to the sea.

He had hardly done so, when spears and helmets glittered in the faint
starlight on the higher cliff. It was no time for deliberation. Roupall
and the others slunk silently and sorrowingly away, and the little
group--Dalton, Barbara, the Jewess, Fleetword, and Robin--stood nearly
together on the ledge.

Colonel Jones had accompanied the soldiers by direct orders from the
Protector, who, from the firing of the ship, imagined for a time that
Dalton and Robin had acted with treachery--treachery which, with his
usual promptness, he adopted the immediate means to counteract.

Robin advanced to meet the troop, and addressing Colonel Jones
respectfully, said,

"You will have the goodness to observe, sir, that Hugh Dalton is not
only unarmed, but has assembled round him those whose presence were
commanded at Cecil Place before the hour of one."

Colonel Jones vouchsafed no reply to Robin's observation; but it was not
the less heeded on that account. He inquired, in a stern voice,

"By what means have ye wrought the destruction of yonder vessel?"

"I will tell hereafter" was the only reply he could elicit from Robin
Hays. It was repeated more than once--"I will tell hereafter."

By this time the little party was surrounded. The Buccaneer attempted no
resistance. His strength, his spirit, seemed gone; his child lay
fainting, weak, and exhausted at his feet. Colonel Jones felt, though he
did not then express it, much joy at seeing alive the girl he believed
dead. Dalton attempted to raise and carry her with him, but in vain. He
staggered under the light load as a drunken man. One of the troopers
offered horses to the females. Dalton would not commit her to other
guidance than his own, and, mounting, placed her before him.

Robin would have turned to the room that contained his mother's corpse,
but Colonel Jones forbade it.

"My mother, sir, lies dead within that hut," expostulated the Ranger.

"That may be," replied the soldier; "but I say, in the words of
Scripture, 'Let the dead bury their dead.'"

The party then proceeded towards Cecil Place, Zillah entrenching herself
under the protection of the Preacher Fleetword.

CHAPTER XIII.

Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that's gone.
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see.
Joys, as winged dreams, fly fast