Whatever passed between Cromwell and the Lady Constantia must remain secret, as neither were of a particularly communicative disposition. Lady Frances, indeed, laboured hard to succeed and comprehend the whole matter, but in vain. She waylaid her friend on her passage from the room of audience, and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her anxiety on the subject,

"My father and you have had a long conference!"

"He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and kindness," was Constantia's reply.

"Do you know whom he has closeted up so strangely in Cecil Place? I was going into the oak parlour, when a sentry at the door—(What rough fellows those soldiers are!)—cried 'Stand!' as if I had been a statue. With that I repaired to the small oriel chamber; but there, too, was another 'Stand!' Why, the house is at once a prison and a garrison!"

"Not quite."

"Oh, you take it more gently than I should—to have persons in your own house, and not know who they are."

"Your father, I suppose, knows them; and I may have sufficient confidence in the Protector of England to believe in the wisdom of all he does—nothing doubting."

"My father is very anxious about Sir Robert."

"He is indeed."

"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."

"He has ever been to justice as its right hand."

How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her father had talked about Sir Willmott—if there were any tidings of Walter De Guerre, or where he had been since his disappearance with Major Wellmore! but she could not—she dared not ask another question: indeed, Constantia effectually prevented her so doing, for, taking her hand with that extraordinary combination of frankness and reserve which is ever the characteristic of a great and honest mind, she said—

"My sweet friend, do not question me; I have either answered your father's questionings as I answer every one, truly, in word and spirit, or told him, when he asked what I must not reveal, that I could not tell. I never equivocated in my whole life; equivocation is a subterfuge, mean as well as sinful—the special pleading of a lie."

"My dear Lady Perfection!"

"Do not mock me, sweet Frances: the world will say, and say rightly, you are much nearer perfection than I am; you have far more of the woman—the open, cheerful, confiding woman. But hear me say a few words more,—and apply them as you will. I once saw a young fresh tree—it was an oak—a bright tree and a beautiful! It flourished on the hill-side, and injured nothing; for its shadow was harmless, and served but as a kindly shelter for the modest violet and the pale primrose. The woodcutter looked upon it as he passed it by, and said it would grow to be the pride of the forest;—the village children held their innocent revelry beneath its gay branches:—but, Frances, dear Frances, the storm gathered, and the thunder leaped from cloud to cloud in the angry heavens, and the lightning—the forked lightning, darted among its leaves, and struck it to the heart. The next morning the sun saw that it was blighted; and the sun said, 'My beautiful tree and my brave, that my beams delighted to shine upon, is blasted; but I will throw forth my warmest rays, and my favourite shall revive, and again be glorious!' And the sun came in all its power, and it shone upon the tree; but the more it shone, the more quickly the tree withered—for it fainted beneath the kindness which had the will, but not the gift, of renovation."

Lady Frances turned from her friend with tears, and asked her no more questions. Constantia wept not, but passed towards the servants' hall to give some directions. The evening had quite closed, and the earth slept under the broad grey wings of twilight; as she crossed the corridors, she would have been bewildered by the darkness, had not her feet been acquainted with every winding passage.

As she passed one of the deep and sunken entrances for light, that seemed constructed for the purpose of expelling and not admitting the beams of day, so narrow and complicated was its framework, something struck violently on the glass. She started on perceiving a small figure enveloped in a woman's cloak. Late occurrences had made her cautious; but she was quickly assured of safety on hearing her name pronounced by the voice of Robin Hays. In a low but somewhat confident tone he informed her of his desire to see the Protector upon a matter of life and death.

"Only ask him if he will see me, dear lady!—I would not come openly, because I know he loves mystery in all things, and likes not that the world should be able to prate of his interviews.—But ask quickly, dear lady—quickly, as ye would seek heaven!"

"See you, Robin! The Protector see and counsel with you, Robin?"

"Ay, dear lady—the lion and the mouse—the lion and the mouse—only let it be quickly—quickly."

"Stay, Robin; you of all men are the most likely to know—can you tell me aught concerning one, I believe, we both loved?"

"Ask me not, dear mistress, now; only quickly, quickly to the Protector."

In a few minutes Robin Hays again stood before the great and extraordinary man he both respected and feared.

There was a mingling of kindliness and warmth in Cromwell's manner, as he desired the manikin to come forward, and, having first questioned him about his health, commanded him to tell his business.

"I have intruded on your Highness, which is a mark of great boldness in a creature of such low degree," commenced the Ranger in obedience to the Protector's orders, "and it is on behalf of one to whom I am much bound. Alack! great sir, it is a sad thing when a man of spirit, of power, and of bravery, has no friend to speak for him but one that Nature threw from her as unworthy of the neat finishing she bestows on others:—when our parent discards us, what have we to expect from mankind?"

"Do you speak of the youth called Walter, whose gallant Jubilee waits impatiently till his master is at liberty to boot and saddle? He shall mount him soon."

"With all humility, your Highness, no:—I would speak of Hugh Dalton and the Fire-fly."

"Of his ship, which may be at sea, say you?"

Robin ventured one glance at Cromwell's countenance, doubtless with the intention of ascertaining if he knew the position of the vessel: but there was no expression on those features that could lead to any conclusion, and the Ranger skilfully evaded the question.

"It is indeed of Hugh Dalton I would speak," continued Robin, "and intreat in his behalf, what I need myself, yet ask not for—a pardon."

"Pardon!" repeated Cromwell, "Pardon!—on what grounds?"

"Those of mercy—upon which your Highness has pardoned many; and, please your Highness, if I may make bold to say so, this same man has some reason, however small, to offer. The Jewess Zillah——"

"Ah! what of her?"

"Is in his keeping, and a certain preacher also—a worthy, simple, yet, withal, a keen man, whom Sir Willmott Burrell, as I understand, entrapped and shut up, with famine as his only associate, because he had become possessed of some papers proving Sir Willmott's marriage with the Jewish lady."

"And Dalton——"

"Saved this Fleetword!"

"Ah, Fleetword!" interrupted Cromwell, "I have heard of his disappearance—and he is safe?"

"Perfectly."

"I bless the Lord for his unravelling! But why comes not this man forth from his den? Methinks, if he have rendered such service to the Jew, who is our friend, he has some claim to our consideration, and might hope—perhaps, hope for pardon. But, if I judge rightly, he expected more than pardon,—pardon for his ship also, and farther grace towards himself:—ran it not thus?"

"Please your Highness, yes. The man loves his ship, which is but natural; and then his men——"

"What! the reeving ravenous set who have carried destruction as their flag, and filled the coast with desolation; aided and abetted in plunder, and brought over malcontents from evil lands, and scattered them like flax-seed over the country! Cornwall—Devon—Essex—Kent—Sussex—everywhere;—disturbed ourselves, so that by night as well as day we lack repose; and are forced to be our own watch-dog, to the great discomfort and danger of our body, and the vexation of our soul! Pardon for such as they! Dalton we might pardon, we have reasons for it; but his ship—it shall burn upon the high seas, as an example to all like it; and, as to his crew,—why not a scoundrel could be found robbing a hen-roost who would not declare himself one of Hugh Dalton's gang! To send you, too, as his ambassador!"

"Please your Highness," interrupted Robin, "he did not send me, though he knew of my coming. The man is watching by the side of his child."

"His child, said you—I heard he had but one, and that, through some mystery, the girl was here, and——"

Cromwell would have added, "shot," but he remembered what Robin had suffered at Hampton Court, when Barbara's death was mentioned before him, and, though chafed at the picture he had himself drawn of the ravages of the Buccaneer, yet the kind feelings of his nature prevented his opening the green wound in the Ranger's heart. No matter what distinction rank makes between man and man, Nature has instituted a moral freemasonry, by which all her children understand the signals and symptoms of goodness and greatness in each other's bosoms. Robin blessed him for his forbearance with the fresh warm blessing of an affectionate heart; and the blessing ascended to the Almighty's throne, although breathed into no mortal ear!—it ascended, not on the wings of the wind, for the wind heard it not; yet there it was, and there it remains, registered in the book of life, amongst the few but holy offerings which are paid to the mighty, in secret, by those who look to them for aid,—whose homage is generally of the lip, not the heart.

After a pause, more full of meaning than if it had been crammed with words, Robin said——

"Please your Highness, the girl is not dead, though badly wounded."

"I thank God!—I thank God for every blessing. Have you so said to the Lady Constantia?"

"I did not like to mention it, yet, as I did not know——"

"Right, right," interrupted Cromwell, not permitting him to finish the sentence, "a silent tongue is ever harmless, and with it there is safety. But I must see Fleetword and the Jewess forthwith: say unto Dalton that so I desire it."

"The Skipper has secrets touching this family in his keeping which I have reason to think he will retain, unless——"

Wily as he was, Robin now paused, for he dreaded to rouse the Protector's ire, and Cromwell, seeing his hesitation, exclaimed,

"Speak on—speak out, young man—this fellow would dictate to us—but speak—speak, I say; what are his gracious terms?"

Although the last words were uttered in an ironical tone, Robin did speak, and boldly.

"Pardon for himself, his registered followers, and safety for his ship; I know such to be his feelings, and know he would so say."

The Protector replied calmly—"To the pardon for himself, I say, ay; to the other conditions, no. Once spoken is enough. My words are for eternity, young man; it is much that I pardon even him. Go to—what hinders that I blow not his nest into the sky? what care I for the vultures of his eyrie!

"But the doves, your Highness,—the doves that shelter there!"

"Look ye, sir ambassador," returned Cromwell, "were I to twine a wreath of gunpowder round his nest, think ye he would suffer his child to perish, whatever fate in desperation he might award himself?"

"My Lord, he can look the sun in the face at noon-day; he could weigh with an unquailing eye the bullet that brought him death—he is a man of unspeakable firmness."

"Granted," said the Protector; "but I am a father—so is he; you are not, or you would feel that, were the female a vulture, not a dove, still he could not peril her life. She is his child. I forget, while I now speak, that which I am; for I could not speak thus if I remembered it. I send you to Dalton, to tell him, that in humble, most humble, imitation of the blessed God, whose unworthy servant I am, I say that 'though,' in the eyes of the world, 'his sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool;' they shall be blotted from my memory, and I will stretch forth my right hand to save and not to punish; so much as regards himself, I will not hint at his misdeeds, provided that——" he stopped abruptly, and fixed his eye upon the timepiece that was set over the chimney—a huge heavy iron machine, that one would fancy even Time found it difficult to deal with. "You see the hour—the hand is on the stroke of nine: provided that, before that same hand rests upon the single figure which heralds in the morning, the Preacher, the Jewess, himself and his daughter are within this room—provided they are here I will seal his pardon: he shall go forth, or remain, a free subject of the Commonwealth. And more than this, my soldiers sleep till midnight, so that men, all men may travel in safety,—in safety by land, I mean; for if the slightest attempt be made to rid the harbour of the pestilential vessel, whose crew keep such careful, or rather such prudent, watch upon her deck, if that the night were dark as blackness itself, there are eyes that see, and hands that avenge! The ship must not remain unpunished; of her, justice shall have its due. Your Buccaneer should think of this, and bless the God that has made us merciful."

"The Fire-fly, to be towed into Chatham and about, and pointed at by the cowardly land-lubbers, as Hugh Dalton's fine vessel! 'Twould kill him, please your Highness, it would kill him. He would not take his life on such terms——"

"Let him lose it, then. Think ye that, though you were honest, there are not many who pant to discover the secrets of that nest? Came I here for pastime? The Lord he is righteous and merciful. The cavern and its wealth is ours. The goodness of the Lord is over all the earth; yet such is the corruption of all things that we have no leisure for repose, much less pastime. Men's passions and evil propensities devour us, and fright comfort and often holy communing from our pillow. Go to, then. We have one who could lead us blindfold through your crag and its chambers. If we find Dalton armed, justice must take its course; even I could not save him then."

"It is little your guide would know what awaited him, if he did conduct the soldiers of your Highness," replied Robin, perhaps in a tone of momentary familiarity, the result of his long conference.

"It is enough," said Cromwell. "Though you have denied that you were directed by him to see us on this matter, yet you will not scruple to do our bidding. I need not repeat—within four hours from this time,—the Jewess, the man of God, Dalton and his daughter—secretly, mark, secretly—within this chamber. During this period my soldiers sleep; but the vessel must not be unmoored. Remember, if its anchor is weighed—or slipped," he added, with that extraordinary penetration which saw every possibility of even equivoque, and guarded against it, "the Buccaneer's life is forfeit."

Robin bowed with great submission, but still lingered.

"Please your Highness, he does so love that vessel!"

"You practise on our humanity, young man, and forget to whom you speak."

Robin bowed again more lowly than before, and retreated down the room. While closing the door, he looked to where the Protector sat; Cromwell, observing the movement, raised his hand, and pointed to the time-piece, whose iron finger was fast travelling round the dial.