“There spoke the self-loving Englishman,” cried Le Gallais, whom respect for his seniors had hitherto kept silent.  “If you speak of hindering, what is to hinder Sir George, now that he hath the King for backer, from confiscating all our remaining lands and applying the produce to fitting out a fleet which will ruin the trade of all England?  It is a question for you also, you perceive.”

“Proximus Ucalegon,” said Lempriere, whom nothing could long restrain from airing his classical knowledge.  “But leave me to speak to Mr. Prynne in terms that will not offend, and that he cannot fail to understand.  Harkye, Mr. Prynne,” he said, turning to his host and resuming use of the English language in lieu of the patois in which he had addressed his countryman.  “You love the Commonwealth, I know; your many sufferings in that behalf show you a true friend to the cause of English liberty.  But to me it appears that this cause cannot be fitly separated from that of your small satellite yonder.”

“I do not seek to deny it,” answered Prynne.  “Now this good fellow,” pursued Lempriere, laying his hand on his young friend’s shoulder, “(and let his zeal make amends for his blunt manner) hath brought tidings, from which it appears that our affairs are in such a state as calls for your interposition.  And I learn moreover from this letter that Henry Dumaresq is stirring, and the greed and grasping of the Carterets have made them many ill-wishers.  Nevertheless, Pierre Benoist hath been taken, and under torture may readily betray our plans.  On the other hand, he that is called King there, the young Charles Stuart, is under the regimen of his mother, who is the tool of France.  Between them all Jersey may be lost to the Commonwealth before a blow be stricken.”

“Nay,” cried Prynne, interrupting, “I would not have you say so.  We English are neither braggarts nor cowards.  Whitelocke knoweth the mind of Mazarin; and I pray you note that Cromwell, though as a man of State I do not uphold him, is a soldier whose zeal never sleeps, and who cares more for the welfare of England and such as depend upon her than any Stuart will ever do, or undo.  I sent for you, indeed, on this very behalf; not minded to show you all the springs of politics, yet to give you a word of comfort and to ask of you a word of friendliness in return, yea, word for word, an you will.”

The politician’s keen eye softened as he looked at the forlorn exile.  The latter turned abruptly, as if to reveal no corresponding emotion:  then, looking straight before him, said in low tones:—­

“For comfort, God knows whether or no it be needed.  My place and power are lost—­such as they were—­a price is set upon my head by those who slew Maximilian Messervy.  My wife—­who is to me like the apple of mine eye—­is alone, battling with hostile authority, and with tenants too ready to profit by her helpless condition.  I am as one encompassed by quicksands, and nigh to be swallowed up.  I am tempted to say with David, ‘Vain is the help of man.’  Do you show me a bridge of escape?” he asked, turning to Prynne, “what is your meaning?  I pray you speak it out.”