“Ha! traitors! cowardly traitors! Do I see aright? Is it Cromwell who has played the ruffian? Cromwell,--after pledging my life to myself in the most solemn oath? And that whilst I was asleep! Base,--cowardly, was the act. And why shouldst thou have made the young man your tool? Could not your own withered hands have been stained with my blood, and not the white hands of innocent youth? Base, cowardly!” “Thou doest me wrong,” replied the general, as calmly as if he had been rebutting a slight and unimportant accusation, “as these my officers, and as the assassin himself can testify. I had entered to propose to you my terms of a negociation with you. You were asleep, and, old man, I had no desire to prevent you enjoying a transient solace. This assassin,--villain I will call him, though he belongs to my troops, entered and fired. Wretch,” and he turned upon Montressor, whilst he stamped in fury, and the sweat broke out on his massive forehead for very anger, “why hast thou dared to inflict death, when I, your general, gave my oath that he should be in safety?” He became more calm, but his eye relaxed not its awful sternness, although his voice was low as he added, “Young man, allow me to unbuckle thy sword,--nay, no scruples--and prepare to die!” All started. Cromwell turned round upon them with a look that forbade remonstrance. “I refuse not,” proudly answered Montressor, “to die. But listen to my motives for attempting the life of that man. I loved. Oh! she was fair, gentle, and happy, as a spirit of heaven! General, smile not in scorn. Does a dying man rave in a foolish and romantic strain? She was more than an angel to me. She would have been my wife! But her father was murdered, and she was an orphan, deprived of her home; herself,--almost a maniac. Yes, she was mad when her condemned father placed her hand in mine, and betrothed us together, for ever and ever. And who was the murderer? Sir governor,--tell me who caused the death of Sir John Evelyn?” The governor covered his face with his hands. Cromwell started up from the chair which he had taken. “Sir John Evelyn! Where is his daughter? Young man, be brief, and answer me. Is she in the care of a miller and his wife, at a short distance from Lancaster?” “There I left her. But I have been, ever since, a captive, and when I asked permission to leave the castle last night, in order that I might obtain information concerning her fate, you denied me. She may be dead. It would be well!” “She is alive,” muttered Cromwell, as he again seated himself.