Whatever passed between Cromwell and the Lady Constantia must remain secret, as neither were of a particularly communicative disposition. Lady Frances, indeed, laboured hard to succeed and comprehend the whole matter, but in vain. She waylaid her friend on her passage from the room of audience, and observed, in a tone and manner that betrayed her anxiety on the subject, "My father and you have had a long conference!" "He has indeed honoured me by much condescension and kindness," was Constantia's reply. "Do you know whom he has closeted up so strangely in Cecil Place? I was going into the oak parlour, when a sentry at the door--(What rough fellows those soldiers are!)--cried 'Stand!' as if I had been a statue. With that I repaired to the small oriel chamber; but there, too, was another 'Stand!' Why, the house is at once a prison and a garrison!" "Not quite." "Oh, you take it more gently than I should--to have persons in your own house, and not know who they are." "Your father, I suppose, knows them; and I may have sufficient confidence in the Protector of England to believe in the wisdom of all he does--nothing doubting." "My father is very anxious about Sir Robert." "He is indeed." "And to search out the destroyer of our poor Barbara." "He has ever been to justice as its right hand." How poor Lady Frances longed to ask of Constance if her father had talked about Sir Willmott--if there were any tidings of Walter De Guerre, or where he had been since his disappearance with Major Wellmore! but she could not--she dared not ask another question: indeed, Constantia effectually prevented her so doing, for, taking her hand with that extraordinary combination of frankness and reserve which is ever the characteristic of a great and honest mind, she said-- "My sweet friend, do not question me; I have either answered your father's questionings as I answer every one, truly, in word and spirit, or told him, when he asked what I must not reveal, that I could not tell. I never equivocated in my whole life; equivocation is a subterfuge, mean as well as sinful--the special pleading of a lie." "My dear Lady Perfection!"