his territories were now narrowed to a few
yards; while one dark, dreary chamber was alone accorded him. Finding he
must necessarily perish, if left to rot there, I prevailed upon him (not
without much reluctance on his part) to petition the King for
liberation; and was myself the bearer of his prayer. Earnestly pleading
the cause of the unfortunate man, and representing his forlorn
condition, I besought his Majesty's gracious intercession. But when I
had wearied the royal ear with entreaties, the sharp reply was--'Doth he
make submission? Will he confess his offence?' And as I could only
affirm, that as he was guilty of no crime, so he could confess none, the
King returned me the petition, coldly observing--'The dignity of our
Court of Star-Chamber must be maintained before all things. He hath been
guilty of contempt towards it, and must purge him of the offence.' 'But
the man will die, Sire,' I urged, 'if he be not removed from the Fleet.
His prison-lodging is near a foul ditch, and he is sick with fever.
Neither can he have such aid of medicine or of nursing as his case
demands.' 'The greater reason he should relieve himself by speedy
acknowledgment of the justice of his sentence,' said the King. 'The
matter rests not with us, but with himself.' 'But he is a gentleman,
Sire,' I persisted, 'to whom truth is dearer than life, and who would
rather languish in misery for thrice the term he is likely to last, than
forfeit his own self-esteem by admitting falsehood and injustice.' 'Then
let him perish in his pride and obstinacy,' cried the King impatiently.
And thereupon he dismissed me."

"O Sir!" exclaimed Jocelyn, rising and throwing, his arms round the
Puritan's neck; "you, then, were the friend who tended my poor father in
his last moments. Heaven bless you for it!"

"Yes, Jocelyn, it was I who heard your father's latest sigh," the
Puritan replied, returning his embrace, "and your own name was breathed
with it. His thoughts were of his son far away--too young to share his
distresses, or to comprehend them."

"Alas! alas!" cried Jocelyn mournfully.

"Lament not for your father, Jocelyn," said the Puritan, solemnly; "he
is reaping the reward of his earthly troubles in heaven! Be comforted, I
say. The tyrant can no longer oppress him. He is beyond the reach of his
malice. He can be arraigned at no more unjust tribunals. He is where no
cruel and perfidious princes, no iniquitous judges, no griping
extortioners shall e