vil worked at the moment in both--in
the lady, as a triumphant tyrant--in the woman, as an insolent slave.

We leave it to our philosophical readers to determine which of the two
manifestations was the most dangerous: we hope their displeasure against
either will not be very violent; for we have but too frequently observed
the self-same dispositions animate bright eyes and open coral lips.
Women are frequently greater tyrants than men, because of their
weakness: they are anxious for power as the means of strength; and
therefore they more often abuse it than use it properly; and men are
better slaves than women; because an innate consciousness of their
strength, which they are apt to believe they can employ whenever a
fitting opportunity occurs, keeps them tranquil. It has been often
noted, that in popular tumults women are frequently the most busy, and
the least easy to be controlled.

No one would have supposed that Lady Frances's temper had been ruffled,
when she crept into the room where Constantia was watching her still
sleeping father, and communicated the news of the anticipated death of
Mother Hays, with her strange request, in so low a whisper, that happily
he was not disturbed.

She quitted the apartment when her father's physician was announced; but
not until he had informed her that his Highness was about to visit the
Island, inquire personally after the health of Sir Robert Cecil,
investigate the strange murder that had occurred, inspect the fortress
of Queenborough, and ascertain if useful fortifications might not be
erected at Sheerness; thus mingling public with private business.

CHAPTER VI.

This deadly night did last
But for a little space,
And heavenly day, now night is past,
Doth shew his pleasant face:
* * * * * * *
The mystie clouds that fall sometime,
And overcast the skies,
Are like to troubles of our time,
Which do but dimme our eyes;
But as such dewes are dried up quite
When Phoebus shewes his face,
So are such fancies put to flighte
Where God doth guide by grace.

GASCOIGNE.

It would be an act of positive inhumanity to leave the unfortunate
preacher any longer to his solitude, without taking some note, however
brief it may be, of his feelings and his sufferings. After consigning
his packet (which, as we have seen, was not only received, but
appreciated by--the Protector) to the r