“Young man,” said the governor in a kind tone, “you would forgive me if you knew all. I have, since the death of Sir John, learned with inexpressible regret, that the evidence which I gave against him had been artfully arranged, so that I might be deceived. I have often declared his innocence. And, General Cromwell, if you will listen to the prayers of a Royalist, and one whose life he has attempted--for which offence you have condemned him; oh! grant him a pardon, and his life! It was but natural, nay, it was praiseworthy to seek my life!” Cromwell shook his head. “It cannot be. Discipline must be enforced. I saw the maiden of this youth’s affection and troth. She is a very Rebecca, beautiful and discreet. I promised to avenge her father’s death. Yet my oath of safety to you has been pledged;--and woe be to him who attempts to make a word of mine of non-effect! Captain Birch, order five of the musketeers to load; and bring out the troops in the front of the castle. I give you half an hour.” The captain, as he went out, frequently turned round to see whether Cromwell might not relent, and forbid such a stern order from being carried into effect--but no!-- “Not for my own sake,” pled Montressor, “but for that of the orphan, do I ask my life. For my own services in a just cause, I esteem them as nothing; but to die such a death, seems a poor recompense even for a faithful dog. General, grant me life for Mary Evelyn’s sake!” He knelt,--and along with him the governor and all his officers. “It cannot be,” was the decisive reply. “But, young man, you shall have writing materials, if you have anything to charge to the living. Let them be brought.” Montressor, with a trembling hand, wrote a letter to Mary Evelyn, and as he finished it, the drum was heard without. “To whom can I assign my last duty?” “To me,” replied the governor. “Trust me, that if I can make any reparation for the past, I shall.” “It is well,” remarked Cromwell, in cold-hearted cruelty,--“If any man wrong another, let him return good, fourfold.” Montressor, after this, was firm and collected. But for the slight quiver on his lips, it could not have been known that he was going to his death. “Sir Governor,” he once more asked, “wilt thou be kind to her? Hast thou a daughter, to love her as a sister?” “No--I have but a son, and he--” “Cannot, cannot comfort her,” interrupted Montressor with some bitterness. “Yet I know a knight,” returned the governor, “whose daughters are well known for kindness and charity. Sarah and Madeline Bradley, on knowing her history, will find her a home with them.” “A home! Poor Mary, her best home will be the grave! There is my letter. Were it not that the sight would be horrible, I should die with this letter in my hand, and you would send to her, that she might receive it from myself! Farewell! I entered this room, a few minutes ago, with the intention of taking your life, and now I leave it to lose mine own!” Cromwell opened the door.