Inglesant walked to the window and looked out.
"The letter is not sealed, Mr. Inglesant," Lord Biron said.
"No," said Inglesant, "the Duke insisted on my bringing it open, and on my reading it. I requested him to seal it, but he refused."
"And you have read it?"
"Certainly."
"I see he speaks of a very large contingent—10,000 men, and that Glamorgan is to get them entirely from the Irish Papists. Ten thousand Irish Papists and murderers in England, Mr. Inglesant, is not what I should like to see, and I do not like the negotiation being entrusted so much to Glamorgan, a determined Papist. We know not what concessions he may make unknown to the King. I beg your pardon for my plain speaking;—they say you are half a Papist yourself."
"You will only have 3000 men sent here," said Inglesant, "and from what I saw in Ireland I fear it may be some time before the rest follow. Besides, surely, my lord, nothing can be worse than your present state here."
"It is sad enough, certainly, but there may be things much worse. I tell you, sir, I would rather die of hunger on these walls than see my country given over to murderous Irish rebels and savage Kerns. And bad as the King's affairs are at present, I am convinced that His Majesty would endure all gladly, rather than make any concessions to such as these,—much less expose England to their ravages."
"The troops who will be sent will be under the strictest orders, and commanded by gentlemen of honour and rank," said Inglesant; "and I assure your lordship, upon my sacred word of honour as a Christian, that nothing will be attempted but what has His Majesty's cordial consent."
Lord Biron was unsatisfied, but Inglesant considered he had achieved a success; his lordship had plainly not the least suspicious feeling towards him, all his dissatisfaction arising from his dislike to the means proposed for his relief. He would, moreover, hold out as long as possible, and this all the more as he saw help approaching, from whatever source it came.