away; but at last, when she came to know me, and lift
up her innocent hands to my face--I may confess it here--many and many a
night have I sat in my cabin looking on that sleeping child, till my
eyes swam in a more bitter brine than was ever brewed in the Atlantic.
Particular circumstances obliged me to part with her, and I have never
regretted her being with poor Lady Cecil--only I should have liked her
to pray as her mother did. Not that I suppose it will make any
difference at the wind-up,--if," he added, doubtingly, "there be indeed
any wind-up. Hugh Dalton will never be really himself till he can look
that angel girl straight in the face, and ask her to pray for him, as
her mother used." Dalton was too much affected to continue, and both his
auditors respected his feelings too much to speak. At length he said,
"But this gloom will never do. Come, Robin, give us a song, and let it
not be one of your sad ones."

Robin sung,--

"Now, while the night-wind loud and chill
Unheeded raves around the door,
Let us the wine-cup drain and fill,
And welcome social joys once more--
The joys that still remain to cheer
The gloomiest month of all the year,
By our own fire side.

"What need we care for frost and snow?
Thus meeting--what have we to fear
From frost and snow, or winds that blow?
Such guests can find no entrance here.
No coldness of the heart or air--
Our little world of twelve feet square,
And our own fire-side.

"I drink this pledge to thee and thine--
I fill this cup to thine and thee--
How long the summer sun might shine,
Nor fill our souls with half the glee
A merry winter's night can bring,
To warm our hearts, while thus we sing
By our own fire-side."

The song, however, produced a contrary effect to that the Ranger had
intended. It pictured a fancied scene--one to which both Walter and the
Buccaneer had long been strangers; and a lengthened and painful pause
succeeded to the brief moment of forced merriment. It was broken by the
Cavalier, who inquired--

"How long will it be before you return from this new trip? for remember,
my good friend, that suspense is a----"

"Hell!" interrupted Dalton, in his usual intemperate manner: "but I
cannot help it. It is not wise to pluck unripe fruit--do you understand
me?"

"Perfectly--and I dare say