One April, when His Highness was deep in great affairs—letters to Cardinal Mazarin, letters to General Blake now sailing victorious in foreign waters, questions of his taking the title of King, questions of the Fifth Monarchy men having broken out rebelliously at last, and Thomas Harrison being in the Tower for abetting them—a supplicant came to Hampton with a very earnest entreaty to be allowed to see the Lord-Protector. Whereat John Thurloe, His Highness' faithful secretary, was indignant almost beyond the bounds of courtesy, and mighty angry with the servants who had let the lady get as far as the antechamber.
"Lackeys," said she, on hearing his complaint, "are still used to pay respect to princesses."
But he told her she could by no means see His Highness, and he spoke so firmly that she sadly turned away.
"Alas!" she murmured, "that I should be sent like a beggar from the door of a usurper!"
John Thurloe regarded her sharply.
"Had you been a man, madam, you would have had to answer for that remark."
The lady turned and seemed about to reply, when Elisabeth Claypole chanced to pass the open door, and, seeing a stranger there, she entered.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"A lady who will not give her name," said the secretary dryly; "but no one can see His Highness now."
"My name," said the stranger, with that air of fantastic dignity which disguised her haggard sadness, "is something too great to be bandied about here—but give me yours, madam."