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Jonas Fleetword can fight for the truth by strength of hand as well as of voice; the documents shall be heard of at the seat of judgment in our New Jerusalem." Sir Willmott, thus run down on all sides, had now recourse to stratagem. After a brief pause, during which both Zillah and the preacher, as if having come to the same determination, kept silence, he said, "Well; perhaps it is best.
Poor Fleetword had long since arrived at the conclusion that he had unconsciously committed some crime, for which he was doomed to much suffering in the flesh: first imprisoned, and destined to endure starvation at the hands of Sir Willmott Burrell; then fed, but caged like an animal, by one whom he denominated "a man of fearful aspect, yea, of an angry countenance and fierce deportment, yet having consideration for the wants of the flesh;" then, when he had been liberated as he thought, for the express purpose of affording consolation to, and praying with a dying woman, and bound by his sacred word not to leave Gull's Nest, he found himself in the midst of the most unamiable-looking persons he had ever seen assembled; and his pale eye grew still more pale within its orbit from the effects of terror.
"We would not quench the spirit," said the Protector, addressing Fleetword, "but let your prayer be short a word in season is better than a sermon out of season. We have somewhat to investigate touching the incendiaries by land as well as sea." For the first time in his life Springall considered that a prayer might not be of wearisome length.
He would have gladly hailed the approach of Birnam wood, so it could have settled down between him and the reverend Jonas; but as no place of refuge was at hand, he bethought himself of the shield of patience, drew his cloak as closely as if he were about to encounter a fierce north wind, and finally returned with much courtesy the salutation of the preacher, whose apt and ready eloquence had obtained for him the significant appellation of Fleetword.
"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" exclaimed Fleetword: "Pray, pray!" he continued, elevating his voice, and hoping, with a kindliness of feeling which Sir Willmott had little right to expect, that he might be instrumental in directing the wretched man's attention to a future state. "Pray! death is before you, and you cannot wrestle with it! Pray! even at the eleventh hour!
The unfortunate creature prostrated herself at my feet, and explained, as briefly as her sobs permitted, that, enraged at Burrell's treachery finding herself deserted by Fleetword, whose faith she relied upon imagining that Mistress Cecil was leagued against her, from the circumstance of her never taking notice of the communications she wrote and confided to Jeromio's care wrought up, in fact, to a pitch of frenzy, she determined on destroying Burrell's destined bride, whose appearance she had confounded with that of my poor Barbara!
"Verily the Lord scattereth!" was the exclamation of the Reverend Jonas Fleetword, as he passed from one to another of the apartments of Cecil Place, seeking for some one with whom to hold converse, yet finding none.
Fleetword paused, still holding the volume in his hand: "Besides," continued Burrell, "what I have to accomplish is the Lord's work."
"This is trifling," exclaimed Burrell in anger. "She asked delay, and I granted till this morning. I can brook no such vain excuse." "Of a verity," quoth Fleetword, "thy reply is, as I deem it, given in a most unchristian spirit.
Fleetword so ably delivered, and inquired when and where it was likely he would next give his holy lessons, so that he might be comforted by the oil and honey that flowed from his lips. "Thou sayest truly," replied the energetic preacher; "truly sayest thou: oil and honey for the faithful, the holy, the just, in our New Jerusalem!
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