"But innocence wears a robe of such pure light," interrupted the Protector, "that it will shine in the darkest night, as yours will, if you are innocent. Know you how the fair Jewess became possessed of this picture? Nay, I should hesitate to think harshly of you, even if you had given it to her, which you might have done in pure friendliness, although the world--it is a harsh and ill-judging world--might condemn you on such ground. But we have ourselves suffered so much from its wrong judgment, as to have learned mercy towards others. Friendship, excellent, right, true friendship, may exist between man and woman in our advanced--ay, and in our young years. Why should it not? Or, as the picture is of excellent painting, and the young lady, it would seem, desired accomplishment in that useless art, you might have lent it her as a study--or----" "I certainly did not give it," replied Burrell; "but I have some idea of having lent it, with sundry Flemish drawings. Your Highness may remember that several gentlemen, attached to the embassy at Paris, came away hastily. I was one of those." Hereupon the Rabbi would have spoken, for he remembered how Sir Willmott had told him that the picture was not his; but the Protector again stayed him, seeking to entangle Burrell in a web of his own weaving. "You visited the lady frequently?" "Not very frequently. I told Manasseh Ben Israel, when first he injured me by this most unjust suspicion, that I did not often see her, and when I did, it was to ascertain if there were any letters she desired to transmit to England." "Not from the carnal desire of paying her homage?" "How could your Highness suppose it was?" "You but now confessed she might so have interpreted your civilities. But--know you aught of one Hugh Dalton, a free-trader?" "Know--know--know, your Highness? I know him for a most keen villain!" replied the Master of Burrell warmly. "Indeed!--But you scorned not to employ him." Burrell was silent; for, though he had journeyed full fifty miles, he had not been able to form any plan of defence, if Cromwell should really be aware of the arrangements entered into in the cavern of the Gull's Nest Crag. Such he now dreaded was the fact, not only from the appearance of a paper the Protector drew forth, but from the fact that the seeming calmness was fading from his brow. All that remained was stoutly to deny its being in his hand-writing: it was a case that finesse could in no way serve. "Did your Highness mean that I employed this man?" he said at last, with a clever mingling of astonishment and innocence in his voice and manner. During a brief pause that followed, the eye of Cromwell was, as it were, nailed upon his countenance. "I do mean, Sir Willmott Burrell, that you scorned not to employ this man. Know you this hand-writing?" Sir Willmott's worst fears were confirmed.