Whatever passed between Cromwell and the Lady Constantia must remain secret, as neither were of a particularly communicative disposition. Lady Frances, indeed, laboured hard to succeed and comprehend the whole matter, but in vain. She waylaid her friend on her passage from the room of audience, and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her anxiety on the subject,
"My father and you have had a long conference!"
"He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and kindness," was Constantia's reply.
"Do you know whom he has closeted up so strangely in Cecil Place? I was going into the oak parlour, when a sentry at the door—(What rough fellows those soldiers are!)—cried 'Stand!' as if I had been a statue. With that I repaired to the small oriel chamber; but there, too, was another 'Stand!' Why, the house is at once a prison and a garrison!"
"Not quite."
"Oh, you take it more gently than I should—to have persons in your own house, and not know who they are."
"Your father, I suppose, knows them; and I may have sufficient confidence in the Protector of England to believe in the wisdom of all he does—nothing doubting."
"My father is very anxious about Sir Robert."
"He is indeed."
"And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara."