"Dick," she exclaimed, putting her hands to her temples, "I cannot think; I am half mazed without him, who always thought for me. Consider!  I am very sure there are some we can move to help us!  Count over your friends; there must be some one with a heart of flesh left in all England!  General Monck loved you well once, though he wrote so wickedly counselling Oliver Cromwell to be very severe unto my beloved one when they threw him into prison at Portland.  But what is a prison! A prison was ever to him the gate of heaven.  Move but General Monck to have him cast once again into prison, and I will pray for him till my dying day!  They say that blasphemer, Harry Marten, will but be imprisoned; why should my saint have a harder fate?  Oh, let him but live, and though I never set eyes on him more, I shall be a happy woman!"