But at length a roll of kettle-drums announced the approach of the judges; and as the procession turned into East street, everyone paused instinctively to watch it pass.
Dragoons, halberdiers, and carriages all went slowly past, and last of all came the great coach of the Chief Justice, Lord Jeffreys himself reclining carelessly on his cushions within.
Cicely leaned forward eagerly to gaze at the man of whom she had heard so much, and gave an exclamation of astonishment when her eyes rested on his face. Where was the brutal, the ferocious judge of whom so many terrible rumours had reached her ears? Where was that monster of cruelty at whose name even the rough soldiers trembled? Surely not here. This man so wonderfully handsome, this man with the lofty brow, the noble expression, the sad, weary eyes, this could not be the terrible Jeffreys. Yet if it were indeed he, if it were—— Why surely then—— Her heart leaped high with hope. Surely then these stories must be false, base calumnies of the rebels even such as those which were told of Duke Monmouth by the supporters of the King.
And then a confusion at the street corner, a trooper's horse down upon the cobbles, caused the procession to halt, the coach of the chief justice was stationary but two yards from where she stood.
With a sudden wild impulse, born of new hope in her breast, Cicely darted into the roadway, pushing to right and left the astonished men, who would have barred her passage: darted quickly to the side of the coach and laid her hand on the shoulder of Lord Jeffreys as he reclined among his scarlet cushions.
"Mercy, my lord, mercy for my cousin," she cried, scarce knowing what she did.
The occupant of the coach started from his reverie and turned to her, bewildered for the moment at the suddenness of her address. He had, in truth, been almost asleep, worn out with his painful journey over the rough country roads.
"What is it, woman? What did you say?" he snarled sharply.
"Mercy, my lord, I entreat," she gasped nervously. "'Tis for one of the prisoners, my cousin, Mistress Barbara Winslow. She is indeed innocent enough, and, oh! my lord, she is so young."
The judge gave a sudden harsh laugh, a laugh so full of needless cruelty that Cicely shuddered. She looked in his face and shrank back in dread, wondering could this be indeed the same man whose noble expression had so melted her, he was on a sudden so hideously transformed. All the ferocity of his violent nature, all the brutality of a pitiless heart were stamped upon his features. He was, indeed, at that moment, suffering acutely from the effects of his journey, and his mind, at no time tending greatly towards mercy and tenderness, was now warped and disfigured by weakness and pain into a very hell of cruelty.