rone to his son, that in all human
probability would have been continued in his family, even to our own
day. We must leave this sentence, startling though it may be, without
the arguments necessary to support it; certain it is, however, that so
thought the Protector himself, who considered that the people of
England, like the Israelites of old, would never be at rest until they
had "a king to rule over them."

It would be a vain attempt to describe the sufferings of Robin Hays,
from the moment when the news of Barbara's death fell upon him like a
thunderbolt, and he quitted the presence of the Protector without the
power of reply. He was sensible of only one feeling--awake to only one
emotion--his heart echoed but to one sensation--his eyes burned within
their sockets--all things before him were confused; and there was but a
single image present to his mind. As if in compassion to his personal
deformity, Nature had endowed him with a degree of sentiment and
refinement perfectly at war with his habits and pursuits. But in his
case, such compassion was, if we may so speak, cruelty. Had he been born
to a higher station, it might have been a blessing--in his present
sphere it was a curse--a curse which the Ranger had felt most constantly
and most acutely. He had been laughed at by such as Roupall, who exulted
in the possession of mere brute strength; and he had been sneered and
scouted at by the giddy and the vain, who, dreading his sarcasms, repaid
themselves by finding out his one vulnerable point, and probing it to
the quick. Barbara had stolen into his heart unconsciously, as a sweet
and quiet stream insinuates itself through the bosom of some rugged
mountain, softening and fertilising so gently, that its influence is
seen and acknowledged while its power is unaccounted for and its source
unknown. The belief that the young Puritan entertained an affection for
him, was a belief he hardly dared to cherish; but there were times when
he did cherish it; and it was at such times only that his turbulent and
restless mind was enabled to find repose: then the memory of her
kindness, her gentleness, her tenderness, would come upon him like sleep
to the eyes of the weary--like a fresh well in a sandy desert--like a
gentle spring after a stormy winter--in a word, like woman's love, where
it is most hoped, but least looked for. Whenever he indulged the idea of
her affection, he felt like one uplifted above the world--its base
sorrow