The Buccaneer - A Tale

When Robin entered, there was no one in the room but the Lord Broghill,

Manasseh Ben Israel, and a little girl. My Lord Broghill, who was one of

the Protector's cabinet counsellors, had been sent for from Ireland to

go to Scotland, and be President of the Council there, but soon wearying

of the place, had just returned to London, and posted down immediately

to Hampton Court:--he was bidding the Protector good night, and that

with much servility. The presence of Robin was yet unnoticed save by the

Jew. Before his Lordship had left the chamber, even as his foot was on

the threshold, Cromwell called him back.

"My Lord Broghill."

The cabinet counsellor bowed and returned.

"I forgot to mention, there is a great friend of yours in London."

"Indeed! Please your Highness, who is it?"

"My Lord of Ormond," replied the Protector. "He came to town on

Wednesday last, about three of the clock, upon a small grey mule, and

wearing a brown but ill-made and shabby doublet. He lodges at White

Friars, number--something or other; but you, my Lord," he added,

pointedly, "will have no difficulty in finding him out."

"I call the Lord to witness," said Broghill, casting up his eyes after

the most approved Puritan fashion--"I call the Lord to witness, I know

nothing of it!"

Cromwell gathered his eyebrows and looked upon him for a moment with a

look which made the proud lord tremble; then sending forth a species of

hissing noise from between his teeth, sounding like a prolonged

hish--h--h--h. "Nevertheless, I think you may as well tell him that I

know it. Good night, my Lord, good night!"

"He's had his night-cap put on, and now for mine," thought little Robin,

who, as he advanced, bowing all the way up the room, could not avoid

observing, (even under such circumstances, there was something

singularly touching in the fact,) that a little girl, a child of about

six or seven years old, sat on a stool at the Protector's feet, her fair

arms twined around his knee; and her plain, but expressive face, looking

up to his, and watching every movement of his features with more than

childish earnestness. As Robin drew near, she stood up, and contemplated

him with very natural curiosity.

"Closer, young man--still closer," said the Protector; "our sight grows

dim; and yet we will see distinctly, and with our own eyes too--for the

eyes of others serve us not."

Robin did as he was commanded, bowing and shaking all the time like the

figure of a mandarin. The Protector advanced one step towards him; and

then plucked at the Ranger's beard with so strong a hand, that it

deserted his chin, and dangled between Cromwell's fingers. At this, the

child set up a loud and merry shout of laughter; but not so did the

incident affect the Protector, to whose mind treachery was ever present;

he instantly exclaimed,-"Guards! what ho! without there!" Five or six rushed into the room and

laid hands upon Robin, who offered no resistance, submitting to their

mercy.