Burrell remained silent; and while Cromwell paused, as if expecting an
answer, the Preacher could no longer hold silence, but vociferated from
behind his intrenchment:-"Under favour of the Greatness before whom I speak--under the shadow of
his wing--I proclaim thee to be a sinner--even as those who stoned the
holy Stephen, when he was about the Lord's bidding--even as those----"
"Peace!" exclaimed Cromwell, in a voice that sounded like thunder in the
Preacher's ear. "Sir Willmott Burrell, there are now sufficient
proofs--what have you to say why this lady be not declared your lawful
and wedded wife?"
"I desire it not! I desire it not!" murmured the Rabbi: "my wealth he
shall not have, nor my child."
"But I desire it--I demand it!" interrupted Zillah; "not for my own
sake, most gracious judge," and she bent her knee to the Protector; "for
never will I commune with my destroyer after this hour--but for the sake
of an unborn babe, who shall not blush for its parent, when this poor
head and this breaking heart have found the quiet of the grave!"
"May it please your Highness," replied Burrell, "the marriage in a
foreign land is nought, particularly when solemnised between a Christian
and a Jew, unless ratified here; and I will submit to that ratification,
if the Lady Constantia Cecil, whom I was about to wed, and whom the
person your Highness designs for my wife sought to assassinate, will
agree to it,--taking on herself the penalty to which her breach of
contract must of necessity lead."
All eyes were now turned to Constantia, who sat labouring for breath,
and struggling with an agony to which it almost seemed her life would
yield.
"We have ourselves provided for the Lady Constantia a fitting mate, good
Master of Burrell," replied the Protector; "think ye that the fairest of
our land are to be thrown to the dogs?" Again he struck his pistol upon
the oak table, and after a breathless silence, during which Burrell
never removed his eyes from Constantia--(Lady Frances afterwards said
she noted they had all the evil expression of those of the hooded snake,
when preparing to dart upon its prey)--the villain contrived to move
more closely towards his victim, whose misery was but faintly painted on
her blanched cheek.
"A little time," she murmured; "a little time to deliberate."
"Not a moment--not a moment," he replied; "and remember----"
The words had hardly passed from between his closed lips, when Walter de
Guerre was ushered in, and Burrell's brow flushed one deep hue of
crimson. A murmur of congratulation escaped from several of the party;
the Protector turned towards Constantia with the look and manner of one
who has planned what he believes will be a joyful surprise--to be
gratefully received and appreciated as such; instead of beholding her
face beaming with love and hope, he saw that every fibre of her frame
became rigid; and she endeavoured to bury her face in her hands.