Burrell was so much occupied with his letter, that he heard neither the

knocking nor Robin's question, but sat, his eyes staring on the paper,

as if the words were of fire. Nor was it a long epistle, though

sufficiently important to rivet his whole attention. The contents were

as follows:-April the 6th, 1656.

"SIR, "Agreeably to your instructions, I went to the house at St.

Vallery, where you told me I was to meet the lady of whom we

spoke; but she had left harbour a few hours before I entered.

With much trouble I succeeded in tracing her to a very odd sort

of dwelling, a little outside the town, yet not in time to

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overtake her or her attendant. Some said one thing, and some

another; but I could gather no information to be depended on. I

remained nearly nine days in the neighbourhood, watching every

vessel that came in or went out; nevertheless, I am persuaded

that she has embarked for England: how, is still a mystery.

"Yours,

"FIRE-FLY."

"The fellow is careful enough: can it be possible he has played me

false? Yet, where the motive, or what?" mused Burrell aloud. The

knocking at the door was repeated, but was only answered by the loud

baying of a brace of hounds. "And are the rascals really drunk?"

inquired their master in a piteous tone, roused at last to a sense of

what was passing around him.

"Ay, faith, sir; had I not as well go down? for, though ill-apparelled

as a serving-man, methinks I could do the civilities better than the

night-wind that howls so cursedly round the entry."

"Ay, go, go! only see that I be not disturbed, unless, indeed, it be

some person I must see--some one of consequence."

"Ay," muttered Robin: "so much for modern hospitality!" and he hastened

to undo the fastening.

As the chains fell, a small bent figure, completely enveloped in a fur

cloak, entered the hall, closely followed by a swarthy attendant, whose

high features, quick sparkling eyes, and downcast look bespoke him one

of the tribe of Israel.

"Is Sir Willmott Burrell within?" inquired the stranger, letting fall

the cloak that had been closely muffled round his face: he spoke,

however, in so foreign an accent, that it was a moment or two before

Robin could reply.

"I demanded of thee if Sir Willmott Burrell of Burrell was within?"

repeated the old man; and as Robin observed him more attentively, he

perceived that he was dressed in the peculiar fashion of the high-born

Jews: his beard descended nearly to his girdle, and his head was

surmounted by a perpendicular cap of yellow silk.




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