"Marry, it's no woman," observed Mother Hays; "I could not be deceived--it's a dark-browed boy," lowering her voice, "very like what Prince Charlie was, as I remember him, but with rather a Jewish look for a Christian prince." "Robin," said Dalton, taking the Ranger aside, "if this most loathsome marriage cannot be stayed--if what I mean to do should fail--my daughter must seek another home and another protector. Were Miss Cecil to become the wife of Sir Willmott Burrell, under _their_ roof Barbara should not bide--the kite's nest is a bad shelter for the ring-dove." "Where would you take her?--who would protect her?" inquired Robin earnestly. "Faith, I know not. I'll to Sir Robert Cecil this day--speak to him about some matters of our own, and then be guided by circumstances as to the disposal of my daughter.--My daughter! that word sends the blood to and from my heart in cold and then in hot gushing streams! But, Robin, you must not tarry; close watch shall be set for this dangerous imp, to prevent farther mischief; and if Springall's conjecture should be right--yet it is most wild, and most improbable!--What disguise will you adopt in this pursuit of our heedless friend?" "As yet, I know not; I must suit it to the times and to the persons I encounter; a pedlar's will do me best at present; a pack is a fitting nook for concealment. Dear Captain, look well to Jeromio; he never meant you honest." "I believe you are right, Robin; and yet why should I quarrel with men's honesty? they have as good a right to label mine with the foul word 'spurious.' This damning thing within my breast, that saints call conscience, how it has worked me lately! Poison is nothing to it: but it will soon be over, if the boy were safe, and my own Barbara would but pray for me, after the fashion of her mother." He paused, then striking his forehead violently, as if to banish thought, continued, "You go to London straight?" "Ay, sure, and have secreted the invoices you spoke of, for the good merchant beyond St. Paul's, who ordered the rich velvets, counting, perhaps, upon a coronation." "I hope he has a better chance of selling them than that affords. Noll will hardly dare it; his name--Protector--gives as much power, and 'tis as a fencing-master's guard, ever at hand to turn aside the sneers against his ambition. Thought'st thou of the pearls for my Lord Fauconberg's rich jeweller?"