"It is ill talking of marriage," said Cromwell, as the young man paused,
and requested permission to leave the room,--"It is ill talking of
marriage when Death stands at the threshold; but I have little doubt
you will be able to obtain the hand which I could not dispose of.
When I first saw you, I expected to see a different person--a director
of spies--a chief of discord--a master, not a servant. Walter Cecil,
although a bold Cavalier, would hardly have had power to draw me to the
Isle of Shepey, had he not, on board the Fire-fly, chosen to embrown his
face, and carry black ringlets over his own; a trick, perchance, to set
the Protector on a wrong scent. Never hang y'er head at it, young
man--such things have been from the beginning, and will be to the end.
Methinks that old oaks stand friends with the party;--but I quarrel not
with the tree--if it shielded the worthless Charles at Worcester, it
revealed the true Walter at Queenborough. Yet I thank God on every
account that I was led to believe you one whose blood I would fain not
shed, but would rather protect--if that he has the wisdom not to trouble
our country. I thank God that I was brought here to unravel and wind up.
A ruler should be indeed a mortal (we speak it humbly) omnipresent! As
to yonder man--devil I should rather call him--he has, I suppose, no
farther threats or terrors to win a lady's love. Sir Willmott Burrell,
we will at least have the ceremony of your marriage repeated without
delay:--here is my friend's daughter--this night--."
"Not to-night," interrupted Zillah; "to-morrow, and not to-night; I can
bear no more to-night."
"Sir Willmott Burrell," said Dalton, walking to where he stood, beaten
down and trampled, yet full of poison as an adder's tooth, "be it known
that I pity you:--your dagger has been turned into your own heart!--The
human flesh you bribed me to destroy, lives! What message brought
Jeromio from the ocean?"
Dalton was proceeding in a strain that would have quickly goaded Burrell
to some desperate act; for, as the Buccaneer went on, he was lashing his
passion with a repetition of the injuries and baseness of his adversary,
as a lion lashes himself with his tail to stimulate his bravery; but the
Protector demanded if Hugh Dalton knew before whom he stood, and dared
to brawl in such presence. Silenced, but not subdued, he retreated, and
contented himself with secret execrations on his enemy.