"So please you, madam," replied Barbara, "the Rabbi would not be separated from his daughter. He seems to think her only safe under his own eye. So he forced her to lie on his own bed, and she has fallen, poor lady, into a deep sleep—and he sits by her side, sometimes gazing upon a dim old book, full of strange marks and characters, but more often looking upon the face of his child, until his eyes fill with tears; and then he clasps his hands, and mutters, what I know must be a blessing, it is so earnest; and then, if perchance she moves and the pillow swells, or the coverlet be disturbed, he smooths it so gently you would think it was a woman's hand, and not that of a man. Ah, my lady! love makes all things gentle."
"I wonder," observed Lady Frances, "will she turn Christian?"
"She has been a kind nurse to me, in my trouble," replied the puritan; "but our good preacher says her heart is far from being humbled. She has a high mind, and is proud of her tribe. While we were in the cell, Master Fleetword took a deal of pains with her, and expoundiated most wonderfully for hours together; but I fear me the seed fell upon stony ground: for, though she sat still enough, I know she did not listen."
"Where is your father?"
Barbara started at the abruptness of the question, and colouring, she knew not why, said,
"Please you, my lady, though his Highness at first commanded him hence, he has graciously suffered him to remain until to-morrow's noon. Ah, madam!" she continued, sinking on the ground at Lady Frances's feet, "if you would only, only remember the promise you made when you gave me this,"—she held the clasp of the golden chain towards Lady Frances,—"and intercede with him, to whom is given the power of life and death, to pardon to the uttermost, and suffer Hugh Dalton to tarry on this island, I would—I would—alas! my lady, I am but a poor girl, and have nothing to give save blessings, and they shower so upon the heads of greatness that they must weary and not gladden; but my blessing would come from the heart, and it is not always, I hear, that the heart beats when the lips speak. So good, my lady, think upon your own great father; and think that as great as he have ere now asked for mercy; and then think upon mine—mine, who is as brave, and—and—will be as honest as the best man in all England. Then, gracious madam, it is not from presumption I speak, but Robin has wit and wisdom, and wit and wisdom are sometimes needed by those in high places; but he would lend—ay, give it all, to serve any one who pleasured me in a smaller thing than this. I can do nothing; but Robin is one who can always do much."
When Barbara had pleaded thus far, she could get no farther, but trembled, so that Lady Frances placed her on her cushion, and smilingly replied,
"So, for this woodbine-sort of assistance, you would have me rouse the British lion, who has been in such marvellous good temper lately that I fear me the wind will shift soon; but Cromwell, girl, is not one to halve his mercy. I can promise, not from my influence, but the knowledge of his mind, that Hugh Dalton will not be banished; nay, I am sure of it. But see ye there, the helmets are stirring already. Constantia, your chamber is delightful for a heroine, but a melancholy one for a curious maiden. Only behold! one can scarcely catch a glimpse of the court-yard. When I build a castle, I'll construct a turret with eyes, commonly called windows, all round it: nothing shall be done in secret!—Good morn to you, sweet friend! I can soon find out what the stir is about from the head of the great staircase."
"Adieu, fair Lady Curiosity," said Constantia, as Lady Frances tripped with a light step on her [inquisitive] mission: "I will now go to my father's chamber;" and thither she went, resolved to perform her duty to the last, though she shuddered at the remembrance of the crime he had once meditated, and humbly, earnestly prayed that the sin might be washed away from his soul.