"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."