"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