Hither, th' oppressed shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave and succour at your court,
And then your Highness, not for ours alone,
But for the world's Protector shall be known.
WALLER _to the Protector_.
It was past midnight when Manasseh Ben Israel, accompanied by Robin
Hays, as his own servant, and disguised as we have seen him, arrived at
Hampton Court. The night was murky, and the numerous turrets of the
great monument of Wolsey's grandeur and ambition were seen but dimly
through the thickened air, although looked upon with feelings of no
ordinary interest by both Jew and servitor.
The carriage was stopped at the outer court by the sentries on guard,
and some little delay occurred, apparently to ascertain if the Rabbi
could be admitted at so late an hour.
Robin looked from the carriage-window and saw, what appeared to him,
scores of mailed and armed warriors reclining on the stone benches of a
spacious but low guard-room, while others crowded over a large fire,
which the chilliness of the night rendered, at least, desirable. The
glaring of the flames showed brightly on their polished armour, and
their firm immovable features looked of a piece with the iron itself.
Nothing could be more imposing, or afford a more correct idea of
Cromwell's perseverance and judgment, than his well-trained soldiery.
Obedience, inflexible obedience to their commander, seemed the leading,
almost the only principle upon which they acted: not that slavish
obedience which is the effect of fear, but the obedience which is the
result of confidence. "God and the Protector" was their faith, and they
knew no other. As the Jew gazed upon those invincible men, he shrouded
himself still more closely within his furred cloak, and shuddered.
Robin's eye, on the contrary, brightened, for he was born of England,
and proud of her greatness. Ah! Englishmen in those days had a right to
be proud.
There was another difference in the conduct of the Protector's troops
from those of every other time and every other nation: they had none of
the reckless wildness, none of the careless bravery which is supposed
necessarily to belong to the profession of arms. Their habits were
staid and sober; and if any Cavaliers did enter in among them, they were
forced to behave themselves according to the fashion of their
associates, which habit, in a little time, tamed their heedlessness into
propriety. There was no singing of profane songs in the guard-room, no
filthy jesting or foolish talking; no drinking; their very breathing
seemed subdued, and nothing frighted the tranquillity which rested on
the turrets at Hampton, and pervaded its courts, save the striking of
some iron heel on the ringing pavement, or the neighing of some gallant
steed in the not distant stables.
Once, indeed, a psalm wailed through the casement from one of the inner
courts: it was sung at first in a troubled tone, and in a low key, but
afterwards the sound was increased by other voices; and it swelled upon
the ear in long and loud continuance.
"He has departed, then!" observed one of the sentries, to an armed man
who stood near the carriage.
"I suppose so, and, I trust, in the Lord," was the reply.
"Doubtless--yet the heart was strong for life. His Highness will be
sorrowful."
"He will; but grace abounded greatly; he was one of the Lord's best
soldiers, and fought well in the good cause."
"Would that my time was passed! I would fain uplift my voice with
theirs."
"I will go there forthwith," replied he in armour; and Robin heard the
echo of his step die in the distance. Ere the messenger, despatched by
the officer of the guard, had returned, a sort of rambling drowsy
conversation was carried on by the soldiers within, which only reached
the quick ear of the Ranger at intervals.
"His Highness has been tormented to-night; methinks the length of a
summer day ought to satisfy those who want to see him."
The sun had set a good hour or more, when Sir Christopher Packe, the
worshipful Lord Mayor, passed in.
"His Highness," replied the stern gruff voice of an old soldier, "is of
the people; and he knows that his duty--next to awaiting the Lord
always--is to wait on them."
"His time is not an easy one, then," thought Robin; and as he so
thought, the messenger returned with an order that the Rabbi should be
immediately admitted. The lumbering carriage passed under one archway,
and traversed a small court--then under another--then across the
next--then stopped, and one of the principal servants opened the door,
and requested Manasseh to descend.
"Her Highness," he said, "had been indisposed; the Lord Protector,
therefore, hoped the worthy Israelite would not object to walk across
the next court, as her chamber was nearly over the entrance."
The Jew leaned upon Robin for support, as they mounted the flight of
steps leading to the grand entrance hall. He paused once or twice; they
were many in number, and hard to climb for one bent with age, and now
bowed down by trouble. When they arrived at the great door, he perceived
that, instead of two, there were four sentries, who stood, two on each
side, like fixed statues, and the torch their conductor carried
glittered on the bright points of their swords that rested on the
ground. The stair was faintly illumined by one large massive iron lamp,
hanging from the ceiling, and flickering, so as to show the outline, not
the minutiae of the objects.
When they had fairly entered the great hall, Robin truly and sincerely
wished himself safely out again; the more particularly when he saw,
mingled with the pages and servants in waiting, some tried and trusty
soldiers, by whom, if his disguise were penetrated, he would be better
known than trusted. It was one thing to steal and pry about a place, and
another to be only separated by a single plank of oak from Cromwell--the
all-powerful, all-seeing Protector of England--liable to be called at
once into his presence; for the Jew might mention--doubtless would
mention--that one who had served Sir Willmott Burrell, and knew much of
his doings, was in attendance.
This magnificent room, though used as a hall of audience on state
occasions, was generally occupied by the guards, retainers, and
petitioners of the Protectorate. There was a long table of rude
workmanship near the door at which they entered--above was a lamp,
similar in size and construction to that which swung outside:--many
assembled round, or sat close to, this table, while others walked up and
down--not passing, however, the centre of the hall, which was crossed
by a silk cord of crimson, fastened in the middle to two brass poles,
standing sufficiently apart to permit one person at a time to enter; and
also guarded by a single sentinel, who walked so as to pass and repass
the opening every half minute. Manasseh paced slowly towards the
soldier, still leaning on Robin. His conductor kept a little in advance,
bowing on either side, while a conciliating smile lingered on his lip,
until he came to the silken line.
"Only one may pass!" was the soldier's brief notice; and the Rabbi,
grasping his staff more firmly, walked to the door opposite the great
entrance, which was guarded also by another sentinel.
"You can find a seat--that is, if you choose to sit," said the servitor
sneeringly, to Robin, pointing at the same time to an empty corner of
the hall.
"Or would it please you I descend to the apartments of the lower
servants?" inquired the Ranger, remembering the meekness befitting the
character of a Jew.
"None leave this hall, after entering it by his Highness's permission,
till they receive orders to that effect," he replied, turning from
Robin, who slunk to the place assigned him, in no very agreeable mood.
If his imaginings were of an unpleasant description, still more so were
the observations made aloud by the pages, flippant both by nature and
usage, and the sarcastic and cool jests, given forth at his expense by
the more sober persons of the assembly.
"Wouldst like any refreshment, friend?" inquired a youth in a
sad-coloured tunic and blue vest, over which fell a plain collar of the
finest Valenciennes' lace, so as to cover his shoulders. "And yet,"
continued the malapert, "methinks there is nothing to offer thee but
some ham, or preserved pigs' tongues, which, of course, thou tastest not
of."
"No, I humbly thank ye, young sir," replied Robin; "I do not need the
pigs' tongues, having tasted of thine."
"What mean you by that, Jew dog!" said the boy fiercely, laying his hand
on his sword.
"Nothing, fair gentleman, except it be that thine, though well
preserved, would fain take up the business of thy white teeth."
"How, knave?"
"Become biting," replied Robin, bowing.
"Ah, Morrison! the Jew is too much for ye," said another youth, who was
just roused from a half slumber in a high-backed chair.--"Where got ye
yer wit?"
"Where you did not get yours, under favour," was Robin's ready reply.
"And where was that?"
"From nature; too common a person for so gay a young gentleman to be
beholden to," he retorted, bowing again with even a greater show of
humility than before.
At this reply, Sir John Berkstead, formerly a goldsmith in the Strand,
but gradually raised to the dignity of chief steward of Oliver's
household, approached Robin with his usual shuffling gait, and said,--
"Hey! young gentlemen--hey! young gentlemen, what foolish jesting is
this? what mean ye? It is his Highness's pleasure to receive the master,
and what for do ye treat the man with indignity? My worthy Samuel," he
looked closer--"but it is not Samuel," he continued, peering curiously
at Robin, "it is not Samuel. What ho! Gracious Meanwell! did this man
enter with the learned Manasseh Ben Israel?"
"Yes, please ye, Sir John," replied the page, humbly.
"Indeed!" he exclaimed, surveying Robin attentively. "But where is the
Rabbi's usual attendant, whom I have before seen?"
"He is sick even unto death, unless it please the God of Abraham to work
a miracle in his favour," replied Robin: thinking to himself, "he
remembers enough, at least, of his old trade to know all is not gold
that glitters."
Sir John Berkstead withdrew, only observing to the page, who stood back,
boy-like, longing for any frolic likely to relieve the monotony of so
dull a court, especially at midnight, "See ye do not treat him
uncourteously. The Rabbi has always been permitted to bring his
attendant, almost to the anteroom: a favour seldom granted--but his
Highness is gracious in remembering that his bodily infirmities need
support. So see that he is treated with all courtesy, for his Highness
is wishful that Christian toleration be exercised towards this and all
other Jews."
More than one Roundhead looked at another during this declaration; and
all but the two youngsters appeared more than usually intent upon
whatever they were employed about before the Rabbi's entrance. Youth is
a bad courtier, ever preferring frolic and amusement to sobriety and
attention. They had been at once piqued and pleased by Robin's
smartness, and resolved to whet their own wit upon so well-tempered a
steel.
"Wert ever at court before?" inquired the younger.
"No, sir, an' please ye."
"And what think ye of it?"
"Nothing as yet, sir."
"Nothing! how is that?"
"Because I have not had time; and, if the small things of life require
thoughtfulness, how much more must the great things of a court!"
"Shouldst like to turn Christian and live at court?"
"Heaven forbid! All I should be turned to would be ridicule, and that is
a wonderful lowerer of the consequence of even a serving man----"
"Hush!" said the elder page--"there goes Colonel John Jones."
As the brother-in-law of the Protector approached, the several persons
in the hall rose and saluted him with considerable respect. His aspect
was stern and rigid: his whole person firm and erect; and whatever his
faults might have been, he gave one the idea of a person who, doing
wrong, thought it right. His eyes were generally upturned, and there was
a good deal of enthusiasm in the expression of the upper portion of his
countenance, while the firm-set mouth and broad muscular chin betokened
the most inflexible resolution. He proceeded towards the cord we have
before mentioned, exchanged a few words with the sentry, and then
returned to the door whereby he had entered. While unclosing it, he
perceived Robin, and, struck by his Jewish appearance, altered his
course and approached him.
The Ranger bent most lowlily to the ground, for he well knew the
veneration this man excited both amongst soldiers and Puritans.
"One of the cast-aways within the sanctuary!" he said in a stern
reproving voice. "How is it?"
"Sir, his master, the Rabbi, tarrieth with his Highness," replied the
elder page.
"It is evil, and of evil," returned Colonel Jones, with still more
severity, "The clean and the unclean, the believer and the unbeliever,
the offscouring of the earth with the chosen of the Lord! Why is he not
cast forth, yea into outer darkness? Why should the filthy vulture make
his nest with the eagles? Dog of a Jew, out, into the highway!"
"May it please ye," interrupted Gracious Meanwell, "his Highness has
just issued express orders that this man be carefully tended, and kept
within."
The Colonel cast a look full of displeasure at the messenger, and
without trusting himself to utter another word, strode from the hall.
"You see where we would send Jews," observed one of the lads.
"Even where they would rather be."
"How, where?"
"Far from ye."
"And deem ye it not an honour to be admitted within these walls?"
"Ay, sir, such honour as a poor merlin would feel at being caged with
honourable and right honourable eagles. But would ye unravel me, kind
young gentlemen, if Colonel Jones is often seen without his Patients?"
"Oh! you mean the preacher, do ye? Why, yes, frequently now-a-days."
"Ah! what a blessing that must be!"
"As how? master Jew."
"Because others can have their soles mended."
The jest upon the miserable fanatic Patients, who had been a
stocking-footer in London, was not lost upon the lads, though they dared
not countenance it by a very boisterous laugh: they resolved, however,
to become more intimately acquainted with the facetious Jew.
"You ought not to laugh so loud, Morrison," said the elder page. "You
know you are a sort of nephew to his Highness, now that your uncle,
Doctor Wilkins, is married to the Lady French, his Highness's sister."
"And here is my uncle," returned the other. "He said he had permission
to call for me. Ah! he is never angry at a little jest, so long as it
is innocent. I heard a gentleman say last night that 'he was by nature
witty, by industry learned, by grace godly.' What think ye of that for a
character?"
As the subject of this panegyric drew near, Robin thought he had never
seen a more sweet or gracious countenance: he looked "peace on earth and
good will towards men." His entire expression was that of pure
benevolence; and though the eye was something wild and dreamy, yet it
was gentle withal, and of marvellous intelligence. He seemed like one,
and such he truly was, to whom the future as well as the present would
be deeply indebted. The use he made of his alliance with the Cromwell
family must ever be regarded as most noble; instead of aggrandising
himself and his friends, he rendered it only subservient to the great
wish of his heart--the promotion of learning, which, it cannot be
denied, was at that time in danger of being overthrown by bigotry and
fanaticism: for this reason it was that he opportunely interposed to
shelter Oxford from the moroseness of Owen and Godwin. Well might his
eye look dreamy. How could that of the author of a "Discovery of a New
World" look otherwise? He openly maintained that, not only was the moon
habitable, but that it was possible for a man to go there. His reply to
the Duchess of Newcastle, herself a visionary, when she jested a little
at his theory, although sufficiently known, is still worthy of
repetition.
"Where am I to find a place for baiting at, in my way up to that
planet?" she inquired of the Doctor.
"Madam," replied he, "of all the people in the world, I never expected
that question from you, who have built so many castles in the air, that
you may lie every night at one of your own."
As he conducted his nephew to the door, he turned back to look on Robin:
"You have not teased the poor Jew, I hope?" he said to the page.
"No; but he has worried us, uncle; you know not what a wit-snapper it
is."
"Indeed! art thou a Solomon, friend?"
"An' please ye, sir, the wisdom, as well as the glory, has departed from
our people," said Robin.
"I care little for the glory," observed the Doctor, who was Warden of
Wadham College; "I care very little for any earthly glory: but canst
tell me where the wisdom is gone--the wisdom, Jew, the wisdom! Where is
that to be found?"
"Usually at the College of Wadham," replied the crafty Robin, bowing
respectfully, "though sometimes it wanders abroad to enlighten England."
"Go to; you are a most cunning Isaac," said Doctor Wilkins, laughing;
and at the same time throwing Robin a piece of silver, which he caught,
with much dexterity, ere it touched the ground.
"This is the only unwise thing your worship ever did," continued Robin,
depositing the silver safely in his leathern purse.
"How so, most cunning Jew?"
"Bestowing money--when there can be no interest thereupon."
"You have never heard, I fear," said Doctor Wilkins, who, with true
Christian spirit, was ever ready to speak a word in season--"you have
never heard of laying up treasures in a place where neither moth nor
rust can corrupt, and where thieves cannot break through and steal?"
"I have heard some Christians speak of such a place," replied Robin,
"though I did not think they believed in its existence."
"Why so?"
"Because they seemed so little inclined to trust their property in that
same storehouse."
"You say but too truly; yet it is written 'that charity covereth a
multitude of sins.'"
"Then that is reason why so many sins are roaming abroad 'naked but not
ashamed.' Ah, sir! it is a marvellously scarce commodity that same
charity; when Christians spit upon and rail at the poor Jew, they lack
charity; when they taunt me with my deformity, they lack charity; when
they destroy the web of the spider, that toileth for its bread, and
useth what the God of Moses gave it to catch food, they lack charity.
Sir, I have walked by the way-side, and I have seen a man tread into the
smallest atoms the hill of the industrious ant, and say, it stole the
peasant's corn; and yet I have known that same man make long prayers and
devour widows' houses. I have watched the small singing-bird, trolling
its sweet song on the bough of some wild cherry-tree, and a man, whose
hair was combed over his brow, whose step was slow, whose eyes appeared
to seek commune with Heaven, killed that bird, and then devoured all the
cherries. A little of that red fruit would have served the singing-bird
for the length of a long summer's day, and it could have sung to its
mate till, when the night came, they sheltered in each other's bosom;
yet he, the man with the smooth hair and the holy eye, killed the small
bird; but mark ye, sir, he ate the cherries, all, every one. Though I am
as one lacking sense, and only a serving Jew, I trow he lacked charity!"
"Uncle," whispered the page, creeping up to his ear, "can this man be
indeed a Jew? He hath a blue eye and an English tongue; and surely not
an Israelitish heart; see that he deceive us not."
"My dear boy, peace," said the simple yet learned Doctor; "let the
wisdom of this poor child of Israel teach thee to be more humble-minded;
for, look ye, who might not profit by his words?"
The excellent man would have spoken much more to our friend Robin, who
might not inaptly be likened to a dark-lantern, within which is much
light, though it is only occasionally given forth; but on the instant
Gracious Meanwell summoned him to appear before the Protector.
"The Lord deliver me! the Lord deliver me!" muttered Robin, as he
followed his conductor past the silken barrier--"The Lord deliver me!
for, of a truth, my head is now fairly in the lion's mouth."
The room into which he was ushered thus abruptly was hung with ancient
tapestry, and furnished after the strangest fashion. Robin had little
inclination to examine either its proportions or arrangements, but
tremblingly followed until his guide paused with him opposite a long
narrow table, at the further end of which, his hand resting upon a pile
of books, stood the Protector--Oliver Cromwell.
It was impossible to look upon him without feeling that he was a man
born to command and to overthrow. His countenance, though swollen and
reddish, was marked and powerful, and his presence as lofty and majestic
as if he had of right inherited the throne of England. However his
enemies might have jested upon his personal appearance, and mocked the
ruddiness of his countenance, and the unseemly wart that disfigured his
broad, lofty, and projecting brow, they must have all trembled under the
thunder of his frown: it was terrific, dark, and scowling, lighted up
occasionally by the flashing of his fierce grey eye, but only so as to
show its power still the more. His dress consisted of a doublet and vest
of black velvet, carefully put on, and of a handsome fashion; a deep
collar of the finest linen, embroidered and edged with lace, turned over
his vest, and displayed to great advantage his firm and remarkably
muscular throat. His hair, which seemed by that light as dark and
luxuriant as it had been in his younger age, fell at either side, but
was completely combed or pushed off his massive forehead. He looked, in
very truth, a most strong man--strong in mind, strong in body, strong in
battle, strong in council. There was no weakness about him, except that
engendered by a warm imagination acting in concert with the deepest
veneration, and which rendered him ever and unhappily prone to
superstitious dreamings.
When Robin entered, there was no one in the room but the Lord Broghill,
Manasseh Ben Israel, and a little girl. My Lord Broghill, who was one of
the Protector's cabinet counsellors, had been sent for from Ireland to
go to Scotland, and be President of the Council there, but soon wearying
of the place, had just returned to London, and posted down immediately
to Hampton Court:--he was bidding the Protector good night, and that
with much servility. The presence of Robin was yet unnoticed save by the
Jew. Before his Lordship had left the chamber, even as his foot was on
the threshold, Cromwell called him back.
"My Lord Broghill."
The cabinet counsellor bowed and returned.
"I forgot to mention, there is a great friend of yours in London."
"Indeed! Please your Highness, who is it?"
"My Lord of Ormond," replied the Protector. "He came to town on
Wednesday last, about three of the clock, upon a small grey mule, and
wearing a brown but ill-made and shabby doublet. He lodges at White
Friars, number--something or other; but you, my Lord," he added,
pointedly, "will have no difficulty in finding him out."
"I call the Lord to witness," said Broghill, casting up his eyes after
the most approved Puritan fashion--"I call the Lord to witness, I know
nothing of it!"
Cromwell gathered his eyebrows and looked upon him for a moment with a
look which made the proud lord tremble; then sending forth a species of
hissing noise from between his teeth, sounding like a prolonged
hish--h--h--h. "Nevertheless, I think you may as well tell him that I
know it. Good night, my Lord, good night!"
"He's had his night-cap put on, and now for mine," thought little Robin,
who, as he advanced, bowing all the way up the room, could not avoid
observing, (even under such circumstances, there was something
singularly touching in the fact,) that a little girl, a child of about
six or seven years old, sat on a stool at the Protector's feet, her fair
arms twined around his knee; and her plain, but expressive face, looking
up to his, and watching every movement of his features with more than
childish earnestness. As Robin drew near, she stood up, and contemplated
him with very natural curiosity.
"Closer, young man--still closer," said the Protector; "our sight grows
dim; and yet we will see distinctly, and with our own eyes too--for the
eyes of others serve us not."
Robin did as he was commanded, bowing and shaking all the time like the
figure of a mandarin. The Protector advanced one step towards him; and
then plucked at the Ranger's beard with so strong a hand, that it
deserted his chin, and dangled between Cromwell's fingers. At this, the
child set up a loud and merry shout of laughter; but not so did the
incident affect the Protector, to whose mind treachery was ever present;
he instantly exclaimed,--
"Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed into the room and
laid hands upon Robin, who offered no resistance, submitting to their
mercy.
"Your Highness has mistaken," said Ben Israel; "there is no treachery in
the young man. I have told your Highness how he came to me, and what he
knows. Your servant has not spoken words of falsehood, but of truth."
"But you did not tell me he was not a Jew: you know him not as I do,"
was the Protector's reply: "he consorts with----" then suddenly checking
himself, he continued, addressing the soldiers: "But search him gently
withal--peradventure he has no secret weapons--we would not deal
unjustly; but, of late, there has been so much evil intended us by all
classes of Malignants, that it behoves us to be careful. Methinks,
friend Manasseh, there was no need of this disguise?"
"It was to avoid the scandal of my own people, please your Highness, who
would marvel to see any other than one of our tribe about my person."
The little girl, who was no other than Bridget, a great favourite of
Cromwell's, and one of the youngest children of Ireton, the Protector's
son-in-law, seemed much amused at the search, and the extraordinary
materials it brought to light. There was a whistle, a string of bells, a
small black mask, quantities of paint and patches, and various other
things; but no arms of any kind, save the small Spanish dagger which
Robin so lately exchanged with the sailor at Greenwich. The Protector
took this up, examined it attentively, placed it in a small drawer, then
briefly dismissed the attendants, and seating himself, apologised to Ben
Israel for the delay.
"This person will not wonder at it," he continued, looking at Robin;
"for he knows what excellent reason I have to believe him an adept in
falsehood."
"No one ever heard me speak a lie, please your Highness," said Robin, in
a hesitating and tremulous voice.
"I cannot call to mind your speaking lies; but you are famous for acting
them: however, I desire you speak none here."
"Please your Highness," returned Robin Hays, regaining his
self-possession, "I do not intend it, for it would be useless."
"How mean ye?"
"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."
Robin seated himself on his truckle bedstead, upon which merely a rude
straw mattress, covered with a blanket, was thrown, and which, for aught
he knew, had been occupied by a thousand prisoners before him; but,
however bitter and sarcastic his mind might be, it was not given to
despond; and he soon began to reflect on what had passed. Although it
was not by any means the first time he had been face to face with the
Protector, yet it was the first time he had ever seen him with any of
the indications of human feeling. "He has made many children
fatherless," thought the Ranger, "and yet see how fond he is of that
ill-favoured girl, who is the very picture of himself! Poor Walter!
Well, I wonder what has been done with him; I had a great mind to ask,
but there is something about him, that, were he never a Protector, one
would just as soon not make free with." As Robin thought thus, his eyes
were fixed on the light and flitting clouds, and he was longing to be
free and abroad in the moonbeams, that entered his cell only to smile on
his captivity; when some opaque body stood between him and the light, so
that he was for a moment almost in darkness. About three minutes after,
the same effect occurred; and presently a man's face was placed close to
the glass, evidently with the design of seeing into the room.
"A-hoy there!" shouted the Ranger. The face was withdrawn, and no answer
returned, but immediately afterwards the key grated in the lock, and the
Protector himself entered the chamber.