromio; he never meant
you honest."
"I believe you are right, Robin; and yet why should I quarrel with men's
honesty? they have as good a right to label mine with the foul word
'spurious.' This damning thing within my breast, that saints call
conscience, how it has worked me lately! Poison is nothing to it: but it
will soon be over, if the boy were safe, and my own Barbara would but
pray for me, after the fashion of her mother." He paused, then striking
his forehead violently, as if to banish thought, continued, "You go to
London straight?"