It was past midnight when Manasseh Ben Israel, accompanied by Robin Hays, as his own servant, and disguised as we have seen him, arrived at Hampton Court. The night was murky, and the numerous turrets of the great monument of Wolsey's grandeur and ambition were seen but dimly through the thickened air, although looked upon with feelings of no ordinary interest by both Jew and servitor.

The carriage was stopped at the outer court by the sentries on guard, and some little delay occurred, apparently to ascertain if the Rabbi could be admitted at so late an hour.

Robin looked from the carriage-window and saw, what appeared to him, scores of mailed and armed warriors reclining on the stone benches of a spacious but low guard-room, while others crowded over a large fire, which the chilliness of the night rendered, at least, desirable. The glaring of the flames showed brightly on their polished armour, and their firm immovable features looked of a piece with the iron itself. Nothing could be more imposing, or afford a more correct idea of Cromwell's perseverance and judgment, than his well-trained soldiery. Obedience, inflexible obedience to their commander, seemed the leading, almost the only principle upon which they acted: not that slavish obedience which is the effect of fear, but the obedience which is the result of confidence. "God and the Protector" was their faith, and they knew no other. As the Jew gazed upon those invincible men, he shrouded himself still more closely within his furred cloak, and shuddered. Robin's eye, on the contrary, brightened, for he was born of England, and proud of her greatness. Ah! Englishmen in those days had a right to be proud.

There was another difference in the conduct of the Protector's troops from those of every other time and every other nation: they had none of the reckless wildness, none of the careless bravery which is supposed necessarily to belong to the profession of arms. Their habits were staid and sober; and if any Cavaliers did enter in among them, they were forced to behave themselves according to the fashion of their associates, which habit, in a little time, tamed their heedlessness into propriety. There was no singing of profane songs in the guard-room, no filthy jesting or foolish talking; no drinking; their very breathing seemed subdued, and nothing frighted the tranquillity which rested on the turrets at Hampton, and pervaded its courts, save the striking of some iron heel on the ringing pavement, or the neighing of some gallant steed in the not distant stables.

Once, indeed, a psalm wailed through the casement from one of the inner courts: it was sung at first in a troubled tone, and in a low key, but afterwards the sound was increased by other voices; and it swelled upon the ear in long and loud continuance.

"He has departed, then!" observed one of the sentries, to an armed man who stood near the carriage.

"I suppose so, and, I trust, in the Lord," was the reply.

"Doubtless—yet the heart was strong for life. His Highness will be sorrowful."

"He will; but grace abounded greatly; he was one of the Lord's best soldiers, and fought well in the good cause."

"Would that my time was passed! I would fain uplift my voice with theirs."

"I will go there forthwith," replied he in armour; and Robin heard the echo of his step die in the distance. Ere the messenger, despatched by the officer of the guard, had returned, a sort of rambling drowsy conversation was carried on by the soldiers within, which only reached the quick ear of the Ranger at intervals.

"His Highness has been tormented to-night; methinks the length of a summer day ought to satisfy those who want to see him."

The sun had set a good hour or more, when Sir Christopher Packe, the worshipful Lord Mayor, passed in.

"His Highness," replied the stern gruff voice of an old soldier, "is of the people; and he knows that his duty—next to awaiting the Lord always—is to wait on them."

"His time is not an easy one, then," thought Robin; and as he so thought, the messenger returned with an order that the Rabbi should be immediately admitted. The lumbering carriage passed under one archway, and traversed a small court—then under another—then across the next—then stopped, and one of the principal servants opened the door, and requested Manasseh to descend.

"Her Highness," he said, "had been indisposed; the Lord Protector, therefore, hoped the worthy Israelite would not object to walk across the next court, as her chamber was nearly over the entrance."

The Jew leaned upon Robin for support, as they mounted the flight of steps leading to the grand entrance hall. He paused once or twice; they were many in number, and hard to climb for one bent with age, and now bowed down by trouble. When they arrived at the great door, he perceived that, instead of two, there were four sentries, who stood, two on each side, like fixed statues, and the torch their conductor carried glittered on the bright points of their swords that rested on the ground. The stair was faintly illumined by one large massive iron lamp, hanging from the ceiling, and flickering, so as to show the outline, not the minutiÆ of the objects.

When they had fairly entered the great hall, Robin truly and sincerely wished himself safely out again; the more particularly when he saw, mingled with the pages and servants in waiting, some tried and trusty soldiers, by whom, if his disguise were penetrated, he would be better known than trusted. It was one thing to steal and pry about a place, and another to be only separated by a single plank of oak from Cromwell—the all-powerful, all-seeing Protector of England—liable to be called at once into his presence; for the Jew might mention—doubtless would mention—that one who had served Sir Willmott Burrell, and knew much of his doings, was in attendance.

This magnificent room, though used as a hall of audience on state occasions, was generally occupied by the guards, retainers, and petitioners of the Protectorate. There was a long table of rude workmanship near the door at which they entered—above was a lamp, similar in size and construction to that which swung outside:—many assembled round, or sat close to, this table, while others walked up and down—not passing, however, the centre of the hall, which was crossed by a silk cord of crimson, fastened in the middle to two brass poles, standing sufficiently apart to permit one person at a time to enter; and also guarded by a single sentinel, who walked so as to pass and repass the opening every half minute. Manasseh paced slowly towards the soldier, still leaning on Robin. His conductor kept a little in advance, bowing on either side, while a conciliating smile lingered on his lip, until he came to the silken line.

"Only one may pass!" was the soldier's brief notice; and the Rabbi, grasping his staff more firmly, walked to the door opposite the great entrance, which was guarded also by another sentinel.

"You can find a seat—that is, if you choose to sit," said the servitor sneeringly, to Robin, pointing at the same time to an empty corner of the hall.

"Or would it please you I descend to the apartments of the lower servants?" inquired the Ranger, remembering the meekness befitting the character of a Jew.

"None leave this hall, after entering it by his Highness's permission, till they receive orders to that effect," he replied, turning from Robin, who slunk to the place assigned him, in no very agreeable mood.

If his imaginings were of an unpleasant description, still more so were the observations made aloud by the pages, flippant both by nature and usage, and the sarcastic and cool jests, given forth at his expense by the more sober persons of the assembly.

"Wouldst like any refreshment, friend?" inquired a youth in a sad-coloured tunic and blue vest, over which fell a plain collar of the finest Valenciennes' lace, so as to cover his shoulders. "And yet," continued the malapert, "methinks there is nothing to offer thee but some ham, or preserved pigs' tongues, which, of course, thou tastest not of."

"No, I humbly thank ye, young sir," replied Robin; "I do not need the pigs' tongues, having tasted of thine."

"What mean you by that, Jew dog!" said the boy fiercely, laying his hand on his sword.

"Nothing, fair gentleman, except it be that thine, though well preserved, would fain take up the business of thy white teeth."

"How, knave?"

"Become biting," replied Robin, bowing.

"Ah, Morrison! the Jew is too much for ye," said another youth, who was just roused from a half slumber in a high-backed chair.—"Where got ye yer wit?"

"Where you did not get yours, under favour," was Robin's ready reply.

"And where was that?"

"From nature; too common a person for so gay a young gentleman to be beholden to," he retorted, bowing again with even a greater show of humility than before.

At this reply, Sir John Berkstead, formerly a goldsmith in the Strand, but gradually raised to the dignity of chief steward of Oliver's household, approached Robin with his usual shuffling gait, and said,—

"Hey! young gentlemen—hey! young gentlemen, what foolish jesting is this? what mean ye? It is his Highness's pleasure to receive the master, and what for do ye treat the man with indignity? My worthy Samuel," he looked closer—"but it is not Samuel," he continued, peering curiously at Robin, "it is not Samuel. What ho! Gracious Meanwell! did this man enter with the learned Manasseh Ben Israel?"

"Yes, please ye, Sir John," replied the page, humbly.

"Indeed!" he exclaimed, surveying Robin attentively. "But where is the Rabbi's usual attendant, whom I have before seen?"

"He is sick even unto death, unless it please the God of Abraham to work a miracle in his favour," replied Robin: thinking to himself, "he remembers enough, at least, of his old trade to know all is not gold that glitters."

Sir John Berkstead withdrew, only observing to the page, who stood back, boy-like, longing for any frolic likely to relieve the monotony of so dull a court, especially at midnight, "See ye do not treat him uncourteously. The Rabbi has always been permitted to bring his attendant, almost to the anteroom: a favour seldom granted—but his Highness is gracious in remembering that his bodily infirmities need support. So see that he is treated with all courtesy, for his Highness is wishful that Christian toleration be exercised towards this and all other Jews."

More than one Roundhead looked at another during this declaration; and all but the two youngsters appeared more than usually intent upon whatever they were employed about before the Rabbi's entrance. Youth is a bad courtier, ever preferring frolic and amusement to sobriety and attention. They had been at once piqued and pleased by Robin's smartness, and resolved to whet their own wit upon so well-tempered a steel.

"Wert ever at court before?" inquired the younger.

"No, sir, an' please ye."

"And what think ye of it?"

"Nothing as yet, sir."

"Nothing! how is that?"

"Because I have not had time; and, if the small things of life require thoughtfulness, how much more must the great things of a court!"

"Shouldst like to turn Christian and live at court?"

"Heaven forbid! All I should be turned to would be ridicule, and that is a wonderful lowerer of the consequence of even a serving man——"

"Hush!" said the elder page—"there goes Colonel John Jones."

As the brother-in-law of the Protector approached, the several persons in the hall rose and saluted him with considerable respect. His aspect was stern and rigid: his whole person firm and erect; and whatever his faults might have been, he gave one the idea of a person who, doing wrong, thought it right. His eyes were generally upturned, and there was a good deal of enthusiasm in the expression of the upper portion of his countenance, while the firm-set mouth and broad muscular chin betokened the most inflexible resolution. He proceeded towards the cord we have before mentioned, exchanged a few words with the sentry, and then returned to the door whereby he had entered. While unclosing it, he perceived Robin, and, struck by his Jewish appearance, altered his course and approached him.

The Ranger bent most lowlily to the ground, for he well knew the veneration this man excited both amongst soldiers and Puritans.

"One of the cast-aways within the sanctuary!" he said in a stern reproving voice. "How is it?"

"Sir, his master, the Rabbi, tarrieth with his Highness," replied the elder page.

"It is evil, and of evil," returned Colonel Jones, with still more severity, "The clean and the unclean, the believer and the unbeliever, the offscouring of the earth with the chosen of the Lord! Why is he not cast forth, yea into outer darkness? Why should the filthy vulture make his nest with the eagles? Dog of a Jew, out, into the highway!"

"May it please ye," interrupted Gracious Meanwell, "his Highness has just issued express orders that this man be carefully tended, and kept within."

The Colonel cast a look full of displeasure at the messenger, and without trusting himself to utter another word, strode from the hall.

"You see where we would send Jews," observed one of the lads.

"Even where they would rather be."

"How, where?"

"Far from ye."

"And deem ye it not an honour to be admitted within these walls?"

"Ay, sir, such honour as a poor merlin would feel at being caged with honourable and right honourable eagles. But would ye unravel me, kind young gentlemen, if Colonel Jones is often seen without his Patients?"

"Oh! you mean the preacher, do ye? Why, yes, frequently now-a-days."

"Ah! what a blessing that must be!"

"As how? master Jew."

"Because others can have their soles mended."

The jest upon the miserable fanatic Patients, who had been a stocking-footer in London, was not lost upon the lads, though they dared not countenance it by a very boisterous laugh: they resolved, however, to become more intimately acquainted with the facetious Jew.

"You ought not to laugh so loud, Morrison," said the elder page. "You know you are a sort of nephew to his Highness, now that your uncle, Doctor Wilkins, is married to the Lady French, his Highness's sister."

"And here is my uncle," returned the other. "He said he had permission to call for me. Ah! he is never angry at a little jest, so long as it is innocent. I heard a gentleman say last night that 'he was by nature witty, by industry learned, by grace godly.' What think ye of that for a character?"

As the subject of this panegyric drew near, Robin thought he had never seen a more sweet or gracious countenance: he looked "peace on earth and good will towards men." His entire expression was that of pure benevolence; and though the eye was something wild and dreamy, yet it was gentle withal, and of marvellous intelligence. He seemed like one, and such he truly was, to whom the future as well as the present would be deeply indebted. The use he made of his alliance with the Cromwell family must ever be regarded as most noble; instead of aggrandising himself and his friends, he rendered it only subservient to the great wish of his heart—the promotion of learning, which, it cannot be denied, was at that time in danger of being overthrown by bigotry and fanaticism: for this reason it was that he opportunely interposed to shelter Oxford from the moroseness of Owen and Godwin. Well might his eye look dreamy. How could that of the author of a "Discovery of a New World" look otherwise? He openly maintained that, not only was the moon habitable, but that it was possible for a man to go there. His reply to the Duchess of Newcastle, herself a visionary, when she jested a little at his theory, although sufficiently known, is still worthy of repetition.

"Where am I to find a place for baiting at, in my way up to that planet?" she inquired of the Doctor.

"Madam," replied he, "of all the people in the world, I never expected that question from you, who have built so many castles in the air, that you may lie every night at one of your own."

As he conducted his nephew to the door, he turned back to look on Robin: "You have not teased the poor Jew, I hope?" he said to the page.

"No; but he has worried us, uncle; you know not what a wit-snapper it is."

"Indeed! art thou a Solomon, friend?"

"An' please ye, sir, the wisdom, as well as the glory, has departed from our people," said Robin.

"I care little for the glory," observed the Doctor, who was Warden of Wadham College; "I care very little for any earthly glory: but canst tell me where the wisdom is gone—the wisdom, Jew, the wisdom! Where is that to be found?"

"Usually at the College of Wadham," replied the crafty Robin, bowing respectfully, "though sometimes it wanders abroad to enlighten England."

"Go to; you are a most cunning Isaac," said Doctor Wilkins, laughing; and at the same time throwing Robin a piece of silver, which he caught, with much dexterity, ere it touched the ground.

"This is the only unwise thing your worship ever did," continued Robin, depositing the silver safely in his leathern purse.

"How so, most cunning Jew?"

"Bestowing money—when there can be no interest thereupon."

"You have never heard, I fear," said Doctor Wilkins, who, with true Christian spirit, was ever ready to speak a word in season—"you have never heard of laying up treasures in a place where neither moth nor rust can corrupt, and where thieves cannot break through and steal?"

"I have heard some Christians speak of such a place," replied Robin, "though I did not think they believed in its existence."

"Why so?"

"Because they seemed so little inclined to trust their property in that same storehouse."

"You say but too truly; yet it is written 'that charity covereth a multitude of sins.'"

"Then that is reason why so many sins are roaming abroad 'naked but not ashamed.' Ah, sir! it is a marvellously scarce commodity that same charity; when Christians spit upon and rail at the poor Jew, they lack charity; when they taunt me with my deformity, they lack charity; when they destroy the web of the spider, that toileth for its bread, and useth what the God of Moses gave it to catch food, they lack charity. Sir, I have walked by the way-side, and I have seen a man tread into the smallest atoms the hill of the industrious ant, and say, it stole the peasant's corn; and yet I have known that same man make long prayers and devour widows' houses. I have watched the small singing-bird, trolling its sweet song on the bough of some wild cherry-tree, and a man, whose hair was combed over his brow, whose step was slow, whose eyes appeared to seek commune with Heaven, killed that bird, and then devoured all the cherries. A little of that red fruit would have served the singing-bird for the length of a long summer's day, and it could have sung to its mate till, when the night came, they sheltered in each other's bosom; yet he, the man with the smooth hair and the holy eye, killed the small bird; but mark ye, sir, he ate the cherries, all, every one. Though I am as one lacking sense, and only a serving Jew, I trow he lacked charity!"

"Uncle," whispered the page, creeping up to his ear, "can this man be indeed a Jew? He hath a blue eye and an English tongue; and surely not an Israelitish heart; see that he deceive us not."

"My dear boy, peace," said the simple yet learned Doctor; "let the wisdom of this poor child of Israel teach thee to be more humble-minded; for, look ye, who might not profit by his words?"

The excellent man would have spoken much more to our friend Robin, who might not inaptly be likened to a dark-lantern, within which is much light, though it is only occasionally given forth; but on the instant Gracious Meanwell summoned him to appear before the Protector.

"The Lord deliver me! the Lord deliver me!" muttered Robin, as he followed his conductor past the silken barrier—"The Lord deliver me! for, of a truth, my head is now fairly in the lion's mouth."

The room into which he was ushered thus abruptly was hung with ancient tapestry, and furnished after the strangest fashion. Robin had little inclination to examine either its proportions or arrangements, but tremblingly followed until his guide paused with him opposite a long narrow table, at the further end of which, his hand resting upon a pile of books, stood the Protector—Oliver Cromwell.

It was impossible to look upon him without feeling that he was a man born to command and to overthrow. His countenance, though swollen and reddish, was marked and powerful, and his presence as lofty and majestic as if he had of right inherited the throne of England. However his enemies might have jested upon his personal appearance, and mocked the ruddiness of his countenance, and the unseemly wart that disfigured his broad, lofty, and projecting brow, they must have all trembled under the thunder of his frown: it was terrific, dark, and scowling, lighted up occasionally by the flashing of his fierce grey eye, but only so as to show its power still the more. His dress consisted of a doublet and vest of black velvet, carefully put on, and of a handsome fashion; a deep collar of the finest linen, embroidered and edged with lace, turned over his vest, and displayed to great advantage his firm and remarkably muscular throat. His hair, which seemed by that light as dark and luxuriant as it had been in his younger age, fell at either side, but was completely combed or pushed off his massive forehead. He looked, in very truth, a most strong man—strong in mind, strong in body, strong in battle, strong in council. There was no weakness about him, except that engendered by a warm imagination acting in concert with the deepest veneration, and which rendered him ever and unhappily prone to superstitious dreamings.

When Robin entered, there was no one in the room but the Lord Broghill, Manasseh Ben Israel, and a little girl. My Lord Broghill, who was one of the Protector's cabinet counsellors, had been sent for from Ireland to go to Scotland, and be President of the Council there, but soon wearying of the place, had just returned to London, and posted down immediately to Hampton Court:—he was bidding the Protector good night, and that with much servility. The presence of Robin was yet unnoticed save by the Jew. Before his Lordship had left the chamber, even as his foot was on the threshold, Cromwell called him back.

"My Lord Broghill."

The cabinet counsellor bowed and returned.

"I forgot to mention, there is a great friend of yours in London."

"Indeed! Please your Highness, who is it?"

"My Lord of Ormond," replied the Protector. "He came to town on Wednesday last, about three of the clock, upon a small grey mule, and wearing a brown but ill-made and shabby doublet. He lodges at White Friars, number—something or other; but you, my Lord," he added, pointedly, "will have no difficulty in finding him out."

"I call the Lord to witness," said Broghill, casting up his eyes after the most approved Puritan fashion—"I call the Lord to witness, I know nothing of it!"

Cromwell gathered his eyebrows and looked upon him for a moment with a look which made the proud lord tremble; then sending forth a species of hissing noise from between his teeth, sounding like a prolonged hish—h—h—h. "Nevertheless, I think you may as well tell him that I know it. Good night, my Lord, good night!"

"He's had his night-cap put on, and now for mine," thought little Robin, who, as he advanced, bowing all the way up the room, could not avoid observing, (even under such circumstances, there was something singularly touching in the fact,) that a little girl, a child of about six or seven years old, sat on a stool at the Protector's feet, her fair arms twined around his knee; and her plain, but expressive face, looking up to his, and watching every movement of his features with more than childish earnestness. As Robin drew near, she stood up, and contemplated him with very natural curiosity.

"Closer, young man—still closer," said the Protector; "our sight grows dim; and yet we will see distinctly, and with our own eyes too—for the eyes of others serve us not."

Robin did as he was commanded, bowing and shaking all the time like the figure of a mandarin. The Protector advanced one step towards him; and then plucked at the Ranger's beard with so strong a hand, that it deserted his chin, and dangled between Cromwell's fingers. At this, the child set up a loud and merry shout of laughter; but not so did the incident affect the Protector, to whose mind treachery was ever present; he instantly exclaimed,—

"Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed into the room and laid hands upon Robin, who offered no resistance, submitting to their mercy.

"Your Highness has mistaken," said Ben Israel; "there is no treachery in the young man. I have told your Highness how he came to me, and what he knows. Your servant has not spoken words of falsehood, but of truth."

"But you did not tell me he was not a Jew: you know him not as I do," was the Protector's reply: "he consorts with——" then suddenly checking himself, he continued, addressing the soldiers: "But search him gently withal—peradventure he has no secret weapons—we would not deal unjustly; but, of late, there has been so much evil intended us by all classes of Malignants, that it behoves us to be careful. Methinks, friend Manasseh, there was no need of this disguise?"

"It was to avoid the scandal of my own people, please your Highness, who would marvel to see any other than one of our tribe about my person."

The little girl, who was no other than Bridget, a great favourite of Cromwell's, and one of the youngest children of Ireton, the Protector's son-in-law, seemed much amused at the search, and the extraordinary materials it brought to light. There was a whistle, a string of bells, a small black mask, quantities of paint and patches, and various other things; but no arms of any kind, save the small Spanish dagger which Robin so lately exchanged with the sailor at Greenwich. The Protector took this up, examined it attentively, placed it in a small drawer, then briefly dismissed the attendants, and seating himself, apologised to Ben Israel for the delay.

"This person will not wonder at it," he continued, looking at Robin; "for he knows what excellent reason I have to believe him an adept in falsehood."

"No one ever heard me speak a lie, please your Highness," said Robin, in a hesitating and tremulous voice.

"I cannot call to mind your speaking lies; but you are famous for acting them: however, I desire you speak none here."

"Please your Highness," returned Robin Hays, regaining his self-possession, "I do not intend it, for it would be useless."

"How mean ye?"

"Because your Highness can always tell truth from falsehood; and say who is the speaker, no matter how hidden from others."

A smile relaxed for a moment the full, firm, but flexible mouth of Oliver Cromwell, at this well-timed compliment to that on which he so much prided himself—his penetration. He then commenced questioning the Ranger upon his knowledge of Sir Willmott Burrell and the Rabbi's daughter. Robin did not in the least degree equivocate; but related every particular as minutely and distinctly as he had done to Ben Israel; not omitting his knowledge that Sir Willmott meditated the destruction of Walter De Guerre. Cromwell listened to the details with much attention; but it was not until this portion of his story was concluded, that, with his usual wiliness, he told the Ranger, that, as it had nothing to do with Manasseh Ben Israel, it need not have been mentioned.

The Protector then commanded Sir John Berkstead to his presence, and directed that a troop of horse should be had in immediate readiness, and that, in a few minutes, he would name to Colonel Jones the officer who was to accompany them, and the place of their destination.

"And now let us to bed. Will my little Bridget bid her grandfather good night?" and he kissed the child with much tenderness.—"People wonder why I trust thee in my councils; but God hath given thee a soul of truth and a secret tongue; thou growest pale with late sitting, and that must not be." The Protector clasped his hands, and said a few words of prayer over the girl, who knelt at his feet.

"Good Manasseh, I would recommend your resting here to-night; you need repose, but I must detain your serving-man. Without there!"

An attendant entered.

"Conduct this person to——" A whisper told the remainder of the sentence, and Robin was led from the apartment.

Very few lingered in the great hall; the pages were sleeping soundly; and, though they encountered Colonel John Jones, he did not recognise Robin, who, despoiled of his beard and black hair, looked so much like the servant of Sir Willmott Burrell, as to be thought such by more than one of the attendants. As he passed through the second court, his guide suddenly turned into a small arched door-way, and directed Robin to proceed up a narrow flight of winding stairs, that appeared to have no termination. Robin once halted for breath, but was obliged to proceed, and at length found himself in a small, cell-like apartment, with a narrow sky-light, opening, as he conjectured, on the palace roof.

Here his attendant left him, without so much as "good night," and he had the satisfaction of hearing the key turn within the rusty lock.

The mistiness of the night had passed away, and the moon looked down in unclouded majesty upon the courts and turrets of "the House at Hampton."

Robin seated himself on his truckle bedstead, upon which merely a rude straw mattress, covered with a blanket, was thrown, and which, for aught he knew, had been occupied by a thousand prisoners before him; but, however bitter and sarcastic his mind might be, it was not given to despond; and he soon began to reflect on what had passed. Although it was not by any means the first time he had been face to face with the Protector, yet it was the first time he had ever seen him with any of the indications of human feeling. "He has made many children fatherless," thought the Ranger, "and yet see how fond he is of that ill-favoured girl, who is the very picture of himself! Poor Walter! Well, I wonder what has been done with him; I had a great mind to ask, but there is something about him, that, were he never a Protector, one would just as soon not make free with." As Robin thought thus, his eyes were fixed on the light and flitting clouds, and he was longing to be free and abroad in the moonbeams, that entered his cell only to smile on his captivity; when some opaque body stood between him and the light, so that he was for a moment almost in darkness. About three minutes after, the same effect occurred; and presently a man's face was placed close to the glass, evidently with the design of seeing into the room.

"A-hoy there!" shouted the Ranger. The face was withdrawn, and no answer returned, but immediately afterwards the key grated in the lock, and the Protector himself entered the chamber.