"At least, I
can have those chains taken off."
"Thou speakest as one in authority," cried Hugh Calveley, regarding
him, fixedly. "Art thou appointed to be my jailer?"
Sir Jocelyn made no answer, but averted his head.
"This only was wanting to fill up the measure of my scorn for thee,"
pursued the Puritan. "Thou art worthy of thine office. But show me no
favour, for I will receive none at thy hands. I would rather wear these
fetters to my death, however much they may gall my limbs, than have them
struck off by thee. I would rather rot in this dungeon--ay, though it
were worse than it is--than owe my liberation to thee. The sole favour
thou canst show me is to rid me of thy presence, which is hateful to me,
and chases holy thoughts from my breast, putting evil in their place."
"Why should this be so, O friend of my father?" exclaimed Sir Jocelyn.
"And why should my presence be hateful to you? There is no man living
whom I would less willingly offend than yourself; and in all I have
done, where you have been concerned, I have had no free agency. Judge me
not then too harshly. I commiserate your situation from the depths of my
heart, and would relieve it were it possible."
"Then wherefore persist in troubling me?" rejoined Hugh Calveley. "Have
I not good cause for my dislike of you? You have disappointed the
expectations I had formed of you. You failed me when I put your
professions to the test. You thwarted my design at the moment when its
success was certain, and when the tyrant was completely in my power.
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