f no gentle or
complimentary nature, which, but for the august presence in which he
stood, would have burst forth in anathemas against the "wolf in sheep's
clothing," by which title he never failed in after years to designate
the traitor. The Jew trembled, and partly rose from his seat; while
Zillah, whose love had turned to hate--whose affection had become as
wormwood--stood erect as he advanced, with a pale but firm look.
Prepared to assert her rights to the last, she was the very model of a
determined woman, who, having been greatly wronged, resolves to be
greatly avenged. If her lip quivered, it was evidently from eagerness,
not from indecision; and her eye had the lightning of hell, not of
heaven, in its glance. Barbara crouched at the feet of her mistress; and
Lady Frances, to whom something new was synonymous with something
delightful, was tip-toe with expectation. She believed, from what her
father had hinted, that Constantia was free, and might wed whom she
pleased: this imparted an hilarity to her countenance and manner,
totally different from the aspect of all others within that room.
Burrell himself looked like a bull turned into the arena, from whence
there is no escape. His deep-set eyes were grown red and dry: but they
rested, for a moment, while he saluted Constance and Lady Frances; their
next movement showed him Zillah and her father, and he shrank within
himself, and quailed beneath the defying gaze of the woman he had so
deeply injured. For an instant, and but for an instant, eye met eye, and
glance encountered glance: the Master of Burrell was overthrown, and
looked round for some relief; but like other sinners, when the hour of
retribution comes, he found none; for those he next saw were Dalton,
Fleetword, and Robin Hays.

"We have more than circumstantial evidence to show now, Sir Willmott
Burrell," exclaimed the Protector, after surveying him with a look of
terrible contempt: "what say you to this lady? Is she, too, a
counterfeit?"

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