“Wilt thou say nothing more touching this subject?” inquired Endicott.

“I desire to say nothing thereupon, except to protest against the injurious constructions you seem determined to put on all that I can say.”

“How hath it happened,” continued Endicott, “that you have never appeared with the congregation, in the Lord’s house?”

“Consider the distance we did live in the woods, and the difficulty of the travel,” answered the lady, deprecatingly.  “But, has not Sir Christopher attended?”

Endicott paid no attention to the question, but went on.

“What is thy profession of faith?”

“I am a Christian, and most miserable sinner.”

“Aye, but Protestant or Catholic?”

“Protestant,” answered the lady, with an inflexion of the voice which made it difficult to decide whether the word was intended for an ejaculation, a question, or a declaration.  “Holy Virgin!” she murmured, so low as not to be overheard, “forgive me this half lie.  Not for my own sake do my lips utter it, and my heart abhors it.”

The answer seemed to take Endicott by surprise.

“Have heed to thy words,” he said.  “We are well advised that this runnigadoe and thyself were, until of late at least, at Rome.”

“You seem to know all things,” said the lady, scornfully, “and I wonder why ye trouble yourselves with anything that an ignorant woman can say.  Have it as you will.”

“Hath not our examination proceeded far enough?” asked Sir Richard.  “Is there aught else ye expect to elicit?”

“The woman, I think, hath confessed the whole,” said Dudley.  “She openly admits that this Gardiner, or whatever else be his name, is her paramour; and, for the remainder, what hath been wrested from her by her own contradictions, sufficiently confounds her.”

“Base man, it is false!” cried the lady, roused into indignation by the charge.  I have confessed to naught whereof a woman should be ashamed.  There is no infamy attached to my name; and as high as Heaven is above the earth, so far is Sir Christopher above thy craven nature.”

“Heyday!” said Dudley; “it thunders and lightens.  I bandy not words with thee, but the record of the Secretary will show.”

“I find not the exact word,” said the Secretary, Master Nowell, after examining his minutes, “but she doth acknowledge this pretended Knight as her protector since they left England, and the terms are equivalent.”

“I meant it not so.  I have acknowledged nothing to my disgrace,” exclaimed the lady.  “Ye have enveigled and entrapped me by artful questions, and then put constructions on my answers which do not belong to them.  A worthy business, truly, for grave and learned men to be engaged in, to set their wits to work against a forlorn woman, to pervert her language into shameful meanings.”

“Madam,” said Winthrop, “you have permission to retire.  Bring with thee,” he added, addressing the beadle, “the little Indian girl, without letting her come to speech with this gentlewoman, and also Sassacus, properly guarded.”