In a few minutes Robin Hays again stood before the great and extraordinary man he both respected and feared. There was a mingling of kindliness and warmth in Cromwell's manner, as he desired the manikin to come forward, and, having first questioned him about his health, commanded him to tell his business. "I have intruded on your Highness, which is a mark of great boldness in a creature of such low degree," commenced the Ranger in obedience to the Protector's orders, "and it is on behalf of one to whom I am much bound. Alack! great sir, it is a sad thing when a man of spirit, of power, and of bravery, has no friend to speak for him but one that Nature threw from her as unworthy of the neat finishing she bestows on others:--when our parent discards us, what have we to expect from mankind?" "Do you speak of the youth called Walter, whose gallant Jubilee waits impatiently till his master is at liberty to boot and saddle? He shall mount him soon." "With all humility, your Highness, no:--I would speak of Hugh Dalton and the Fire-fly." "Of his ship, which may be at sea, say you?" Robin ventured one glance at Cromwell's countenance, doubtless with the intention of ascertaining if he knew the position of the vessel: but there was no expression on those features that could lead to any conclusion, and the Ranger skilfully evaded the question. "It is indeed of Hugh Dalton I would speak," continued Robin, "and intreat in his behalf, what I need myself, yet ask not for--a pardon." "Pardon!" repeated Cromwell, "Pardon!--on what grounds?" "Those of mercy--upon which your Highness has pardoned many; and, please your Highness, if I may make bold to say so, this same man has some reason, however small, to offer. The Jewess Zillah----" "Ah! what of her?" "Is in his keeping, and a certain preacher also--a worthy, simple, yet, withal, a keen man, whom Sir Willmott Burrell, as I understand, entrapped and shut up, with famine as his only associate, because he had become possessed of some papers proving Sir Willmott's marriage with the Jewish lady." "And Dalton----" "Saved this Fleetword!" "Ah, Fleetword!" interrupted Cromwell, "I have heard of his disappearance--and he is safe?" "Perfectly." "I bless the Lord for his unravelling! But why comes not this man forth from his den? Methinks, if he have rendered such service to the Jew, who is our friend, he has some claim to our consideration, and might hope--perhaps, hope for pardon. But, if I judge rightly, he expected more than pardon,--pardon for his ship also, and farther grace towards himself:--ran it not thus?" "Please your Highness, yes. The man loves his ship, which is but natural; and then his men----"