And as if goaded by some stinging thought, that drove him nigh distracted, Hugh Calveley arose, and paced to and fro within the chamber.  His brow became gloomier and his visage sterner.

“Bear with him, good Master Jocelyn,” Aveline said in a low tone.  “He hath been unjustly treated by the King, and as you see can ill brook the usage.  Bear with him, I pray of you.”

Jocelyn had no time to make reply.  Suddenly checking himself, and fixing his earnest gaze upon the young man, the Puritan said—­

“Give ear to me, my son.  If I desired to inflame your breast with rage against this tyrant, I should need only to relate one instance of his cruelty and injustice.  I had a friend—­a very dear friend,” he continued, in a tone of deep pathos—­“confined within the Fleet Prison by a decree of the Star-Chamber.  He was to me as a brother, and to see him gradually pining away cut me to the soul.  Proud by nature, he refused to abase himself to his oppressor, and could not be brought to acknowledge wrongs he had never committed.  Pardon, therefore, was denied him—­not pardon merely, but all mitigation of suffering.  My friend had been wealthy; but heavy fines and penalties had stripped him of his possessions, and brought him to destitution.  Lord of an ancient hall, with woods and lands around it, wherein he could ride for hours without quitting his own domains, 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.”