"A pretty scrape my villanies have brought me into!" thought Burrell, as
he returned to his chamber: "the girl will come over--that stops a
wedding. Suppose I were to take Zillah to wife--the old rascal would not
give me a maravedi. Suppose, before I have secured Constance, Cromwell
listens to the Rabbi's tale, he will forbid my marriage to please the
accursed Jew, and I--may blow my brains out. Suppose I marry at
once--But how? Lady Cecil not many weeks dead! I must manage it,
however," he continued, pacing the apartment, while Robin, who had
ascertained the impossibility of rousing the ill-governed menials from
their state of hopeless debauchery, amused himself by counting the
number of times the Master of Burrell walked up and down the room. At
length, finding such dull watching wearisome, he ventured to enter, and
inquire if he were to remain at Burrell House, or return to the Gull's
Nest.
"Well thought on, Robin Hays," said the knight, as if roused, and not
unpleasantly, from himself and his thoughts; "you will rest here
to-night, and accompany me to Cecil Place on the morrow. See to these
rioters, of whom I must rid my house."
"You had better do it, then, immediately," retorted Robin, "or they will
save you trouble by ridding you of your house."
"True, good Robin; you are ready-witted."
"And, to keep up my character, I'll back to Cecil Place this very
hour," muttered Robin, as he closed the door; "there is one there who
must not tarry the coming of Sir Willmott Burrell."