"There needs no farther parley. Colonel Jones, we will ourself accompany our worthy friend to the Isle of Shepey, and investigate more minutely this most unhappy business. You will take all requisite care of Sir Willmott Burrell, who goes with us--willing or unwilling--Perhaps he would like to appeal from our decree? To-night we will set forth, so as to arrive at King's-ferry before to-morrow's sunset; for we must stay an hour at Whitehall, and say a word in passing to Colonel Lilburne, at Eltham." "How does your Highness travel?" "As befits our state," replied the Protector. "Worthy Rabbi, be not cast down; all may yet be well." "Your Highness is ever kind; but justice is inflexible. My child!--that which he called my child, rings in mine ear--pierces it! O Father Abraham! I knew not the curse that fell upon Israel until this day!" "All may yet be well, I say again," observed the Protector, "know ye not what was said by the prophet of old--the prophet of the Lord--'Now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, fear not!'" "May I return and commune with your Highness?" craved Colonel Jones, as he escorted Burrell to the door--"there is much that I would mention, although this is the Lord's day." "Ay, certainly.--Gracious Meanwell! I would speak with him who brought this parcel." A lad was introduced; but he could tell nothing, except that passing along the crags of the Gull's Nest, (the Protector started at the name,) he saw the packet dangling in the air; he pulled at it, and it came easily away in his hand; and finding it directed to his Highness, he had been recommended to bring it forthwith--that he had ridden part of the way in company with some who were coming as far as Gravesend, and had 'lifted' him. He looked like what he was, part oyster-dredger, part smuggler. Cromwell saw nothing in him that would justify detention, and dismissed him with a liberal gratuity. "We shall solve the mysteries of this Gull's Nest Crag before we leave the island," thought the Protector, and then proceeded to the almost hopeless task of comforting the humbled and afflicted "Master in Israel." CHAPTER IV. Where I, a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw The air, imprison'd also, close and damp, Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends, The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet, With day-spring born. MILTON.