“If he is the same man who was in the entourage of the King in London,—a Frenchman of that name,—I know nothing good of him.”
“You cannot look for every virtue in the character of a spy, and we who are doing the Lord’s work must use the tools the Lord places in our hands.”
“The Lord has naught to do with De Courcy. He is a devil’s man, body and soul.”
Cromwell scowled at her. “What mean you by that, hussy?” he asked shortly.
“I mean that De Courcy would sell you as readily as he would the King, if there was gold to be made of the bargaining. The Philistines come with money in their hands, and they always find a De Courcy, male or female.”
At this Biblical allusion the face of Cromwell cleared like magic, and she had a glimpse of another facet of his character. A certain exaltation which had nothing of hypocrisy in it radiated from his countenance, and his voice rang clear when he spoke.
“Aye, my girl, and when there is a Samson of sin to be bound and blinded, the Philistines do right to accomplish the act as best they may. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Perchance this work to which your hand is now set is not done for either God or your country.”
“It will be done for my brother’s life.”
“Aye, truly; and that is your Philistine’s wage. De Courcey toils not for the life of another, but for gold, and let him that is without sin cast the first stone. I give the wage demanded, and care nothing so that God’s work be done. God’s work is the one thing important, so scorn not De Courcy or any other, but seek his aid in Oxford if it be necessary to communicate with me.”
“That shall I never do,” muttered the girl under her breath; and if Cromwell heard he paid no heed.