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Lorsqua la documant ast trop grand pour ttra raproduit an un saul clichi. il ast film* i partir da I'angla supiriaur gaucha, da gaucha i droits, at da haut mn bas. an pranant la nombrn d'imagas nicassaira. Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la mithoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOrV RBCXUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1^ 1^ II!' 2.2 13.6 if La 2.0 1.8 ^ /APPLIED IIVt^GE Inc ST 1653 East Main Street rjS Rochester, New York U609 USA ^S (716) 482 -0300 -Phone aa (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 4, r^' The Lion's Whelp " 'Now LET God ausbI' iVnaHBiHnim The Lions fVbelp A Story of Crou^welPs Time By Amelia E. Barr TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS 1901 546746 Contents CHAP. '^^"^ I. SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK ' II. DOCTOR JOHN VERITY ^5 III. WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 4^ IV. SO SWEET A DREAM 59 V. SHEATHED SWORDS Si VI. ON THE TIDE TOP 109 VII. i WO LOVE AFFAIRS ^3^ VIII. UPON THE THRESHOLD 167 IX. CROMWELL INTERFERES 1 89 X. RUPERT AND CLUNY 211 XI. OLIVER PROTECTOR ^39 XII. HOLD THOU MY HANDS 260 XIII. CHANGES AT DE WICK 277 XIV. A LITTLE FURTHER ON 2qS XV. THE FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE • • • • 33* XVI. OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 353 w i '■ t i , V List of Illustrations «* *Now LET God arise ! ' " Frontupibcb <'When he came again it was harvest time." 76 '* Then he dropped his blade into the sheathe with a CLANG." <' Beheld Cromwell standing upon the threshold." ** The hawthorns were in flower." «' Rupert stood still, and bowed gravely." (* Three ominous-looking papers." ** * Lift vt your heads, O ye gates, and the King or Glory shall come in.' " 104 12+ 140 »*4 s86 35» w I If ill a BOOK I The Hour and The Man " Unknown to Cromwell u to me, Wof Cromwell's mtuare or degree. ♦ ♦ ♦ « « He work*, plou, fights, in rude affiurs. With 'squires, lords, kings, his craft compares. Till late he learned, through doubt and fear. Broad England harbored not his peer." — Emerstn, w 1 t- i 4 I m The Lion's Whelp CHAPTER I SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK " Sway the tide of battle which way it will, human existence is held together by its old, and only tenure of earnest thoughts, and qmet affections." * During the seventeenth century SwafFham Manor House was one of the most picturesque dwellings in Cambridge- shire. It was so old that it had a sort of personality. It was SwafFham. For as the Yorkshireman, in speaking of his beloved rivers, disdains the article " the " and calls them with proud familiarity, Aire, Ure, Ribble, so to the men of the country between Huntingdon and Cambridge, this an- cient dwelling was never the Manor Fousc; it was the synonym of its builders, and was called by their name— SwafFham. For it was the history of the SwafFham family in stone and timber, and no one could enter its large, low rooms without feeling saturated and informed with the spir- itual and physical aura of the men and women who had for centuries lived and died under its roof. The central tower— built of the white stone of the neigh- bourhood—was the fortress which Tonbert Swaffham erected A. D. 870, to defend his lands from an invasion of the Danes; and five generations of Tonbcrt's descendants 1 w a THE LION'S WHELP dwelt in that tower, before William of Normandy took Xion of the crown of England. The Swaffham o L date became a friend of the Conqueror ; the Manor wa enriched by his gifts; and the Manor House-en- Ta L and beauLed by various holders-had the s.ngular foTunc to be identified with the stirring events of every 'Tthe middle of the seventeenth century it still retained this character. Puritan councils of ofFense and defense ha been held in itsgreat hall, and P-Hamenta^ -^d- drilled in its meadows. For Captam Israel SwafFham was th friend of General Cromwell, and at the t.me th.s story opens was with Cromwell in Scotland. Not 'ng of good in the old race was lacking in Capta.n Israel. He was a soldier going forth on a holy errand, hurrymg to serve God on the bat'e-field, faithful, as a man must be who could say after a hard day's fighting, "Tired! ! . It is not for me to let my right hand erow tired, if God's work be half-done." A ereat fighter, he had no pariiamentary talent, and no respect for padiaments. He beUeved England's rehg.ous and civil liberties were to b. saved by the sword, and the ::ord in the hand of his great leader, Oliver CromweU ; and when the King's fast-and-loose proposals had beer discussed by the men of Cambridgeshire, m SwafFham, h« had closed the argument with this passionate declara .on : "There is no longer disputing with such a double nun. as the mind of Charles Stuart. The veiy oath of Go< would not bind him. Out, instantly, all of you who can ! His three sons rose at his words and the -t of the coun cil followed, for all felt that the work was but half done- here was to be a Second Civil War Then ».ome w. again deserted for the battle-field, and Captam SwafFham SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK 3 wife and daughter were once more left alone in the old Manor House. Mrs. SwafFham was the child of a Puritan minister, and she had strong Puritan principles ; but these were subject to passing invasions of feeling not in accord with them. There were hours when she had pitied the late King, excused his inexcusable treacheries, and regretted the pomps and ceremonies of royal state. She had even a feeling that England, unkinged had lost prestige and was like a de- throned nation. In such hours she fretted over her absent husband and sons, and said words hard for her daughter Jane to listen to with any sympathy or patience. For Jane Sv/afFham was of a different spirit. She had a soul of the highest mettle; and she had listened to those English mystics, who came out of the steel ranks of tri- umphant Puritanism, until she had caught their spirit and been filled through and through with their faith. The SwafFhams were a tall race; but Jane was a woman of small stature and slender frame, and her hair, though abundant, wanted the rich brown hue that was the heritage of the Swaffham beauties. No one spoke of Jane as a beauty ; the memory of her sister Amity— who had mar- ried Lord Armingford— and of her aunt. Cicely Compton, both women of rare loveliness, qualified Jane's claim to this family distinction. And yet she had a fresh, bright face, a face like a sweet single rose of the wood ; one could see straight to her heart through it— a loving, cheerful daughter of righteousness ; not perfect by any means; sub- ject to little bursts of temper, and to opinions so positive they had the air of bigotry ; but with all her faults hold- ing that excellent oneness of mind, which has no doubts and no second thoughts. This was the maiden who was sitting, one sunny after- t!S i ^ 4 THE LION'S WHELP noon, at the open window of the household parlour in Swaff- ham. The lazy wind brought her delicious pufFs of sweet- brier scent, and in the rich fields beyond the garden she could hear the voices of the reapers calling to each other as they bound the wheat. On the hearthstone, her mother's wheel hummed in a fitful way, now rapidly, now slowly, anon stopping altogether. Jane was quite idle. A tray full of ripe lavender spikes was at her side and a partly finished little bag of sheer muslin was in her hand, but the work was not progressing. When thoughts are happy, the needle flies, when they arc troubled or perplexed, the hands drop down and it becomes an effort to draw the thread. Jane was thinking of her father and brothers, of the un- happy condition of England, and of the unrest in their own household. For she knew that her mother was worried about many things, and the fret that was bred in the kitchen and the farm offices — in spite of all her efforts — insinuated itself into the still order of the handsome room in which she was sitting. She felt her mother's silence to be unpleas- antly eloquent. The fitful wheel complained. It was a relief when Mrs. SwaH'ham brought to audib) - conclusions, the voiceless tension in which they were sitting. " My work is never out of hand, Jane," she said fret- fully. " I am fairly downhearted to-day — so put to the push as I hav been, with women in the kitchen and men in the fields." " Dear mother, it may not be for long." " It will be long enough to bring everything to wrack and ruin. The dairy is twenty-four shillings short this week." " There are perhaps fewer cows in milk." •' The wool is short weight also ; one of the gray horses is sick ; the best thresher has gone soldiering, like the rest of the fools." w^ SVVAFFHAM AND DE WICK 5 »» Mother ! " /u^"n .7'" ^'"-^^-'^ ha, the rheumatism, and in spite of his Bible and his psalm-singing, has been to Dame Yo- dene for a cham." "Why did he not come to you for flannel and a plas- ter r ' *^ "Come to me! That goes without saying. I went out of my way to help him, and then he wished Master Israel was home, and said » there was no rheumatics when he was round looking after his men.' I fired up, then, when he spoke that way— laying to my account the wettings he gets coming from the ale-house at nights; and then he muttered Women's ways— Will-be-so.' " " Will is very provoking. I wish he would go to the wars." * " He likes the tap at Widow Tasburgh's, and the black- smith's forge too well-let alone the women in the kitchen who are all quarreling about him. And then there is this new girl, Susannah, who is more pretty than need be j her face gets her too much favour with the men and too little with the women. When Doctor Verity comes next, I must tell him to give a few words suitable at the Evening bervice. They are a lazy, quarreling set, and every one of them dots their work against the collar." " Father told me he was led to believe he would not be long away He said this campaign would be short and herce for General Cromwell looks on its necessity as the unpardonable sin in Charles Stuart." "Short and fierce! Well, then. General Cromwell is well able to put fighting men up to that kind of thin- " " You are out with the General, mother, and all £cause you miss father so much." " I am out with the war, Jane. What is the good of it ? B !l. 6 THE LION'S WHELP Charica Stuart alive, stands for his Prerogative just where Charles Stuart dead, did." " The war is now an appeal to God. That is the good of it. You heard what Doctor Verity said of its necessity — and you agreed with him. Indeed, who could gainsay his words ? He spoke as if he had heard God's command » Up and be doing, and I will help you.' " " Is God, then, the God of war ? No, Jane. I will not believe it." "God is the God of blessings, mother; but as the ploughshare breaks up the earth for the corn seed, so does the rod ploughshare of war break up the heart of the nation for the blessing of freedom which shall follow it." " I know not ; I know not ; but I am sure if there were no kings and queens in the world it would be little loss to God Almighty, or to any one else." At this moment there was the sound of wheels and the tramp of horses, and Jane said, " It is Matilda de W ick. I know the roll of the carriage. Dear mother, keep a bright face in her presence. She will see everything, and draw conclusions from the smallest matter." Then Jane lifted her sewing, and the wheel began to hum, and the door opened swiftly and Matilda de Wick entered. " I have just been at Ely," she said, " and if I live seven-and-fifty years longer in this sinful world, I shall not forget the visit." Then she laughed with a merry scorn, kissed Jane on the cheek, and laid off her hat, heavy with white plumes. « It is good-bye to my senses," she con- tinued J " I am out of wisdom this afternoon— lend me your sobriety, Jane. I have been visiting Lady Heneage, and I have heard so much of the Cromwell's full cup that, in faith, I think it has gone to my head. Do I look sensi- SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK ble ? I have no hope of my words, and I pray you excuse whatever I may «ay." " I trust Lady Heneage is well," said Mrs. SwafFham. " She had need to be well. Her house is as full as the ark. Mrs. Elizabeth Hampden is there, and daughter Flambord, and daughter Clayton, and all their children and retainers. It is their last gathering before they go away. Do you wish to ki where they are going? To London, of course. When people carry themselves to such a height, no other city is big enough. But I ask pardon i I told you my words had lost their senses." "Why do you go to see Lady Heneage if you like her not and surely you like her not, or you would not make a mock of her doings." " I like to go where good fortune sits, Jane— and in these days no one can expect honour that deserves it. You know also that the last Heneage baby was named for me, and I got word that it was short-coated last Sunday i and so I went to see the little brat. It is a beauty, if it hold on to its good looks ; and 'tis like to do so, for whatever Heneage gets, Heneage keeps." " And they are going to London ? Is it really so ? " asked Jane. " 'Ts not very civil to doubt it. I dare be sworn it is as true as a thing can be, when the world is topsy-turvy. But that is not all of my news— I heard also that Jane SwafF- ham was going to London— a thing I would not believe without Jane's assurance." "It is very uncertain," replied Mrs. SwafFham. "Jane has an invitation from Mary Cromwell, and if Doctor Verity comes here soon, he may find the time to take her to London with him. Wc know not assuredly, as yet." " Jane must move mountains to go. The Crom wells are ^ 8 THE LION'S WHELP 1 \'V: w now living in the stately Cockpit. They will hold court ihere, and Jane SwafFham will be of it. 'Tis said all this honour for the Irish campaign." " Then it is well deserved," answered Jane with some heat. " Jane," said Mrs. SwafFham, " I can not abide any more quarreling to-day. If you and Matilda get on that subject, truth and justice will go to the wall. Monstrous lies are told about Ireland, and you both suck them down as if they were part of the Gospels." Then turning to Matilda she asked, " Why does the Heneage family go to London ? " " Indeed, madame, now that Mr. Cromwell has become Captain-General, and Commander-in-Chief, why should not all his old friends go to London ? Lor don has gone mad over the man ; even that supreme concourse of rebels called Parliament rose up, bareheaded, to receive him when he last honoured them with a visit." " Just what they ought to have done, " said Jane. " Is there any corner of England not coupled gloriously with his name ? " « And Ireland ? " " Gloriously also." " Pray, then, is it not extremely natural for his old friends to wish to see his glory ? " " I am sure of one thing," answered Jane. " Public honours please not General Cromwell. He would thank God to escape them." " I do not say that the wish to see him honoured is uni- versal, " continued Matilda. "Father Sacy thinks there are a few thousand men still living in England who have not bowed the knee to this Baal." " It is wicked to liken a good man to a devil, Matilda ; and if mother will sit and listen to such words, I will not. SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK 9 And, look you, though Charles Stuart's men turn up their noses and the palms of their hands at General Cromwell, he stands too high for them to pull him down. Cromwell will work and fight the time appointed him—and after that he will rest in the Lord. For he is good, and just, and brave as a lion, and there is not a man or woman can say differ- ent—not a man or woman treading English ground to-day that can, in truth, say different ! Always he performs God's will and pleasure." " Or the devil's." " He is a good man. I say it." "And he knows it; and that is where his hypocrisy comes in — I " " Children ! Children ! can you find nothing more lovely to talk about ? Matilda, you know that you are baiting Jane's temper only that you may see her lose it." Then Matilda laughed, and stooping to her friend, kissed her and said, « Come, little Jane, I will ask your pardon. It IS the curse of these days, that one must lie to one's own heart, or quarrel with the heart one loves. Kiss and be friends, Jane. I came to get your receipt for lavender conserves, and this is nothing to it." "Jane was conserving, yesterday," answered Mrs. SwafF- ham, "and she has a new receipt from her sister Arming- ford for brewing a drink against sleeplessness. It is to be made from the blue flowers picked from the knaps." "That is fortunate," said Matilda. "You know that my father has poor health, and his liking for study makes him aihng, of late. He sleeps not. I wish that I had a composing draught for him. Come, Jane, let us go to the still-room." She spoke with an unconscious air of authority, and Jane as unconsciously obeyed it, but there was a cold- ness in her manner which did not disappear until the R lO THE LION'S WHELP il ; 1 !«i ■ i royalist lady had talked with her for half-an-hour about the spices and the distilled waters that were to prevail against the Earl's sleeplessness. When the electuary had been prepared, the girls became silent. They were as remarkably contrasted as were the tenets, religious and civil, for which they stood. But if mere physical ascendency could have dominated Jane SwafF- ham, she was in its presence. Yet it was not Matilda, but Jane, who filled the cool, sweet place with a sense of power not to be disputed. Her pale hair was full of light and life ; it seemed to shine in its waving order anc crown-like coil. Her eyes had a steady glow in their depths that was invin- cible ; her slight form was proudly poised ; her whole man- ner resolute and a* little cold, as of one who was putting down an offense only half-foi^iven. Matilda was conscious of Jane's influence, and she called all her own charms forth to rival it. Putting out of ac- count her beautiful face and stately figure as not likely to affect Jane, she assumed the manner she had never known to fail — a manner half-serious and wholly affectionate and confidential. She knew that SwafFham was always a safe subject, and that a conversation set to that key went di- rectly to Jane's heart. So, turning slowly round to observe everything, she said, " How cool and sweet is this place, Jane ! " " It is, Matilda. I often think that one might receive angels among these pure scents." *» Oh, I vow it is the rosemary ! Let me put my hands through it," and she hastily pulled off her white em- broidered gloves, and passed her hands, shining with gems through the deliciously fn^rant green leaves. " I have a passion for rosemary," she continued. " Ii always perfigures good fortune to me. Sometimes if I wake SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK II in the night I smell it— I smell miles of it— and then I know my angel has been to see me, and that some good thing will tread in her footsteps." " I ever think of rosemary for burials," said Jane. " And I for bridals, and for happiness j but it " * Grows for two ends, it matters not at all. Be it for bridal, or for burial.' " " That is true, " answered Jane. »* I remember hearing my father say that when Queen Elizabeth made her joyful entry into London, every c -e carried rosemary posies ; and that Her Grace kept in her hand, from the Fleet Bridge to Westminster, a branch of rosemary that had been given her by a poor old woman." " That was a queen indeed ! Had she reigned this day, there had been no Cromwell." " Who can tell that ? England had to come out of the Valley and Shadow of Popery, and it is the Lord General's sword that shall lead her into the full light— there is some- thing round your neck, Matilda, that looks as if you were still in darkness." Then Matilda laughed and put her hand to her throat, and slipped into her bosom a rosary of coral and gold beads. " It was my mother's," she said ;** you know that she was of the Old Profession, and I wear it for her I sake." " It is said that Charles Stuart also wears one for his I mother's sake." " It is a good man that remembers a goof' mother ; and I the King is a good man." " There is no king in England now, Matilda, and no [question of one." "There is a king, whether wc will or no. The king !^ I 11.! ■4 ,2 THE LION'S WHELP never dies ; the crown is the crown, though it hang on a hedge bush." " That is frivolous nonsense, Matilda. The Parliament is king." " Oh, the pious gang ! This is a strange thing that has come to pass in our day, Jane— that an anointed king should be deposed and slain. Who ever heard the like ? " " Read your histories, Matilda. It is a common thinj for tyrannical kings to have their executioners. Charlei Stuart suffered lawfully and by consent of Parliament." "A most astonishing difference!" answered Matilda drawing on her gloves impatiently, " to be murdered wit! consent of Parliament ! that is lawful ; without consent o Parliament, that is very wicked indeed. But even as a mai you might pity him." "Pity him! Not I! He has his just reward. H bound himself for his enemies with cords of his own spin ning. But you will not see the truth, Matilda " " So then, it is useless wasting good Puritan breath o me. Dear Jane, can we never escape this subject ? Hen in this sweet room, why uo we talk of tragedies ? " Jane was closing the still-room door as this question wi asked, and she took her friend by the arm and said, " Com( and I will show you a room in which another weal wicked king prefigured the calamity that came to his su( cessor in our day." Then she opened a door in the san tower, and they were in a chamber that was, even on th warm harvest day, cold and dark. For the narrow loo] hole window had not been changed, as in the still-room, f wide lattices ; and the place was mouldy and empty ai pervaded by an old, unhappy atmosphere. « What a wretched room ! It will give me an ague said Matilda. SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK >3 ** It was to this room King John came, soon after his barons had compelled him to sign the Great Charter of Liberties. And John was only an earlier Charles Stuart — just as tyran- nical — just as false — and his barons were his parliament. He lay on the floor where you are now standing, and in his passion bit and gnawed the green rushes with which it was strewed, and cursed the men who he said had *■ made them- selves twenty-four over-kings.* So you see that it is not a new thing for Englishmen to war against their kings." « Poor kings ! " ** They should behave themselves better." " Let us go away. I am shivering." Then as they turned frc 1 1 the desolate place, she said with an attempt at indifference, " When did you hear from Cymlin ? And pray in what place must I remember him now ? " " I know not particularly. Wherever the Captain-Gen- eral is, there Cymlin SwafFham is like to be." "At Ely, they were talking of Cromwell as near to Edinburgh." " Then we shall hear tidings of him soon. He goes not anywhere for nothing." " Why do you not ask after Stephen's fortune— good or bad ? •' " I did not at the moment think of Stephen. When Cromwell is in the mind 'tis impossible to find him fit com- pany. It is he, and he only." " Yet if ever Stephen de Wick gets a glimpse of home, it is not home to him until he has been at SwafFham." Jane made no answer, and they walked silently to the 1 door where Matilda's carriage was waiting. Mrs. SwafF- ham joined them as Matilda was about to leave, and the girl said, « I had come near to forgetting something I wished to [tell you. . One of tho;^'^ ^en r^Wnd Quakers was preaching f 14 THE LION'S WHELP ■*!! 'i I ■• H Then his new religion at Squire Oliver Leder's last night. was much disputing about him to-day." " I wonder then," said Mr., SwafFham, " that we were not asked. I have desired to hear some of these men. It ii said they are mighty in the Scriptures, and that they preacli peace, which — God knows — is the doctrine England now needs." " Many were there. I heard of the Flittons and Moss- leys and the TrafFords and others. But pray what is the good of preaching * peace ' when Cromwell is going up and down the land with a drawn sword. It is true also thai these Quakers themselves always bring quarreling and per- secution with them." " That is not their fault," said Jane. " The preacher can only give the Word, and if people will quarrel about it and rend it to and fro, that is not the preacher's fault. But, indeed, all testify that these people called Quakers quake at nothing, and are stiff and unbendable in their own way." " So are the Independents, and the Anabaptists, and the Presbyterians, and the Fifth Monarchy Men, and the Root and Branch Men, and " " The Papists, and the Episcopalians," added Jane. " Faith ! No one can deny it." "What said Lady Heneage of the preacher?" asked Mrs. Swaffham. " She thought he ought to be put in the stocks ; and her sister Isabel said that he was a good man, and had the root of the matter in him. Madame Flitton was of the Tame opinion, though she did not feel at liberty to approve en- tirely. Others considered him full of temper and very for- ward, and the argument was hot, and quite Christian-like. I heard that he was to preach again at Deeping Den. Now I must make what haste I can ; my father will be SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK faithful tiU we meet angrjr at my delay. Good-bye! again." "She says » faithful,' yet knows not how to be faithful " Mrs. Swaffham did not answer Jane's remark. She was thinkmg of the Quaker sermon at Oliver Leder's, and won- dering why they had not been asked to hear it "We ought to have been asked," she said to Jane as they turned into the house. " Leaving out SwafFham was bad treat- ment and when I say bad, I mean bad. Did Matilda take the electuary for her father ? " "She was very little in earnest, and had fomotten it but for my reminding." " She is much changed." "It would be' strange indeed if she was not changed. Before these troubles she was a girl living at her mother's knee, petted by her father, and the idol of her brothers. Two of her brothers fell fighting by the side of Prince l7r^'l: ^'\'''''^\^^P' herself into the grave for them her father is still nursing the wound he got at Naseby. and her only brother, Stephen, is with Charles Stuart, wher- ever he may be. If such troubles did not change a girl, she would be hewn from the very rock of selfishness. Matilda IS far from that. She loves with a whole heart, and wiU go all lengths to prove it. We do not know the new Matilda yet* Jane would have made this remark still more positively. If she could have seen her friend as soon as Swaffham was left behind. She sat erect, lost in thought, and her eyes had a look in them full of anxiety and sorrow. The sad- ness of an immense disillusion was over her. But she be- longed to that imperial race who never lose heart in any trouble. To the very last she must hope ; to the very last believe even against hope and against reason. Her life had iMIIilifiliiita i6 THE LION'S WHELP gone to ruin, but she trusted that some miracle would re- store it. Not for long could any mood of despair subdue her; infallibly she must shake it away. For there was no egotism in her grief, she could suffer cheerfully with others; it was her isolation that hurt her. All her old friends had departed. The grave had some; others had taken different ways, or battle and exile had scattered them. By the side of her sick father she stood alone, feeling that even Jane — her familiar friend— doubted her, no longrr took her at her word, called in question what she said, and held herself so far aloof that she could not reach her heart. Oppressed by such considerations, she felt like a child that suddenly realises it has lost its way and is left alone in a wilderness. Nothing in her surroundings offered her any help. The road was flat and dreary ; a wide level intersected with deep drains and " droves "—a poor, rough, moist land, whose hori- zon was only broken by the towers of Ely, vast and graj in the distance. Large iron gates admitted her to de Wici park, and she entered an avenue bordered with ash trees veiled in mist, and spreading out on either hand into a greet chase full of tame deer. The House— pieced on to th< broad walls of an Augustine monastery — was overshadowed by ash trees. It was a quadrangular building of variou dates, the gray walls rising from trim gardens with box edged flower plots and clipped yew hedges. There was large fish pond teeming with perch, and pike, and eels ; an black colonies of rooks filled the surrounding trees, an perched on the roof of the mansion. An old-world sleep air, lonely and apart and full of melancholy, pervaded th place. But all these things were part and parcel of the woi Home. Matilda regarded them not in particular, they onl SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK «7 affected her unconsciously as the damp air or the gathering shadows of the evening did. The door stood open, and she passed without delay into the wide entrance hall. It was chill with the drifting fog, and dark with the coming night shadows i but there was a good fire of ash logs at the upper end, and she stood a few minutes before it, feeling a cer- tain exhilaration in its pleasant warmth and leaping flame. Then she went leisurely up the broad stairway. It was of old oak with curiously carved balusters, surmounted by gro- tesque animal forms; but she did not notice these ugly creations as she climbed with graceful lassitude the dark steps, letting her silk robe trail and rustle behind her. Her hat, with its moist drooping feathers, was in her hand ; her hair hung limply about her brow and face ; she was the very picture of a beauty that had suffered the touch of adverse nature, and the depression of unsympathetic humanity. But the moment she entered her own room she had the sense of covert and refreshment. Its dark splendour of oak and damask was brought out by the glow and flame of fire- light and candle-light j and her maid came forward with that I air of affectionate service, w^-ch in Matilda's present mood seemed of all things most grateful and pleasant. She put ofl:* her sense of alienation and unhappiness with her damp clothing, and as the comfort of renewal came to her out- wardly, the inner woman also regained her authority } and the giri conscious of this potent personality, erected herself m its strength and individuality. She surveyed her freshly Iclad form in its gown of blue lutestring ; she turned right land left to admire a fresh arrangement of her hair; she put jaround her neck, without pretense of secrecy or apology, •Jhe rosary of coral and gold; and admired the tint and bhimmer of its beauty on her white throat. Then the 'sked — f 18 THE LION'S WHELP " Was any stranger with the Earl at dinner, Delia f " " My lady, he dined with Father Sacy alone." ** And pray what did they eat for dinner ? " "There was a sucking pig roasted with juniper wood and rosemary branches, and a jugged hare, and a pullet, and some clotted cream and a raspberry tart. All very good, my lady ; will you please to eat something ? " " Yes. I will have some jugged hare, and some clotted cream, and a raspberry tart — and a gla§s of Spanish wine, Delia, and 1 pitcher of new milk. Have them served » soon as possible." " In what room, my lady ? " " In wha. room is the Earl, my father, now sitting ? " " In the morning room." " Then serve it in the morning room." She took one comfortable glance at herself, and in the pleasure of its assurance went down-stairs. Her step was now firm and rapid, yet she paused a moment at the dooi of the room she wished to enter, and called up smiles to her face and a sort of cheerful bravado to her manner cw she lifted the steel hasp that admitted her. In a moment her quick eyes took a survey of its occupants. They were only two men — Earl de Wick, and his chaplain, Fathei Sacy. Both were reading; the Earl, Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia t the Chaplain, the Evening Service in the Book of Common Prayer. Neither of them noticed herentrancCj and she went straight to her father's side, and covering the open page with her hand, ^aid in a merry tone — " Here is a noble knight dwelling in Arcadia, while the great Captain-Geneiai Cromwell " « The devil ! " " Is going up and down and to and fro in the land, seeking whom he may devour. I have been at Ely and at SwaflF- ! SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK 19 ham, gathering what news I can, and I asture you, »ir, there is none to our comfort." " What have you heard ? Anything about the Scots ? " "Cromwell is in Scotland. What do you expect from that news ? " " That Leslie will be his match." " Then you will be disappointed. » There is a tide in the affairs of men,' and this tide of Cromwell and the Com- monwealth is going to sweep all royalty and all nobility into the deep sea." " Well, then, I may as well return to my Arcadia and learn how to be rustical. We nobles may play at Canute if we like — but — but " " It is useless, while this man's star flames in the firma- ment. I hear that the Parliament rose bareheaded to re- ceive him when he last entered the House. If he were king, they could have done no more. They have als. given to him and his family a royal lodging in the Cockpit, and already the women are removed thither. If he con- quers the Scotch army, what more can they offer him but the crown ? " " Those unlucky Stuarts ! They will swallow up all England's chivaliy. Oh, for one campaign with Queen Elizabeth at its head ! She would send old Oliver with his Commonwealth to the bottomless pit, and order him to tell the devil that Elizabeth Tudor sent him there." " The Stuarts are of God's anointing j and there arc bad kings, and unlucky kings in all royal houses. I stood to- day where King John lay cursing and biting the rushes on the floor, because his barons had made themselves his over- kings." "John's barons had some light,' said the Earl. " They hated John for the reason England now hates the Stuarts. f ao THE LION'S WHELP ■.i:,i, , 3 i W^. *^-" I M He perjured himself neck deep i he brought in foreign troops to subjugate Englishmen ; he sinned in all things as Charles Stuart has sinned." " Sir, are you not going too far ? " asked the Chaplain, lifting his eyes from his book. " I thought you were at your prayers, father. No, by all that is truthful, I am right ! In the Great Charter, the barons specially denounce King John as * regem ptrjuntm ac baronibui rtbilUm: The same thing might fairly be said of Charles Stuart. Yet while a Stuart is King of England, it is the de Wicks' duty to stand by him. But I would to God I had lived when Elizabeth held the sceptre ! No Cromwell had smitten it out of her hand, as Cromwell smote it from the hand of Charles on Naseby's field." " That is supposition, my Lord." " It is something more, father. Elizabeth had to deal with a fiercer race than Charles had, but she knew how tc manage it. Look at the pictures of the de Wicks in hei time. They are the pictures of men who would stand foi their rights against * prerogative' of any kind, yet the greai Queen made them obey her lightest word. How did sh< do it ? I will tell you — she scorned to lie to them ; an< she was brave as a lion. If she had wanted the Fiv< Members in the Tower of Lon-^on, they would have gon< to the Tower of London ; her crown for it ! It was mj great-grandfather who held her bridal reins when she re viewed her troops going to meet the Spaniards of th( Armada. No hesitating, no tampering, no doubts, no fear moved her. She spoke one clear word to them, and shi threw herself unreservedly upon their love and loyalty * Let tyrants fear ! ' she cried. ' I have placed my chie strength in the loyal hearts of my subjects, and I am com amongst you resolved to live or die amongst you all — t SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK ai lay down for God, and my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have thf body of a wt k woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a King of England, too i and I think foul scorn that Spain, or any prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of my realm ! ' This was Elizabeth's honest temper, and if Charles Stuart in throwing himself upon his nobles and his country had been true to them, he would never have gone to the scaffold. This I say boldly, and I mean what I say." " Sir, nuny would mistake your words, and think you less than loyal." " Father, I have proved my loyalty with my children and my blood ; but among my own people and at my own hearth, I may say that I would I had better reason for my loyalty. I am true to my king, but above all else, I love my coun- try. I love her beyond all words, though I am grateful to one great Englishman for finding me words that I have dipped in my heart's blood ; words that I uttered on the battle-field joyfully, when I thought they were my i«st words — " < thii blessed spot, this earth, this realm, this England, Thia land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land ! ' " " If to this degree you love England, father, how would you like to see this beggarly Cromwell upon her throne ? How would you teach your head to bow to this upstart majesty ? " " Matilda, to the devil we may give his due, and there is naught of * beggary ' in Cromwell or in his family. They have entertained kings, and sat with nobles as equals, and as for the man himself, he is a gentleman by birth and breed- ing. I say it, for I have known him his life long, and if p 22 THE LION'S WHELP M you add every crime to his name, I will still maintain that he has sinned with ^ clear conscience. He stood by Charles Stuart, and strove to save him until he found that Charles Stuart stood by no man, and could be trusted by no man." " My lord, you are very just to the man Cromwell. Some would not thank you for it." " If we cannot be just, father, we may doubt the fair- ness of our cause, perhaps also of our motives. *Tis im- possible to consider this man's life since he walked to the front of the Parliamentary army and not wonder at it." " He is but the man of the hour, events have made him." " Not so ! His success is in him, 'tis the breed of his own heart and brain. Well, then, this Scotch campaign is the now or never of our effort. If it fail, we may have a Cromwell dynasty." " 'Tis an impossible event. The man has slain the king of England and throttled the Church of Christ. Even this holy Book in my hand has his condemnation — these gracious prayers and collects, whose music is ready made for every joy and sorrow— this noble Creed which we ought to sing upon our knees, for nothing made of English words was ever put together like it— yet you know how Cromwell's Root and Branch men have slandereu it." " Alas, father ! one kind of Christian'generally slanders all other kinds. The worshipers of the heathen gods were ai least tolerant. A pagan gentleman who had faith in his own image of Bona Dea could still be friendly to an ac- quaintance who believed in Jupiter. But we are not ever civil to our neighbours unless they think about our God jus as we do." ** What say you if, for once, we part without Cromwcl between our good-wills and our good-nights? Father, have seen to-day a fan of ostrich feathers } 'tis with Gaiu Mil SWAFFHAM AND DE WICK n the packman, who will be here in the morning. Also, 1 want some housewifery stores, and some embroidery silks, and ballads, and a book of poems written by one Mr. John Milton, who keeps a school in London." "I know the man. We will have none of rir, poems.** " But, father, I may have the other things ? " " You will take no nay-say." " Then a gopd-night, sir ! " " Not yet. I will have my pay for ' the other things.' You shall sing to me. Your lute lies there. Come—* It is early in the morning.' " She was singing the first line as she went for her lute, and de Wick closed his eyes and lay smiling while the old, old ditty filled the room with its sweetness — " It is early in the morning. At the very break of day. My Love and I go roaming. All in the woods so gay. The dew like pearl drops bathes our feet. The sweet dcwdrops of May *' In the sweetest place of any, < Mid the grasses thick and high Caring nothing for the dewdrops. That around us thickly lie. Bathed m glittering May-dew, Sit we there, my Love and I ! *' As we pluck the whitethorn blossom. As we whisper words of love. Prattling close beside the brooklet. Sings the Isrk, end coos the dove. Our feet are bathed in May-dew, And our hearts are bathed in love.'* f H THE LION'S WHELP Happily, tenderly, fell the musical syllables to the tin- kling lute, and as she drew to a close, still singing, she passed smiling out of the room ; leaving the door open however, so that they heard her voice growing sweetly softer and softer, and further and further away, until it left nothing but the delightsome echo in their hearts — «* Our feet are bathed in May-dew And our hearts are bathed in love." j 1 i i i 1 t mlHi C lAPTER II DOCTOR JOHN VERITY " Some trust in chariots and some in horses ; but wc will re- member the name of the Lord our God." " The Lord strong and mighty ; the Lord mighty in battle." As Matilda went singing up the darksome stairway, the moon rose in the clear skies and flooded the place with a pallid, fugitive light. In that uneanhly glow she looked like some spiritual being. It gave to her pale silk robe a heavenly radiance. It fell upon her white hands touching the lute, and upon her slightly raised face, revealing the rapt expression of one who is singing with the heart as well as with the lips. The clock struck nine as she reached the topmost step, and she raised her voice to I'rown the chiming bell ; and so, in a sweet crescendo of melody, passed out of sight and out of hearing. About the same time, Mrs. SwafFham and Jane stood together on the eastern terrace of the Manor House, silently admiring the moonlight over the level land. But in a few moments Jane began in a low voice to recite the first verse of the one hundred and third Psalm ; her mother took the second verse, they clasped hands, and as they slowly paced the grassy walk they went with antiphonal gladness through the noble thanksgiving together. The ninety-first Psalm followed it, and then Mrs. SwaflPham said — '*^ow, Jane, let us go to bed and try to sleep. I haven't been worth a rush to-day for want of my last night's sleep. There's a deal to do to-morrow, and it won't be done im- 96 26 THE LION'S WHE^^ m I ^ I i m less I am at the bottom of everything. My soul, too, is wondrous heavy to-night. I keep asking it ' Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within me ? ' and I get no answer from it." " You must add counsel to inquiry, mother. Finish the verse — ' Trust thou in God, and thou shalt yet praise Him, who is the health of thy countenance, and thy God.' You see, you are to answer yourself." " I didn't think of that, Jane. A sad heart is poor com- pany, isn't it ? " " There is an old saying, mother, — * A merry heart goes all the day.' " " But who knows how much the merry heart may have to carry ? There is another saying still older, Jane, that is a good deal better than that. It is God's grand charter of help, and you'll find it, dear, in Romans eighth and twenty- eighth. I can tell you, my heart would have failed me many and many a time, it would indeed, but for that verse." " Are you troubled about my father and brothers ? " " Oh, Jane, that is the sword point at my heart. Any hour it may pierce me. Cromwell went to Scotland, and what for but to fight ? and my men-folk have not charmed lives." " But their lives are hid with Christ in God ; nothing can hurt them, that is not of His sending." " Yes ! Yes ! But I am a wife and a mother, and you know not yet what that means, Jane. All day I have been saying — no matter what my hands were doing — let this cup pass me. Lord. If your father fell ! — if John, or Cymlin, or Tonbert were left on the battle-field ! Oh, Jane ! Jane ! " and the terror that had haunted her all day and shown it- self in an irrepressible fretfulness, now sought relief in tean and sobbing. Jane kissed and comforted the sorrowful DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 27 woman. She led her up-stairs, and helped her into the sanc- tuary of sleep by many brave and hopeful words ; and it so happened that she finally uttered a promise that had once been given to the anxious wife and mother, as a sacred se- cret token of help and deliverance. And when she heard the gracious words dropping from Jane's lips she said — " That is sufficient. Once, when I was in great fear for your father, the Lord gave me that assurance ; now He sends it by you. I am satisfied. I will lay me down and sleep ; the words will sing in my heart all night long," and she said them softly as Jane kissed her—" ' From the begin- ning of our journey, the Lord delivered us from every enemy.' " Then Jane went to her own room. It was a large, low room on the morning side of the house, and it was an illus- tration of the girl — a place of wide, free spaces, and no fur- niture in it that war for mere ornament — a small tent bed draped with white dimity, a dressing-table equally plain and spotless, a stand on which lay her Bible, a large oak chair of unknown age, and two or three chairs of the simplest form made of plaited rushes and willow wands. Some pots of sweet basil and geranium were in the casements, and the place was permeated with a peace and perfume that is inde- scribable. To this sweet retreat Jane went with eager steps. She closed the door, slipped the iron bolt into its place, and then lit a rush candle. The light was dim, but sufficient. In it she disrobed herself, and loosened the long braids of pale brown hair ; then she put out the candle and let the moon- light flood the room, make whiter the white draperies, and add the last ravishing touch of something heavenly, and something apart from the sphere of our unrest and sorrow. For some time she sat voiceless, motionless. Was she 28 THE LION'S WHELP dreaming of happiness, or learning to suffer ? Neither, con- sciously ; she was " waiting " on the Eternal, waiting for that desire God Himself forms in the soul — that secret voice that draws down mercies and spiritual favours which no one knoweth but they who receive them. And Jane was well aware that it was only in the serene depth of a quiescent will she could rise above the meanness of fear and the selfishness of hope, and present that acceptable prayer which would be omnipotent with God :— omnipo- tent, because so wonderfully aided by all those strange things and secret decrees and unrevealed transactions which are beyond the stars ; but which all combine in min- istry with the praying soul. That night, however, she could not escape the tremor and tumult of her own heart, and the sorrowful apprehension of her mother. Peace was far from her. She sat almost breathless, she rose and walked softly to and fro, she stood with uplifted thoughts in the moonlit window — nothing brought her clarity and peace of mind. And when at length she fell into the sleep of pure weariness, it was haunted by dreams full of turmoil and foreshadowings of calamity. She awoke weary and unrefreshed, and with a sigh opened a casement and looked at the outer world again. How good it seemed ! In what gray, wild place of sorrow and suffering had she been wandering? She did not know its moors and bogs, and the noise of its black, rolling waters. How different were the green terraces of Swaff ham ! the sweet beds of late lilies and autumn flow- ers ! the rows of tall hollyhocks dripping in the morning mist ! A penetrating scent of marjoram and lavender was in the air, a sense, too, of ended summer, in spite c ' the lilies and the stately hollyhocks. She came dowr. v^ S a smile, but her mother's face was wan and tired. « DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 29 " I hoped I should have had a good dream last night, Jane," she said sadly, " but I dreamt nothing to the pur- pose. I wonder when we shall have a letter. I do not feel able to do anything to-day. I'm not all here. My mind runs on things far away from SwafFham. I am going to let some of the work take its own way for a week. In all conscience, we should have news by that time." So the anxious days went by for a week, and there was still no word. Then Jane went over to de Wick, hoping that the Earl might have news from his son, which would at least break the voiceless tension of their fears. But the Earl was in the same state— restless, perplexed, wistfully eager concerning the situi.tion of the opposing armies. In their mutual sorrowful conjectures they forgot their polit- ical antipathies, and a loving apprehension drew them to- gether i they could not say unkind things, and Jane was even regretful for her cool attitude towards Matilda on her last visit to SwafFham. They drew close to each other, they talked in low voices of the absent, they clasped hands as they walked together through the lonely park in the autumn afternoon. They also agreed that whoever had news first should send a swift messenger to the other, no matter what the tidings should be. When they parted, Jane kissed her friend, a token of love she had not given her for a long time, and Matilda was so affected by this return of sympathy that she covered her face with her hands and wept. « Oh, Jane ! " she said, « I have been so lonely ! " And as Jane answered her with affectionate assurances, there came into her heart a sudden anticipation of intelli- gence. Without consideration, with no purpose of mere encouragement, she said confidently — "There is sonw one on the way. I seem to hear them coming." So they parted, and Jane brought home with her a hope which 30 THE LION'S WHELP m would not be put down. Her face was so bright and he voice so confident that her mother felt the influence of he spirit, and anon shared it. The night was too damp an chill for their usual bedtime walk on the terrace, bu* the sat together on the hearth, knitting and talking until th evening was far spent. Then Mrs. SwafFham dropped he work upon her lap, and she and Jane negan their privat evening exercise : " Then said he unto me, thou art sore troubled in min for Israel's sake ; lovest thou that people better than H that made them ? " And I said. No, Lord, but of very grief have I spoken for my reins pain me every hour, while I labour to compre hend the way of the most High, and to seek out p?Jt c His judgment. " And he said unto me, thou canst not. And I sai wherefore. Lord, whereunto was I born then ? or why wa not my mother's womb my grave, that I might not hav seen the travail of Jacob, and the wearisome toil of th stock of Israel ? " And he said unto me, number me the things that ai not yet come ; gather me together the drops that are sea tered abroad; make me the flowers green again thatai withered. " Open me the places that are closed, and bring me fort the winds that in them are shut up ; show me the image < a voice ; and then I will declare to thee the thing that the labourest to know. "'■ And I said, O Lord that bearest rule ; who may kno thes things, but he that hath not his dwelling with mer " As for me I am unwise ; how may I speak of the things whereof thou askest me ? ^^ Then he said unto me, like as thou canst do none iiiiiiiiiMiiii ^rngm DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 3« these things that I have spoken of, even so canst thou not find out my judgment ; or in the end, the love that I have promised unto my people." And when the short anti )hony was finished, they kissed each other a hopeful " good-night," being made strong in this — that they had put self out of their supplication, and been only ** troubled in mind for Israel's sake." All were in deep sleep when the blast of a trumpet and the trampling of a h-^avily-shod horse on the stones cf the courtyard awakened them. Jane's quick ear detected at once the tone of triumph in the summons. She ran to her mother's room, and found her at an open window. She was calling aloud to the messenger, " Is it you. Doctor Ver- ity ? " and the answer came swift and strong, ere the ques- tion was fairly asked — " It is I, John Verity, with the blessing of God, and good tidings." " Get your horse to «!ta61e, Doctor, and we will be down to welcome you." The next moment the house was astir from one end to the othei — bells were ringing, lights mov- ing hither and thither, men and women running down- stairs, and at the open door Mrs. SwafFham and Jane waiting for the messenger, their eager faces and sh'ning eyes f\il of hope and expectation. He kept them waiting until he had seen his wcaiy horse attended to, then hurrying across the courtyard he clasped the hands held out in welcome, and with a blessing on his lips came into the lighted room. It was joy and strength to look at him. His bulk was like that of the elder gods j his head like an antique marble, his hazel eyes beaming, joyous, and full of that light which comes " from within." I A man of large mind as well as of large stature, with a simple, good heart, that could never grow old ; strong and 3» THE LION'S WHELP courageous, yet tender as a girl ; one who in the battle of life would always go to the front. So it was good even to see him, and how much better to hear him say — "Israel SwafFham is well, and God hath given us a great victory." « And John ? " " I left him following after the enemy. We have smit- ten them hip and thigh j we " "AndCymlin?" " He was guarding the prisoners. We have ten thou- sand of them, and " " And Tonbert ? " " Nothing has hurt him. He was in a strait for one five minutes ; but I cried to him—' Set thy teeth, and fight for thy life, Tonbert ; ' and he came sa'Vily away with the col- ouis in his hands, when he had slai: o of the rogues who wanted them." " Now then, we shall have peace. Doctor ? " u No use, Martha, in crying peace ! peace ! when peace is wickedness. Our Protestant liberty was won by men willing to go to the stake for it ; our civil liberty can only be won by men wi^'ing to go to the battle-field for it. But here come the beef and bread, and I am a hungry man. Let me eat and drink. And you women, bless the Lord and forget not all His benefits." It was not long before he took a pipe from his pocket, lit it, and drew his chair to the hearthstone. " Now we will talk," he said. " When did you hear of us last ? " "About the tenth of August. You were then in camp near Edinburgh," said Mrs. SwafFham. « To be sure— having a paper war with the Kirk and David Leslie. It was little to Cromwell's liking, and ho DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 33 more to David Leslie's; both of them would rather defi. nee of battle than Declarations from the General Assem- b^. They came to nothing, and as the weather was bad and our provisions short, and our men falling sick beyond "nag.nat.on, we retreated to Dunbar to fortify and recruit. Then the cunn.ng Scots got behind us and blocked up our r/;K Z" uZ" '" * ^"^ '"^^ ^^^^ ^tween Leslie ad the black Nonh Sea-in a trap, and no less. For the tion Di/r.^ K^T^'" '^^^^ defeat, yes, annihila. t.on D.d he lose heart ? Not a bit of it. He sent word south to get men ready to meet Leslie, whatever became of us i and then he watched and waited and prayed. Such prayer! Martha. I saw him lifting up his sword to heaven -I heard h.m speaking to God-pressing forward and up- M^ard-bent on prevailing-taking heaven by assaulV About three o'clock on the morning of the battle'l went to Crl .''" ^" ^"^'^"' '^' '"^^ ^"« *t arms, and Cromwell was go.ng from troop to troop encouraging them And he sm.led joyfully and said : he'hliV' '" ""{ ^"'^ J^""- ^'^"^ '^"^ ^'^'^^ had said all e had to say, then God spoke. Indeed I have great con- solations. I know, and am s.-re, that because of our weak- ness, because of our strait, the Lor.1 will deliver us. But tell the men that whoever has a heart for pniyer, must prav now; and then quit themselves like men^th^re 7s She watch.ng and helping them.' batti J^T"'""" T'"* "°' ""derstand the setting of the an that r ""' • ^J' "^'"^ '' '°"^ '" '*»^ "-"'"g' and that by n.ne o'clock there -vas no longer a Scotch mZVuT "^ °^ '' ^'" ^^*'" •" '^' »««le, many more k.lled .„ pursu.t. We had aU their baggage and ar^ tJIeiy. besides fifteen thousand stand of armT^Ttwo tun V 34 THE LION'S WHELP drcd colours to hang up in Westminster Hall — and not twenty Englishmen killed. The Scots came forward^hout- ing, * The Covenant ! The Covenant!' and Croi ^ell thun- dered back, * The Lord of Hosts!' His voice seemed to fill the field. It was heard above the clash of the swords, and the shouting of the captains— and it was caught by thousands of other voices — above the bellowing of the cannon. It was an invocation, it was a shout of triumph, and indeed The Lord of Hosts was above The Covenant" " Oh, if I could have seen Cromwell at that onset ! just for a moment ! " exclaimed Jane. " At the onset ! Yes ! It is something never to forget. He leaps to his horse, rides to the head of his troop, and gallops it to the very front of the battle. I saw him at Dunbar, his Ironsides in bufF and rusty steel shouting after him — sons of Anak most of them — God's soldiers, not men's ; and led by one whose swoop and stroke in battle no one ever saw equaled. All through the fight he was a pillar of fire to us ; and just when it was hottest the sun rose upon the sea, and Cromwell took it for a sign of pres- ent victory, and shouted to his army, ' Now let God arise, and His enemies shall be scattered.' " " I can see him ' I can hear him ! " cried Jane. " And at that moment, the Scots broke and fled, and the field was ours. Then he called a halt, and to steady his men and fire them afresh for the pursuit, he sang with us the one hundred and seventeenth Psalm. And one troop after another caught the words, and for t -> miles men lean- ing upon their swords were singing, * O ^raise the Lord all ye nations : praise Him all ye people. For His merciful kindness is great towards us, and the truth of the Lord en- dureth forever. Praise ye the Lord ! ' I tell you there DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 35 was joyful clamour enough on Dunbar's swampy field to make |he sky ring about it." "And what of Israel Swaffham ? He did his part ? I know that," said Mrs. Swaffham. " He led his own troop of the solid fen men of Cam- bridgeshire. I saw their blue banner waving wherever Tonbcrt carried it." " And John ? " "Was with Lambert's Yorkshiremen. No one could resist them. Cymlin rode with Cromwell. Cymlin was never behindhand yet." " I thank God for my men. I give them gladly to His Cause." Jane's face was radiant, anvi tears of enthusiasm filled her eyes. She kissed the doctor proudly, and ran to send a messenger to de Wick with the tidings of Dunbar. When she returned she sat down by his side, and leaning her head against his arm, began to question him : " Dr. John, at Marston Moor Leslie fought with Crom- well, was with him in that glorious charge, where he got* the name of Ironside. Why then was he fighting against Cromwell at Dunbar ? " " The Scotch have had many minds in this war, Jane. Just now they are determined to make Presbyterianism domi- nant in England, and give us the young man, Charles Stuart, for our king. And Englishmen will not have either King or Presbytery. As far as that goes, most of them would rather take the Book of Common Prayer than touch the Scotch Covenant. And as for the young man, Charles Stuart, he is false as hell from his beard to his boots ; false to the Scots, false to the English, true to no one." " And you. Doctor, how do you feel ? " " My little girl, I was born an Independent. I have \'. 36 THE LION'S WHELP preached and suffered for liberty of conscience ; if I could deny it, I would deny my baptism. I'll do neither— not while my name is John Verity." Then Jane lifted his big hand and kissed it, a a an- swered, " I thought so ! " " And if England wants a king," he continued, " she can make one ; she has good men enough to choose from." " Some say that Cromwell will make himself king." " Some people know no more of Cromwell than a mite knows of a cheesemonger. Nevertheless, Cromwell is the Captain of England. He has expressed her heart, he has done her will." " Yet he is not without faults," said Mrs. SwafFham. " I don't see his faults, Martha. I see only him. Great men may have greater faults than little men can find room for ; and Cromwell is beloved of God, and therefore not always explainable to men." « He has dared to do many things which eyen his own party do not approve." « Jane, they who care will dare, though it call flame upon them. And Cromwell loves to lead on the verge of the impossible, for it is then he can invoke the aid of the Omnipotent." " I thought the Scotch were a very good, religious people." « God made them to be good, but He knew they wouldn't be ; so He also made Oliver Cromwell." " Are you going further. Doctor ? " asked Mrs. SwafF- ham. « No, Martha. I mean to stay here until the General** messenger joins me. He sent a letter to London by the young Lord Cluny Neville, and «e took the direct road there, so we parted very early in the day ; but he calls here for me on his return, and we shall go back together, if $o DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 37 God wills, to £dinbui]gh. And now, Jane SwafFham, if thou be a discreet young woman, be careful of the young Lord Cluny Neville." " Why am I warned. Doctor ? ** ** Because he is one of those men who take women cap- tive with his beauty — a very gracious youth — a great lover of the General, and much loved by him." " I never heard you speak of Lord Cluny Neville before." ^* Because I did not know him before. He came into our camp at Musselburgh and offered Cromwell his s^ord. The two men looked at each other steadily for a full niin> ute, and in that minute Cromwell loved the young man. He saw down into his heart, and trusted him. Later, he told me that he reminded him of his own son, Oliver, who, as you know, was killed in battle just before Naseby. He has set his heart on the youth, and shows him great favour. Some are jealous of the boy, and make a grumble that he is so much trusted." " How can they be so foolish ? I wonder the General suffers them. Surely he can have some one to love near him," said Mrs. Swaffham. " Well, Martha, it was part of the Apostle's wisdom to suffer fools gladly. My brother Oliver can do it; and there is nothing wiser or more difficult. I cannot do it. I would rough them ! rough them ! till they learnt their folly, and left it." " If this young Lord is taking a letter to Madame Crom- well, then why did not Israel write to me ? " *^ Oh, the unreasonableness of women ! Can a man write when he is in the saddle pursuing the enemy ? Israel and Lambert left immediately with seven regiments for Edin- burgh. He sent you words full of love and comfort } so did your sons ; what would you have, woman ? " 3« THE LION'S WHELP "^4 : j A [^ " The General wrote to the Generaless." " He wrote on the battle-field, the cries of the wounded and dying in his ears, all horror and confusion around him. He was giving orders about the arms and the artillery, and about the movement of the troops as he wrote. But he knew his wife and children were waiting in sore anxiety for news— and not expecting good news— and 'twas a miracle how he did write at all. No one else could have brought heart and hands to a pen." " I think Israel might have written." »* I'll be bound you do ! It's woman-like." " What do you think of the young Charles Stuart ? " asked Jane. " It is said he has taken the Covenant, and is turned pious." « I think worse of him than of his father. He is an unprincipled malignant— a brazen villain, changing and chopping about without faith in God or aian. Englishmen will have none of him— and the Scots can't force him on them." « Dunbar settled that ; eh. Doctor ? " " I should say that Dunbar has done the job for all the Presbyterian tribe." " liut oh, the sufFering, Doctor ! " said Mrs. SwafFham. "Think of that." «I do, Martha. But God's will be done. Let them suffer. In spite of Cromwell's entreaties and reasonings, they had taken in the Stuart to force him upon us as king a king who at this very moment, has a popish army fighting for him in Ireland ; who has Prince Rupert— red with the blood of Englishmen— at the head of ships stolen from us on a malignant account ; who has French and Irish shios constantly ravaging our coasts, and who is every day issuing commissions to raise armies in the very heart of DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 39 England to fight Englishmen. Treachery like this con- cerns all good people. Shall such a matchless, astonishing traitor indeed reign over us ? If we were willing for it, we should be worthy of ten thousand deaths— could ten thou- sand deaths be endured. Now let me go to rest. I am weary and sleepy, and have won the right to sleep. Give me a verse to sleep on." Mrs. SwafFham answered at once, as if she had been pondering the words, " * He lifted up his face to heaven, and praised the king of heaven. And said, from Thee cometh victory, from Thee cometh wisdom, and Thine is the glory, and I am Thy servant.' " " Thank you, Martha ; you have spoken well for me ; " and with a smile he turned his beaming eyes on Jane, and she said confidently — " *■ Strive for the truth unto death, and the Lord shall fight for thee.' " " Amen, Jane ! And as you have given me a word of Jesus, the son of Sirach, so will I give you both one, and you may ponder '" in your hearts — 'Many kings have sat down upon the ground, and one that was never thought of^ hath worn the crown.* " Then Mrs. SwafFham out her hand on the Doctor's arm to stay him, and shr ^, " Do you remember the flag the women of Hunt: and Ely gave to General Crom- well just before Nase ' " I do. It was a great lion — the lion of England guard- ing the Cross of England. And your Israel made the speech. I am not likely to forget it." ^j! '' Then you also remember that as Israel was; speaking, the east wind rose, and stretched wide-out the sill^ fi^cb, so that the big tawny lion watching the red cross ^'I'^flipl stnught above the General's bare head. And there was a 40 THE LION'S WHELP murmur of wonder, and then a great shout, and Israel pointing to the flag and the man below it, cried out — " Behold your Captain ! Cromwell ' is a lion's whelp— from the prey thou art gone up, my son— and unto Him shall the gathering of the people be.' " "I was standing with Mrs. Cromwell and the girls, said Janei " and at the shout he turned to them, and little Frances ran to him and he gave the flagstaff into your hand. Doctor, and then stooped and tied the child's tippet. Then Mary and I went closer, and to us he was just the same Mr. Cromwell that I knew years ago, when I sat on his knee, and put my arms round his neck, and he kissed me as tenderly as if I was one of his own little girls. But for all that, something of power and majesty clothed him like a garment, and the people generally feared to touch the hem of it." , _ " A lion's whelp ! " he said proudly, " and while Eng- lan(^'s lion has such whelps, she may make and unmake kings as is best for her." Then he lit his candle and went stamping down the flagged passage that led to his room. The men and women of the house were waiting there for a word, and with the open door in one hand and the candle in the other, he bade them good-mornin? with the notable verse Jane had given him for his own comfort. And as he did so, he suddenly remembered that these words had been written thousands of years ago for his encourage- ment i and he was filled with wonder at the thought, and he called out, " Men and women, all of you, listen once again to the word of the Lord — " * Strive for the truth unto death, and the Lord shall hght foryou.'" In the meantime Mrs. SwafFham and Jane v ere going •lowly up-stairs. " We can have two or three ho- s «1. ep. ■I DOCTOR JOHN VERITY 41 Jane," said Mrs. SwafFham; and Jane answered, " Yes " like one who either heard not, or cared not. Her mother understood. She said softly, " He was thinking of Cromwell when he said *one that was never thought of — about the crown I mean, Jane ? " " Yes, mother— 0//v/r Rex! " " It might be." " It ought to be. He has conquered England, Ireland, Scotland :— William of Normandy had not a third of his right." " I wish I could forget the man ; for I must lose myself for an hour or two, or I sha'l be good for nothing when daylight comes. You, too, Jane, go and sleep." She said, " Yes, mother." But sleep was a thousand miles away from Jane SwafFham. ii» CHAPTER III WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY *' Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence." " See that thou lovcst what is lovely." For the next three days there was a busy time at SwafF- ham. All the neighbours were summoned to hear the news, and a sermon from Dr. Verity ; and he did not spare the rod in the way of his calling. There were some wealthy young men present, and he let them know that they ought not to be present ; furthermore, he told them how many miles it was to Duty and to Scotland. " This is not a time," he said, " for men to be on their farms or in their shops getting a little money. '■Thm Shalt ' is written on life in characters just as terrible as * Thou Shalt Not.' It is not enough that you do not help the enemy ; you Shall shut your shop, you Shall leave your oxen untied ; you Shall take your musket, and never once think in your heart *■ Who is going to pay me for this busi- ness ? * You Shall go forth to serve God and to save Eng- land. If you, Squire Acton, would out, and you, Fermor, and you, Calthorpe, and Charmington and Garnier,you would draw men after you ; for many will follow if the candle be once lighted. By the mouth of John Verity, a servant of the Lord, you have this day got another call. Look inward and think over it. You say you love God ; you say you love England } what is love worth that hath a tongue but no 42 mi WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY • 43 hanil» i I told you these things before, and if you did not t'.ar mt, you ought to have heard me. Stand up and face the world, and say plainly, *■ I will%o,' or else, *■ I will not go.' You are Englishmen, you are obliged to own that name, and in the freedom or slavery, the gloiy or disgrace of England, you will be forced to share. You pray for England. Very well, that is your duty ; but it is serving God very much at your ease. God wants your hands as well as your prayers." ^* Against whom ? " asked Garnier. ^' Against this young Charles Stuart. He is a bolder liar than his father } he sticks at no perjury that answers his purpose. If you let him put shackles on you again, it will be a deed to make the devil blush — if he has any blushing' faculty in him." Then Acton rose and said, " Dr. Verity, I will go," and Calthorpe and Fermor followed, and the Doctor told theni to meet him at SwaiFham Market Cross the following dayi. " And I will say this thing to you," he added, " you are like . to have the good fortune of the man hired at the eleventh hour ; you will get the full penny for the last stroke. " And nolv," he continued, ** I have a few words for you, women. In times when everything seems on the perish, a deal depends on you. God knows there are troubles enough for us all, but some women are never wesuy of hunting for more. It is a poor business. Give it up. You know that you often make wretched days for yourselves, and every one you come across, about little things not worth minding. I have heard men that have been in tropic countries say *■ they hardly ever saw the lions and serpents they feared,' but that the Ries and the insects and the heat made their lives miserable enough. That is the way in most women's lives } they hear about sieges and battles and awful dotth. rfUriM^ THE LION'S WHELP but such things don't often come to their door-step. If they do, my experience is that women behave themselves nobly ; they lift up their heai# and meet their fate like men and Christians. ** I am bound to say, the main part of women's troubles comes from little things — from very little things. I've known a broken pitcher, or a slice of burned bread, or a smoky fire do the black business for a whole day. No matter what comes, women, keep a cheerful temper. Cheerfulness is the very coin of happiness. The devil loves a woman with a snappy, nagging temper j she does lots of business for him, without his helping her. I don't think any of you here will take his arles-penny, or work for his ' well done.' Besides, all women want to be loved *, but I can tell you, every one feels bitter and hard to those who prevent happiness. It is easier to forgive a person for • doing us a great wrong than for deliberately spoiling our comfort because some trifling thing has put them out. A woman who will do that is a selfish creature, and she ought to live by herself." The short service was followed by an excellent dinner, ^ and the richly dressed men and women, full of es^er ques- tions and innocent mirth, filled the SwafFham parlours, and made a fair picture of hospitality sobered by great interests and great events. Some of the guests lingered for two and three days, but Dr. Verity would not be delayed. The next morning he enrolled sixty men, 'and then he was re- solved to ride with them as far as York. " And if Neville comes, send him quickly after me," he said. " He thought he might be four days, but I will give him seven, and then wonder if he keeps tryst. There will be many things in London to delay him." In fact Neville was so long delayed, that Mrs. Swaffham WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY ' wa ertain he had been sent back to Scotland at once on Mrs. Cromwell's order, and t ha^he would probably be with the Lord General before IVVerity. After a week or more had passed, all expectation of his visit died out, and Jane began to wonder why Matilda had not been to see her. " No wonder at all," replied Mrs. SwafFham. " She showed her good sense in keeping away until the victory had been ti ked out. You would have been on the vei^e of quarrel' \ all the time you were together, and the kindness between de Wick and SwafFham is a deal older than the oldest Stuart — it is generations old — and it is not worth while killing it for either Stuart or Cromwell." As she was speaking there was a slight stir in the pas- sage, and Jane smiled at her mother. It was only an illus- tration of the old law— they had been talking of Matilda, because she was approaching them, and had sent her thoughts in advance. She came in without her usual spirit. She was dressed in black with not even a flower to relieve its sombreness ; she had been weeping, and her face was with- out colour or animation. Jane went to meet her friend, kissed her, and removed her hat. Then Matilda went to Mrs. SwafFham and laid her head against her breast, and said, " I have a bad head- ache. I have a bad heartache. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! " " It was bad news for you, dearie," said the motherly woman ; " you may be sure I thought of you." ^ " I know you did. It was terrible news. Father has walked the floor night and day ever since." " I hope that no one you love was hurt ? " " Stephen is well, as far as we know. He sent one of his troopers with the news — George Copping, a Hunting- don man. I dare say you know him ? " 46 THE LION'S WHELP *« I know who he i»." »» I never saw my fadtfr so distracted. And it is alwayi fad^r ' give, give, give.' G»tc took away our last silver, and I am sure nearly all our money. Father has sent away all the men-servants, but such as are necessary to work the land i four of them went back with George to the army. Poor old Anice ! She has one son with Cromwell, and the other has now gone to the King. As she cooks, her tears fall. I have had to send Delia away— only Anice and Audrey are left to care for us, and father says they are more than he can afford. Though his wound has reopened since he heard of the Dunbar disaster, he would have gone north himself with George and the men " " Oh, my dear Matilda, do not suffer him to do that. You know much depends upon his keeping quiet at de Wick." « You need not remind me of that, Jane. I know that we are only Cromwell's tenants, and subject to his will. We may be sent away at any hour, if General Cromwell says so." " Not without proper process of law, Matilda. Crom- well is not the law." "The King is my father's friend, yet if he move an inch for the King's help, he will lose everything." "And he will break his word, which is the greatest loss of all," said Jane. " I know, dear, you would not wish him to do that." " is a promise given under stress to be kept, Jane ? I doubt it." " It is a stress bound all round by kindness. I heard my father speak of it. When the de Wick estate was under the Parliament's consideration, Cromwell was much dis- turbed. Your two brothers had just been killed in battle^ ■IMI WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 47 your mother wa« very ill, your father suffering from a ie- vere wound, and it wai the Lord^eneral who wrote your father a letter which should be pmen upon the hearu of every de Wick. In it he promised that for their old friend- ship's sake, and for the sake of the fight over the Bedford Level— in which fight de Wick stood boldly with Cromwell —that he would stand between de Wick and all bills of for- feiture. He said also that he would not hold your father accountable for the acts of his son Stephen, if he person- ally restrained himself from all designs and acts injurious to the Commonwealth. My father said it was such a noble letter as one brother might have written to another." " I have heard enough of it. I do not think much of a kindness cribbed and tethered by this and that condiuon. It has made my father nothing but Cromwell's servant. I am ashamed of it." " Dr. Verity has been here," said Jane, trying to change the subject. " Pray, who doos not know that ? He never comes but he takes some one away for Cromwell. I thought I could have counted on Acton and Fermor remaining at home." " He thinks the war nearly over, Matilda." " It is not. Even if King Charles were killed, there would then be King James to fight. The war may last for a century. And if this is the world, I would I were out of it. Dear, shall I ever be happy again ? " " Yes indeed, Matilda. You will yet be ' happy^and forget this sorrowful time." " Not while my life lasts, Jane. Trust nie, I shall never forget it." " Let us stop talking of it. At any r?te wr can do that. Tell me about your lovers, Matilda, fiow many have you at this present f " 48 THE LION'S WHRLP « The war has ukcn them all hat young Godschall, and he and I are no longer friends. ^Vhn ne was at de Wick last, we laid so mucriHc have not spoken a word since." ** I am sorry for it." ** 'Tis a common occurrence, many >vomc»' endure it." "And what has come to George Si. vnuad? He was once very much your servant." " Poor George ! " " Why do you say * poor George ' ; " Because we are told that all titlr nrc be car died and abolished, and George St. Amand is dumb unless he can salt every sentence he utters with what ' w.y fx>rd, my father ' thinks or says." " And there was also among y?corn to know, anything more about him. He should be hanged, and cheap at that." Before Jane could answer, Mrs. SwafFham, whv had left the room, returned to it. She had a hot wine posse in her hand and a fresh Queen's cake. " Come, my dearie, and eat and drink," she said. " Keep your stomach in a good temper, and I'll be bound it will help you lo Hear heart-trouble, of all ki/ids, wonderfully." Matilda took the posset and cake gratefully, and said, " I heard Dr. Verity gave the women who had come to meet him ne of his little rages. I hope they iikcd it." " He only told us the truth," said Jane. " Yes, we liked it." « Well," said Matilda, " I am not one that wants all England for myself, but I think I could spare Dr. John Verity, and feel the better of it. May the Scots mak-r much of him ! " ■■■■■I %.^ WOVEN OF JOVE AND GL^ )RY 4v " He is ofte of the be«t of men, Matilda." "Yes, .o yon, whom he con -s as one of the covetiai.ted. To me, he is very hard, an(- fpnnor forget that he wu chief 11 silen^^m;^ Fathe, Sar^ ." " A few years ago Father Sacy got* \)i. W npnsoned for pre ichmg the Word of God. ilr *ras two)ea« mt dr ^dfui cell, and his wife and < hild dird while — — " " And pra what doct. he Word ot '^iod s iv amjut ^n- in? good to th< sc who inj ''c yoii Di iane, never ht d r. words. I have » nriviiCj^e a oe ill-nar ired Ne rivi- Ic of the l«)sing anr he sorrrwii .'* Thus, in spite of all janeV t-ftbr ,they & ill to Ives on dangerous or debatah r gi'.nid. Aii t- ro^^ds leading thither, and he\ in ilH ibtm' "d ev u tactic and spoke as th' hearts p ^mpte^ em- though some hard things verc ? a, nan^ were als< said, ? id Matilda rose o g j h helped — .ur, after all, --^ tong e is serva she was tving her ha a ni <1 called ^ -^ the room, and Matilda lin^ 'd, w^it She stood with Jant at the wii 'ov clasped in eac Jther s, but they \ appcare<^ to I looking at *hc h -^. ..I tfe- l^hen, ery kino things comforted and to the heart. As . SwafFham from for her return. /hf " hands were lent, id both girls U of 1 ite flowers — pensive ft jwers, having a positive air of melan- if t feir the s iness c. the autumn sunset. as n sely it e er of them saw the flowers ; , Matii s first jrds i ave . j intimation that shv bcautsli holy, ; But it cert a did " He 'h-ho ! " 8h said, " wh ^ d we worry ? Ev- orythinj_ omes round in time tt> .i» nroper place, and then will b , as olu \nice expects — the hooks will Hnd the eyes tnat fit t'lem. ' / <( h> spoi( virs. SwafFham hastily entered the room. 50 THE LION'S WHELP and with her was Lord Cluny NevUle. Both girls turned from the window and caught his eyes at the same moment. He was, as Dr. Verity Aid, a man destined to captivate, not only by his noble bearing and handsome face, but also by such an indescribable charm of manner as opened the door of every heart to him. He carried his morion in his left hand, and in his dress of dark cloth and bright steel looked the very picture of a Puritan paladin. Bow- ing to both girls, he presented Jane with a letter from her friend Mary Cromwell, and also with a small parcel which contained some beautiful ribbons. The pretty gift made a pleasant introduction to a conversation full of gay inquiries and interesting items of social information. Ma- tilda took little part in it. She watched the young soldier with eyes full of interest, and did not refuse his escort to her carriage ; but as she departed, she gave Jane one look which left her with an unh?.ppy question in her heart, not only for that night, but to be recalled long after as premon- itory and prophetic. During the preparations for the evening meal, and while Neville was in his chamber removing his armour and re- freshing his clothing, Jane also found time to put on a pretty evening gown. It was of pale brown lutestring, a little lighter and brighter in colour than her own hair, and with its stomacher and collar of white lace it added greatly to the beauty of her appearance. Something had happened to Jane; she was in a delicious anticipation, and she could not keep the handsome stranger out of her considera- tion. There was a brilliant light m her eyes, and a brilliant ^ colour on her cheeks, and a happy smile on her lovely bow- shaped mouth. When she heard Neville's steady, swift step coming towards her, she trembled. Why ? She did not ask her- WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 5» self, and her soul did not tell her. It indeed warned her, either of joy or of sorrow, for surely its tremor intimated that the newcomer was to be no mere visitor of passage, no neutral guest; that periiaps, indeed, he might have entered her home as a fate, or at least f " messenger of destiny. For who can tell, when a stranger, walks into any life, what his message n»y be? Bringers of gmt tn^dies have crossed thresholds with a smile, and many an unknown enemy has been bidden to the hearth with a welcome. Jane was in no mood for such reflections. This young soldier, bearing a gift in his hand, had bespoke for himself at his first glance and word the girl's favour. She knew noth- ing of love, and Dr. Verity's wamb / had not made her afraid of it. Indeed, there was in her heart a pleasant dar- ing, the touch of unseen danger was exhilarating , she felt that she was on that kind of dangerous ground which calls out all a woman's watchfulne&s and all her weapons. One of the latter was the possibility of captivating, instead of being captivated. It was a natural instinct, never felt be- fore, but which sprang, full-grown, from Jane's heart as soon as suggested. The desire for conquest 1 Who has not felt its pushing, irresistible impulse ? She accused her- self of having given away to Neville's influence without any effort to resist it. That thought in itself arrested her sympathies. Why did she do it ? Might she not just as well have brought his right to question ? W(mld she have succumbed so readily to the influence of some beautiful woman ? This self-examination made her blush and utter an exclamation of chagrin. Neville entered gayly in the midtt of it. He had re- moved his steel corselet, and the pliant dark dodi in wf^k Iw was dressed gave additional grare to his %ure and mow- 52 THE LION'S WHELP ments. A falling band of Flemish lace was round his throat, and his fine linen showed beneath the loosr sleeve, of his coat in a band of the same material. His breeches had a bow of ribbon at the knee, and his low shoes of mo- rocco leather a rosette of the same. It was now evident that his hair was very black, and that his eyebrows made dark, bold curves above his sunbrowned cheeks and flashing black eyes— eyes, that in the enthusiasm of feeling or speaking became living furnaces filled with flame. A solar man, sensitive, radiating; one who would move both men and women, whether they would or not. It was a wonderful evening to both Jane and Mrs. Swaff- ham. Neville told over again the story of Dunbar, and told it in a picturesque way that would have been impossi- ble to Dr. Verity. Taking whateve- he could find that was suitable, he built for them the Lammermuir hills, on which the Scots' army lay j described the swamp at their base ; the dark stream— forty feet deep— tha^ ran through it, and the narrow strip by the wild North Sea, where CromweU's army stood at bay. He made them feel the damp and chiU of the gray, desolate place; he made them see the men standing at arms all through the misty night ; he made them hear the solemn tones of prayer breaking the silence, and then they understood how the great Cromwell, moving icom group to group, saturated and inspired every man with the energy of his own faith and courage. Then he showed them the mighty onslaught, and the ever-conquering Gen- eral leading it ! Through Neville, they heard his voice flinging the battle-cry of the Puriun host in the very teeth of the enemy. Thc> saw him, when the foe fled, leaning upon his bloody sword, pouring out a triumphal Psalm of gratitude so strenuously and so melodiously, that men forgot to pursue, that they might ting. It was ft WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 53 magnificent drama, though there was only one actor to present it. And when the recital was over and they sat silent, being too much moved to find words for their feeling, he dropped his vo'ce and said, " There is something else. I should like to tell you it, yet I fear that you will not believe me. 'Twas a strange thing, and beyond nature." " Tell us," said Jane, almost in a whisper. « We should like to hear, should we not, mother ? " Mrs. Swaff ham bowed her head, and the young man con- tinued : " It was in the afternoon of the day preceding the battle. The Captain-General had just come back from Dunbar, and his face was full of satisfaction. There was even then on it the light and assurance of victory, and he called the men round him and pointed out the false step the Scots were taking. * The Lord hath delivered them into our hands ! ' he said. And as he spoke, the fog was driven before the wind and the rain -, and in the midst of it he mounted his horse to ride about the field. And as he stood a moment, looking towards the ships and the sea, tbit many this CrmwelJy grew, and grew, and grew, until in the sight of all of us, he was a gigantic soldier towering over the army and the plain. I speak the truth. I see yet that pro- digious, wraithlike figure, with its solemn face bathed in the storms of battle. And not I alone saw this vision, many others saw it also j and we watched it with awe and amazement, until it blended with the drifting fogs and dis- appeared." " Indeed, I doubt it n. d Mrs. Swaffham. « I have seen, I have heard, thing. .1 Swaffham that could only be seen and heard by the spiritual senses." Jane did not speak j she glanced at the young man, won- dering at his rapt face, iu solenm pallor and mystic exaka- 54 THE LION'S WHELP tion, and feeling his voice vibrate through all her senses, though at the last he bad spoken half-audibly, as people do in extremes of life or foiling. It is in moments such as these, that Love grows as Ne- ville saw the wraith of Cromwell grow— even in a mo- ment's gaze. Jane forgot her intention oi captivating, and yet none the less she accomplished her purpose. Her sen- sitive face, its sweet freshness and clear candour, charmed by its mere responsiveness j and not accustomed to resist or to control his feelings, Neville showed plainly the impres- sion he had recrived. For when they parted for the night he held her hand with a gentle pressure, and quick glanc- ing, sweetly smiling, he flashed into her eyes admiration and interest not to be misunderstood. And Jane's heart was a crystal rock, only waiting the touch of a wand. Had she felt the mystic contact ? Her fine eyes were dropped, but there was a 'faint, bewitching smile arounH her lovely mouth, and there was something bewildering and something bewildered in her very silence and simplicity. Neville was charmed. His heart was so light, so happy, that he heard it singing as he held the little maiden's hand. He went into his chamber with the light step of one to whom some great joy has come, and, full of its vague an- ticipation, sat down a moment to realise what had happened. **I have caught love from her in a glance," he said. *^ What a dainty little creature ! What a little darling she is ! Shy and quiet as a bird, and yet I'll warrant me she hath wit and courage to furnish six feet of flesh and blood, instead of four. Is she fair i Is she handsome ? I forgot to look with certainty. She hath the finest eyes I ever saw my own in — a face like a wild flower — a small hand, I saw that in particular — ^and feet like the maiden in the fairy tak MM WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 55 —exquisite feet, prettily shod. Neat and sweet and full of soul ! Little Jane ! Little darling ! A man were happy enough if he won your love. And what a rich heart she must have ! She has made Love grow in me. She has created it from her own store." Then he moved his chair to the hearth and looked around. It was a large room, full of the wavering shadows of the blazing logs and the long taper. " What an ancient place ! " he sighed. ^ 'Tis a bed fine enough and big enough for a monarch. Generations have slept on it. Those pillows must be full of dreams. If all the souls that have slept in this room were to be gathered together, how great a com- pany they would be ! If I could see them, I would enlist all for my hero — they should swear to be Cromwell's men. ! In solemn faith the room is full of prestnct." Then he rose, turned his face bravely to the shadowy place, and bending his head said, "■ Wraiths of the dead, I salute you. Suffer me to sleep in peace in your company." He did not sit down again, but having cast over himself the shield and balm of prayer, he soon fell into the sound sleep of weary youth. The sun was high when he awoke, and he was ashamed of his apparent indolence and would scarce delay long enough to eat a hasty breakfast. Then his horse was waiting, and he stood at the threshold with Mrs. SwafFham's hand in his. There were tears in her eyes as she blessed him and bade him ^God- speed," and gave him her last messages to her husband and sons. " Fare you well," he answered, and " God be with you ! I hope to be sent this way again, and that soon. Will you give me welcome, madame ? " ^*You will be welcome as sunriiine," answered Mn. SwafFham. 56 THE LION'S WHELP Then he looked at Jane, and she said, " God speed you on your journey. You have words for my father and brothers, but if you find the right time, say also to General Cromwell that Jane SwafFham remembers him constantly in her prayers, and give him these words for his strength and comfort — *• They shall be able to do nothing against thee, saith the Lord : My hands shall cover thee.' " He bowed his head, and then looked steadily at her *, and in that momentary communion realised that he had lost himself, and found himself again, in the being of another — that he had come in contact with something and found his spirit had touched a kindred spirit. Yet he said only, ** Good-bye, till we meet again." As he mounted, Mrs. SwafFham asked him if he went by York, and he answered, " Yes, I know perfectly that road, and I must not miss my way, for I am a laggard already." " That is right," she said. " The way that is best to go is the way that best you know." He did not hear the advice, for the moment his horse felt the foot in the stirrup he was ofF, and hard to hold with bit and bridle. They watched him down the avenue, the sun glinting on his steel armour and morion and the wind toss- ing behind his left shoulder the colours of the Common- wealth. When he was quite out of sight, they turned into the house with a sigh, and Mrs. SwafFham said, ^* Now, I must have the house put in order. If I were you, Jane, I would go to de Wick this afternoon. Matilda is full of trouble. I cannot feel indifFerent to her." *^ She says the kingBshers have left de Wick water*. They have bred there for centuries, and the Earl it much distressed at their departure." " No wonder. Many people think they bring good fiur- illilttl WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY 57 tunc. I would not say different. There are more metten- gers of good and evil than we know of. If I g«t things in order, I will also go to de Wick. Reginald de Wick and I were friends when we could hardly say the word — that was in King James' reign. Dear me! How the time flies ! " Then Jane went to her room and began to fold away the pretty things she had worn the previous night. She smoothed every crease in her silk gown, and fingered the lace orderly, and folded away her stockings of clocked silk and her bronzed morocco shoes with their shining silver buckles. And as she did so, her heart sat so lightly on its temporal perch that she was singing and did not know it until her mother opened the door, and like one astonished, asked, " What are you singing, Jane ? " "Why, mother! Nothing but some verses by good George Wither." Then the mother shut the door s^n. If Gewge Wither had written what Jane was singing, she was sure the words were wise and profitable j for Wither was tlw poet of the Puritans, and his " Hallelujah " all to the families of the Commonwealth, that the « Christian Tear " has been to our own times. So Jane finished without further interruption, but with rather less spirit her song— " For Lwirs being constrained to be absent from each other** ** Detreit fi«t not, tigh not to. For it it not time nor place That can much divide us two f Though it part oi for a space.** And she did not know ths^ at the very same cBesacnt, Cluny Neville was solacing the loneliness of his ride by the same writer's ^ Hymn for Victory;* giving to its Hebraic fervour a melodious vigour of interpreuttton admir^ly efli- SS THE LION'S WHELP phasised by the Gregorian simplicity of the tune to ^ich was sung — ** It wu tlone Thy Providesce, Which nude oa muten of the field. Thou art onr castle of defense. Our fort, our bulwark, and onr shield. And had not Thou our Captun been. To lead us on and off again ; This happy day, we had not seen. But in the bed of death had lain." CHAPTER IV M> SWBET A DREAM ** To judge events, or acdont, withoat connecting tliem with their caunei, i< numlfettl^ unjuit and antruthiul. Swih jadgmeats may mtke inflezible jasdce to appear tyranny ; righteooa retribu- tion to wear the guiie of cruelty ; and virtue iuelf to have the liker neu of vice.'* «* AD love is swMt, Given or returned. Conuncni u li^t is love. And its fiuniliar voice wearies not ever." Peace wu now confidently predicted, but hope otitruns eventa, and the winter slowly settled down over the level dreariness of the land without any apparent change in the national situation. People grsw tired of expecting, and turned almost sullenly to the daily duties of life. For in the North, the winter weather would certainly Inrii^ the winter truce, and they must bear the inaction and suspense as virell as they were able. In de Wick, the situation was pitiably folom and desobte. The great trees around it stood with dripping leaves motton- less in die thick fc^ } the long grasses by withered and brown j the livid waters of the lake were no longer enliv- ened by the tcraun of the ktngfi^rs, and about die house were i^.^nce and desdation. Matilda would gladly have escaped its (fepressing atmosphere for a litde while every day, but die could not, for die foads leadii^ from it were almost quagmires unleM steadied by frost, and it was only rarely on siKh occasions that the horses could be spared to ■ 80 M ■ 60 THE LION'S WHELP take her as far m SwafFham. These visits were eagerly expected by both girls, and yet were usually regretted ; for Matilda could not help saying many hard things, and Jane could not conscientiously quite pass them over. Much wa« excused for the sake of her sorrow and loss and visible poverty, but even these excuses had limitations and every interview brought with it many sharp words not quite washed out by reconciling tears and promised forgetfulnesa. Even the atmosphere of SwafFham, though grateful and cheering, was exasperating to the poor royalist lady. There was such cheerfulness in its comfortable rooms, such plenty of all the necessaries of life, such busy service of men and maids, such active, kindly hospitality to herself, and such pieasant companionship between Jane and her mother, that Matilda could not help a little envious contrasting, a little backward thought of the days when her own home had been the light of its neighbourhood, and her father and mother had entertained in splendid fashion nobles and beauties and famous men whose names were f»niliar at household words to all England. In those happy days the rooms had shone with a hundred lights} her handsome mother had moved as a queen in them, and her father and brothers had made the place joyful with all the masculine stir of hunting and hawking, the racket of balls in the bowling-alley and tennis court, the excitement of the race, the laughter and love-making of the ballroom. All these, and far sweeter and dearer things, had been cast into the gulf of civil war, and Matilda spent her days counting the cost of such sacrifices — a terrible sum total which she al- ways reckoned wirh one reflection: "if only mother had been left ! I could bear all the rest." One day, near Christmas, the roads were hard and cleac and the sky blue above them, and in spite of the cold M»* so SWEET A DREAM 6i tilda resolved to walk over to Swaffham. She had an abundance of rich clothing, but as she went through it, she saw that its very splendour was only another sign of her poverty, for neither her own nor her mother's wardrobe contained the plain, scant skirt suitable for walking j— plenty of carnage robes, and dinner and dancing dresses } plenty of gold and silver tissues, and satin and velvet, and rich lace, but she would have given the richest of the costumes for a short cloth skirt and coat, such as Jane trod the miry ways in with comfort and cleanliness. However, she made the wisest choice possible, and when she stood before her father drawing on her white gloves and saying all manner of cheerful words, no one could have desired any change in her apparel. She held the train of her black velvet skirt over her left arm } her shoulders were covered with a tippet of minever, her large hat of black beaver was drooping Aith plumes. In her cheeks there was a faint rose colour, and her large brown eyes were full of feeling. Sne looked like some lovely princess exiled from her state and condi- tion, but retaining, nevertheless, all the personal insignia of her royal birth. As she left her father she kissed him affectionately, and then curtseyed to the Chaplain, who did not notice her at- tention, being happily and profitably lost in a volume by good Dr. Thomas Fuller, who was that moment saying to him, in one of his garrison sermons, " A Conunonwealth and a King are no more contrary than the trunk of a tree and the top branch thereof; there is a republic included in every monarchy." MatUda walked rapidly, and the clear cold air blew hmje and cheerfulness into her heart. " Perhaps, after all, the King might come to his own — Cromwell had not rei^>ed all that was anticipated from Dunbar victory, he was still 6t THE LIONS WHEL? 1 % obliged to remain in Scotland and watch the ICing i and if the King's position needed this watch, there must rili be strength and hope in it. I will take what the Sm^u aams say with a large allowance,' she thought) s^nd then she suddenly remembered that they had had no news from the royalist camp, and knew nothing on which any good likeli- hood could be built. " It is very cruel of Stephen," she sighed j " if I were with the King I would get word to my father and sister c^ the King's condition — but it is either drawing the sword or shaking the dice, and while they gam'ile away the hours and the gold pieces, father and I fret life away in waiting and watching for the news that never comes." The sight of SwafFham restored he". There was some* thing so hearty and sincere in the very aspect of the house. As she went through the garden she saw a monthly rote in bloom, and she plucked it; and with the fair sweet flower in her hand entered the Swaff ham parlour. No won- der she had missed Jane at the large casement where she usually sat at her work ! Jane was sitting at the table serv- ing Lord Cluny Neville, who was eating and drinking and leaning towards her with a face full of light and pleasure. Mrs. SwafFham sat on the hearth ; it was Jane who was pouring out the Spanish wine and cutting the game pasty, and into Jane's face the young Lord was gazing with eyes whose expression there was no mistaking. Matilda saw the wh<^e picture in a glance, and she set her mood to match it. Dropping her gown, she let the open door frame her beauty for a moment. She was con- scious (hat she was lovely, and she saw the swift lifting of Neville's eyelids, and the look of surprised delight which came into his eyes. She was resolved to be charming, and the succee This house U still standing. mssm ____^ so SWEET A DREAM ^ and Mrs. SwaflTham said, ** For all she could find out, they had been at their usual work, — good and bad." ** And generally bad," ejaculated Matilda. " That is not true," said Jane. " Think only of this : they have commanded the laws of England to be written in English. This order alone justifies them with the peo- ple. Also, they have received foreign ambassadors with dignity, and taught Holland, France and Spain by the voice of Blake's cannon that England is not to be trifled with ; and in Ireland they are carrying on, through Ireton and Ludlow, the good work Cromwell began there." ** Good work^ indeed ! " cried Matilda. ** Yes, it was good work, grand work, the best work Cromwell ever did," answered Neville positively } ** a most righteous dealing with assassins, who had slain one hundred thousand Protestants — men, women and children — while they dwelt in peace among then, thinking no evil ' and looking for no injury. When men mad with religious hatred take fire and sword, when they torture the helpless with hunger and thirst and freezing cold, in the name of the merciful Jesus, then there is no punishment too great for them." > See Kni^t's History of England, Vol. 3, p. 464 ; Clarendon (royalist Ua- torian) says 50,000; Paxton Hood, Life of Cromwell, p. 141. says as high as 300,000 ; Church (American edition ) from 50,000 to aoo,ooo with muti- lations and torture ; Imgard, the Catholic historian, in VoL X. p. 177, ad- mits the atrocity of the massacre. Many other authorities, noUbly Hick- son's •' Ireland in the 17th Centu.y," which contains the depositions be- fore Parliament relating to the massacre. These documents, printed forth* first time in 1884, will cause simv>le wonder that a terrible massacre on a large scale could ever be questioned, aot in the 17th century was it ever questioned, nor in the fiwe of these documents can it ever be questioned, except by thoae who put their personal prejudice or interest before the ttvih. 68 THE LION'S WHELP f :■ If **The number slain was not as great as you say," in- terrupted Matilda. " I have heard it was only ten thou- « I care not for the number of thousands," said Neville in a voice trembling with passion ; " men were put to death with all the horrors religious fanaticism could invent; women and children outraged, starved, burned or drowned with relentless fury. There were months of such perse- cution before help could be got there." " Very well. Lord Neville," said Matilda in great anger, " Episcopalians and Calvinists should not have gone to Ire- land. I bought a song from a packman the other day for a farthing, that just suits them — «« « People who hold lucb podtive ofmuoM Should 8My at home in Protc»unt dotninioiM.' I am sure Cromwell has made a name to be hated and feared in Ireland for generations." " England has far more cause to hate and ban the nanw of O'Neal for generations; but England docs not bluster; she rights her wrong, and then forgives it. She is too mag- nanimous to hate for generations any race because one gen- eration did wrong. Nowhere was Cromwell more just and merciful than in Ireland. There have been English sieges —for instance Colchester— far more cruel than that of Drogheda ; and at Drogheda it was mostly rebel English- men that were slain. Englishmen fighting in Ireland against the Commonwealth. Cromwell, even at Drogheda, offered mercy to all who would surrender and so spare blood. He was throughout as merciful as he could be, as the Irwh themselves permitted him to be. I shake hands with Cromwell in Ireland and I clasp a clean, merciful hand I " so SWEET A DREAM And u be said these words, Jane stretched out her hand to Neville ; and Matilda cried, hysterically, ^ Throne of God ! It is wicked to say such things ! Give me my hat and tippet, Jane, I will listen no longer to Lord Neville ! He is worse than you are." ^* My lady, foigive me ; but truth is truth, and must not be withheld when the occasion calls for it." At this point Mrs. Swaffham, who had left the room, returned to it } and seeing Matilda's angry distress, she at once understood its cause. "It is Ireland, of course," she cried. "Children, children, why will you quarrel about those savages ? They are not in your concern except to pray for." Then turning to Neville the asked, " My Lord, why is it necessary to speak of Ireland ? It breeds quarrels to name it ; well it it called Ire-land, the land of ire, and anger, and quarrel- ing. I forbid the word in this house. If the Irish are as- sassins for God's sake, may God forgive them ! " "There is nothing impossible to God, nradame," said Neville. " But men find some limiutions ; and when effects are so much talked of and condemned, it is the part of Etern'l Justice — though only from a mortal's mouth — to balance the deeds with the deeds that called them forth. And none can deny that Phelim O'Neal's atrocities called into righteous existence Oliver Cromwell's retributions." And at these words Matilda threw herself on the sofa in a passion of tears. Neville fell on his knees at her side. " Say you pardon me," he urged ; " I have wounded myself worse than you. Your tears drop like fire on my heart ; I promise you they do." With a slight frown on her face Jane stood looking at the two. She despised that abn^ation of self-control 70 THE LION'S WHELP I*' which turned conversation and argument into disputing, and anger, and tears ; and after a moment's thought, she went to her friend's side and asked Neville to rise. "There is no need to humble oneself for the truth," she said softly i " and Matilda knows that. She is now fretted with anxiety, and must not be judged by her words." Then she took Neville's place and soothed and reasoned with the weeping girl, as best she knew how i and Mrs. SwaiFham brought the Bible for the evening prayer, and the words of the com- forting Psalm stayed all other words ; and when they ceased there was peace. But Jane was grieved in her very heart. The evening promising so much had been spoiled i for love in such an unhappy atmosphere could find no opportunities. Yet in the short tremulous "good-night" which followed, Jane both remembered and foresaw i remembered the sweet glances and the refluent waves of sweet smiles which through all shadowings had drawn Love deep into her heart ; and foresaw, beyond all obstacles and peradventures, what possible joy might be waiting in the future. And swift at thought the delicate love lines of her mouth grew bright with expecution, and the clasp of Neville's hand thrilled to her warm heart, and her soul blessed Love and Hope, and sheltered itself in the sunshine of their imperishable land. Neville had asked to be called early, and before daybreak he came into the parlour ready for his journey. Some broiled beef, a manchet of white bread, and a black jack of spiced ale, stirred with a rosemary branch, was waiting for himi and Mrs. SwafFham and Jane sat at his side while he cat and drank. He spoke regretfully of his temper on the previous night, and left a message of spologj- for Lady Matilda de Wick, adding to it his sorrow, " not to be w favoured as to make his excuse;^ in person." 7* THE LION'S WHELP 1? '£'»& « He did not say much of the CromwdU. I'll wamnt, they will forget you in their rising state." " Far away from it. Mary and Frances sent me many good words, and they are very persuasive with me to come to London and share their state." ♦» You cannot go just yet, Jane. Your father is opposed to it, until General Cromwell returns there. Then, if it so please God, we shall all go— at least for a season." " But when will Cromwell return there ? " " God has set a time for all events, Jane. We must wait for it. What think you of Matilda ? " " That she is in trouble greater than we know. She shuts in her words, but I think that something is about to happen." " Anything may happen with Cromwell in Scotland, and the Parliament carrying things with such a high hand. But see, Jane, we must be after our own concerns. Servants, men and women, are getting beyond all belief } they do such barefaced things as never was. The week's butter is gone already, and when I spoke to Debby, she wiped her saucy mouth and, like the fox in the fable, * thanked God she wasn't a thief.' " Then the mother and daughter separated, and Jane went to her friend's room. She was languidly brushing out her long black hair, and Jane tried to kiss a smile into her melancholy face. And as she lifted her head, she had a momentary glance at a beautiful miniature lymg upon the dressing-table. The face was that of a youth with flowing locks and a falling collar of lace ; but Jane was too honour- able to let her eyes rest consciously upon what was evidently hid from her. For in that same moment, Matilda moved her ribbons and kerchief in a hurried way, contriving in so doing, to cover the picture. Then she assumed her usual I manner and asked, OKU so SWEET A DREAM 73 u Is Lord Neville ttill angry at me ? I suppose if I had re- mained with him, he would have eaten me by this time." *^ He was very sorry for his show of temper, and would fain have made some apologies to you." " Then he has gone ? Wcll^ it is not worth my while saying I am sorry for it.'* »* He set ofF early this morning." " And so gave me the slip." ** Oh, no ! He had important news for General Crom- well, and would push on at his utmost." " Yet suying awhile at every decent Puritan dwelling, and making love to their sweet daughters." " Do not be ill-natured, Matilda. He had letters from my father and brothers, and also from Mary and Frances Cromwell to deliver, or he had not stopped at Swaff- ham." " Oh, Jane, Jane ! I pray your pardon ! It must be easy now to forgive me, I keep you so well in practice. In truth, I am a wretched girl, this morning. I have been dreaming of calamities, and my speech is too small for my heart. And this young lord with his adoration of Crom- well and his familiar talk of *■ the ladies Mary and Frances ' angered me, for I thought of the days when the Lord General was plain * Mr. Cromwell,' -:iid we were, both of us, in love with young Harry Cromwell." " Was I in love with Harry Cromwell ? If so, I have forgotten it." "You were in love with Harry Cromwell— or you thought so — and so was I. Do you remember his teaching us how to skate i* What spirits we all had then ! How handsome he was ! How strong I How good-natured I I hear now that he is all for Dorothy Osborne, and has bad some Irish hounds sent her, and seal rings, and I know not 74 THE LION'S WHELP what other tokens. And Mistress Dorothy it a royalist— that is one good thing about her. Very soon this lucky Cromwell family will coax you to London to see all their gloi-y, and I shall be left in dc Wick with no better com- pany than a clock ; for my father speaks to me about once an hour, and the Chaplain not at all, unless to reprove me.*' *^ But you shall come to London also." *» Do you think so ill of me as to believe I would leave my father in the loneliness of de Wick ? And you know if he went to London he would be watched day and night, and though he were white as innocence about the King, some one would make him as black as Satan." " Look now, Matilda, I will myself sec Cromwell as soim as he is in London. I will say to him, * My dear Lord and General, I have a favour to ask •» ' and he will kiss me and answer, * What is it, little Jane ? ' and I will tell him that 1 want my friend, Matilda de Wick, and that she will not leave her father alone ; and that will go right down into his tender heart, to the very soul of him, and he will say- perhaps with tears in his eyes — * She is a good girl, and I loved her father, and he stood by me once against the elder Charles Stuart and the Star Chamber. Yes he did, and I will leave de Wick in chaise of his own honour, and I will give his daughter my name to shield them both. I will, surely.' Such words as this, good Cromwell will say. I know it." " Oh, Jane, dear Jane, if I had to give a reason for loving you, what could I say for myself ? If you can indeed do this thing for me, ho ,v glad I shall be ! " And she stood up . nd kissed her friend, and ir a little while they went down- stairs together, and Matilda had sonu; bmled milk and bread and -u iUv:--; of vei.i&on. Then she asked Mrs. SwaiFham to let her have a t;o:ich to go home in. so SWEET A DREAM 75 " For it is so near Christmas," she said, ** that snow, or no snow, I must go to de Wick. Audrey was making the Nativity Fie when I left home, and it is that we may re- member my brave dead brothers and my sweet mother as we eat it. Then we shall talk of them and of the happy Christmas days gone by, and afterwards go away and pray for their remembrance and blessedness." M My dear," said Mrs. Swaff ham solemnly, ** the dead are with God. There is no need to pray for them." "- It comforts my heart to ask God that they may remem- ber me. I think surely He will do so. He must know how we feel at Christmas. He must hear our sad talk of them, and see our tears, and He has not forbid us anywhere in the Bible to come to Him about our dead, any more than about our living. Father Sacy says I may confidently go to Him; that He will be pleased that I still remember. And as I do not forget them, they will not forget me. In God's very presence they may pray for me." Mrs. SwafFham kissed her for answer, and they sent her away with such confidence of good-will and coming happi- ness that the girl almost believed days might be hers in the future as full of joy as days in the past had been. " She has a true heart," said Mrs. SwafFham as they watched the coach disappear ; and Jane answered, , " Yes, she has a true heart } and when we go to Londcm the de Wicks must go also. Mother, I think she has yet a tender fancy for Harry Cromwell — it might be." But Mrs. SwafFham shook her head, and Jane remembered the miniature, and all day long at intervals wondered whose the Pictured face was. And the snow fell faster and thicker for many days, and all the narrow ways and lanes were strangled wi^h it, Mrs. Swaffham constantly spoke of Neville, and wondered if it were possible for him to make MICROCOTY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I |2i > y^ L£ ■ M i^ 1^ us us |4^ i^ Kiuu 1.4 i^ ^ APPLIED ilS/MGE Inc ^^ 1653 East Main Street ^JS Rochester. New York 14609 USA '•SS (716) 482 -0300 -Phone ^B (716) 288 - S989 - Fax 76 THE LION'S WHELP K^ m III' his way north, until one night, more than a week after his visit, she suddenly said, "Jane, I have a strong belief that Lord Neville has reached Edinburgh ;" and Jane smiled brightly back as she answered, " I have the same assurance, mother." And this pulse of prescience, this flash and flow of thought and feeling was nc marvel at all to their faithful souls. *^ I did not fear for him, he is not a man to miss his mark," said Mrs. SwafFham. *^ And we must remember this, also, mother, that God takes hands with good men." '■'■ To be sure, Jane, it is all right ; and now I must look after the house a little." So saying she wefnt away softly repeating a verse from her favourite Psalm, thus suffusing with serene and sacred glow the plainest duties of her daily life. After this visit, it was cold winter weather, and Cluny Neville came no more until the pale windy spring was over the land. And this visit was so short that Mrs. SwafFham, who had gone to Ely, did not sec him at all. For he merely rested while a fresh horse was prepared for him, eat- ing a little bread and meat almost from Jane's hand as he waited. Yet in that half-hour's stress and hurry. Love overleaped a space that had not been taken without it ; for as he stood with one hand on his saddle, ready to leap into it, Jane trembling and pale at his side, he saw unshed tears in her eyes and felt the unspoken love on her lips, and as he clasped her hand his heart sprang to his tongue, and he said with a passionate tenderness, " Farewell, Jane ! Darling Jane ! " — then, afraid of his own temerity, he was away ere he could see the wonder asd joy called into her face by the sweet familiar words. When he came again, it was harvest time j the reapers ri H n ^ K i liqpi ^mmm so SWEET A DREAM 77 were in the wheat-fields, and as he neared SwafFham he saw Jane standing among the bound sheaves, serving the men and women with meat and drink. For though the day was nearly over, the full moon had risen, and the labourers were going to finish their work by its light. He tied his horse at the gate and went to her side, and oh, how fair and sweet he found her ! Never had she looked, never had any wonum looked in his eyes, so enthralling. In her simple dress with its snow-white lawn bodice and apron, surrounded by the reapers whom she was serving, she looked like some rural goddess, though Neville thought rather of some Judean damsel in the fields of Bethlehem. Her little white hood had fallen backwards, and the twilight and the moonlight upon her gathered tresses made of them a kind of glory. The charm of the quiet moon was over all } there was no noise, indeed rather a pastoral n> lancholy with a gentle ripple of talk threading it about ploughing and sowing and rural affairs. In a short time the men and women scattered to their work, and Cluny, turning his bright face to Jane's, took both her hands in his and said with eager delight, " Dear Jane ! Darling Jane ! Oh, how I love you ! " The words came without intent. He caught his bresrth with fear when he realised his presumption, for Jane stood silent and trembling, and he did not at first understamd that it was for joy which she hardly comprehended and did not at once know how to express. But the heart is a ready scholar when love teaches, and as they slowly passed through the fields of yellow fulness, finding their happy way among the standing sheaves, Jane heard and under- stood that heavenly tale which Cluny knew so well how to tell her. The moon's face, warm and passionate, thed her tender influence over them, and their hnrti grew peat and 78 THE LION'S WHELP r # loving in it. For this one hour the bewitching moonlight of The Midsummer Night's Dream was theirs, and they did well to linger in it, and to fill their souls with its wondroui radiance. None just as heavenly would ever shine for them again} never again, oh, surely never again, would they thread the warm, sweet harvest fields, nd feel so little below the angels ! Not until they reached SwaflFham did they remember that they two were not the whole round world. But words of care and wonder and eager inquiry about war, and rumour of war, soon broke the heaveni; trance of feeling in which they had found an hour of Paradise. Mrs. SwafFham was exceedingly anxious. The country was full of frightsome expectations. Reports of Charles Stuart's invasion of Eng- land were hourly growing more positive. Armed men were constantly passing northward, and no one could accurately tell what forces they would have to meet. It was said that Charles had not only the Highland Clans, but also Irish, French and Italian mercenaries ; and that foreign troops *^ad received commissions to sack English towns and vil- Is^es, in order to place a popish king upon the throne. For there were not any doubts as to Charles Stuart's religious predilections. His taking of the Covenant was known to be a farce, at which he privately laughed, and the most leni- ent judged him a Protestant, lined through and through with Popery. So the blissful truce was over, and Jane and Cluny w«^re part of the weary, warring, working world ^ain. Cluny knew nothing which could allay fear. He had just come from London, and he said— "The city is almost in panic; many are even suspecting the fidelity of Cromwell, and ask- ing why he has permitted Charles Stuan to escape his army« And yet Cromwell sent by me a letter urging Parliament so SWEET A DREAM 79 get such foiccs as they had in readiness to give the enemy some check until he should be able to reach up to him. And still he added, as the last words, that trust in the Lord which is his constant battle-cry. How can England fear with such a General to lead her army ? " " And what of the General's family ? " asked Mrs. SwafFham, " are they not afraid ? " " They are concerned and anxious, but not fearful. In- deed, the old Lady Cromwell astonished me beyond words. She smiled at the panic in the city, and said * It is the begin- ning of triumph.' And when madame, the General's wife, spoke sharply, being in a heart-p\in of loving care, she answered her daughter-in-law with sweet forbearance in words I cannot forget: 'Elizabeth, I know from a surv^ word the ground of my confidence. I have seen, I have heard. Rest on my assurance, and until triumph comes, retire to Him who is a cure hiding-place.' And the light on her aged face was wonderful ; she was like one waiting for a great joy, restless at times, and going to the windows , of her room as if impatient for its arrival. I count it a mercy and a priv ''ege to have seen her faith in God, and in her great son. It is the substance of the thing we hope for, the evidence of what we shall all yet see," he cried in a tone of exaltation. " And now give me a strong, fresh horse -, I will ride ali night ! Oh, that I were at great Cromwell's side ! Charles Stuart has entered England, but Cromwell's dash and sweep after him will be something for men and angels 'o see ! Not for my life would I miss it." " Where do you expect to find Cromwell ? " « I left him at Queensferry in Fife, cutting off the enemy's victual. This would force the Stuart either to fight or go southward, for he has completely exhausted the North, and it seems he has taken the south road. But it is 8o THE LION'S WHELP incredible that this move is either unexpected or unwelcome to our General. Once before, he put himself between England and the Scots, and * how God succoured,' that is not well to be forgotten.' Those were his words, and you will notice, that it is * how God succoured,' not how Crom- well succeeded. With him it is always, The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle ; " and Cluny's voice rose and his words rang out sharply the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the stone pavement. Then he turned to Jane. " Darlmg Jane ! My Jane ! " and kissing her, he said boldly to Mrs. SwafFham, " I ask your favour, madame. Jane has this hour promised to be my wife. "Jane has then been very forward," answerer An. SwafFham with annoyance, " and both of you very selfish and thoughtless. While your mother England's heart is at her lips, in this dread extremity, you two must needs talk of love and marrying. I am grieved. And Jane's father has not been spoken to, and he is first of all. I can say neither yea nor nay in the matter." "But you will surely speak for us. Give mc a kind word, madame, ere I go." And she could not resist the youth's beauty and sweet nature, nor yet the thought in her heart that it might perhaps be his last request. If he should be slain in battle, and she had refused the kind word, what excuse would quiet her self-reproach ? Then she looked kindly at him, and the thought of the young prince David going out to meet the uncircumcised Philistine who had de- fied the armies of the living God, came into her heart ; and she drew down his face to hers and kissed and blessed him, saying, as Saul said to David, " Go, azid the Lord be wiA thee.'"* Then he leaped into the saddle, and the horse caught so SWEET A DREAM 8x impatience and shared his martial passion, and with a loud neigh went flying over the land. Silently the two women watched the dark figure grow more and more indistinct in the soft, mysterious moonshine, until at length it was a mere shadow that blended with the indistinrtness of the horizon. " Thank you, dear mother," said Jane softly, and the mother answered, " In these times who dare say good-bye in anger ? But let me tell you, Jane, you cannot now think of yourself first. England is at the sword's point ; your father and brothers are living on a battle-field i your lover is only one of thousands fighting for the truth and the right, and his life is England's before it is yours. God and country must be served first, eh, my dear ? " " Yes, mother. First and best of all." " When Neville has done his duty, he will come for you. He can no more bear to live without you than without his eye? . I see that." Before Jane could reply, they heard the men and women CO' ' - *" om the harvesting. They were singing as they trs jward, their harsh, drawling voices in the night's silfin. scunding tired and pathetic and bare of melody. Jane slipped away to the music in her own heart, closing within herself that Love whose growth had been sweet and silent as the birth of roses. \ I ! i ■ r* ■> n h i 1 V. CHAPTER V SHEATHED SWORDS " The peaceful driet Lulled in their ease and undisturbed before are all on fire. The thick battalions move in dreadful form As lowering clouds advance before a storm ; Thick smoke obscures the field, and scarce are seen. The neighing coursers and the shouting men ; In distance of their darts they stop their course. Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse. The face of heaven their flying javelins hide And deaths unseen are dealt oi every side. the fields are strewed With fallen bodies, and are drunk with blood." It will be well now to recall the positions which Charles Stuart and Cromwell, with their armies, occupied. The royalist defeat at Dunbar occurred on September the third,: A. D. 1650, and Charles, after it, sought shelter in the for- tress of Stirling Castle, where he remained until he went to Perth. Here, on January the first, 165 1, he was crowned King of Scotland, and then he assumed the command of Captain-General of the Scotch forces, having under him the Duke of Hamilton and David Leslie. At this time the Scotch army had become purely royal and malignant, the Kirk having done its part had retired, leaving the King to manage his own affairs. During the winter, which wat long and severe, Charles and his army could do nothing; but when fine weather came and they understood that Crom- well would march to Perth, the Scotch army went south- ward, fortifying itself on the famous Torwood Hill, between Stirling and Falkirk. 82 SHEATHED SWORDS This long winter had been one of great tuffering to Gen- eral Cromwell. After making himself master o( the whole country south of Forth and Clyde, he had a severe illness, and lay often at the point of death. In the month of May two physicians were sent by Parliament from London to Edinburgh to attend him, but ere they arrived, the Lord Himself had been his physician and said unto him, Live ! He took the field in June, throwing the main ^>art of bis army into Fife, in order to cut off the enemy's victual. This move forced the hand of Charles Stuart. His army was in mtttiny for want of provisions, the North country was already drained, he durst not risk a battle — but the road into England was clear. Cromwell himself had gone northward to Perth, and on the second of August he took possession of that city } but while entering it was told that Charles Stuart, with four- teen thousand men, had suddenly left Stirling and was marching towards England. Cromwell was neither sur- prised nor alarmed; perhaps, indeed, he had deliberately opened the way for this move by going northward to Perth, and leaving the road to England open. At any rate, when Charles reached the border he found Harrison with a strong body of horse waiting for him, while Fleetwood with his Yorkshiremen lay heavy on his left flank, and Lambert with all the English cavalry was jogging on, pressing close the rear of his army. For in Lambert's ears was ringing night and day Cromwell's charge to him, — " Use utmost dilige-^ce ! With the rest of the horse and men I am hastening up, and by the Lord's help, I shall be in good time." Charles had taken the western road by Carlisle, and it was thought he would make for London. He went at a flying speed past York, Nottingham, Coventry, until he i 84 THE LION'S WHELP reached the borders of Shropshire, tummoning every town he passed, but hardly vaiting for the thundering negatives that answered his challenge -, for the swift, steady tramp of Cromwell's pursuit was daily drawing nearer and nearer. Reaching Shrewsbury, he found the gates shut against him, and his men were so disheartened that the King with cap in hand entreated them " yet a little longer to stick to him." For all his hopes and promises had failed, there had been no rising in his favour, no surrender of walled towns, and the roads between Shrewsbury and London were bristling with gathering militia. So Charles turned westward to Worcester, a city reported to be loyal, where he was received with every show of honour and af- fection. Here he set up his standard on the ill-omened twenty-second of August, the very day nine years pre- vious, on which his father had planted his unfortunate standard at Nottingham. Meanwhile Cromwell was following Charles with a steady swiftness that had something fateful in it. He had taken Perth on the second of August; he left it with ten thousand men on the third; he was on the border by the eighth ; he was at Warwick on the twenty-fourth, where he was immediately joined by Harrison, Fleetwood and Lam- bert. Such swiftness and precision must have been pre- arranged, either by Cromwell or by Destiny. It was to be the last battle of the Civil War, and Cromwell knew it, for he had beyond the lot of mortals that wondrous insight, that prescience, which, like the scabbard of the sword Excalibur, was more than the blade itself— the hilt armed with eyes. There was in his soul, even at Perth, the assurance of Vic- tory, and as he passed through the towns and vill^e* <^ England, men would not be restrained. They threw down the sidde and the spade in the field, the hammer in At SH'^ATHED SWORDS «5 forge, the plane at the bench, and jatching hold of the itif- raps of the ridere, ran with them t( the halting-place. Cromwell had no need to beg Englishmen yet a little longer to stick to him. Hii form of rugged grandeur, the majesty and fierceness of his face, and his air of invincible strength and purpose, said to all, Tb'u is tbt Pdthjindtr •/ ytur Bng- lUh Frtedm! FtlUw Him ! The man was a magnet, and drew men to him i he looked at them, and they fell into his ranks \ he roJj singing of Victory at their head, and women knelt on the streets and by the roadside to pray for the success of those going up " For the help tftht Ltrd^and for England:* This hy*M call, ringing from men at full spur, was taken up even by the old crones and little chil- dren, and their shrill trebles were added to the mighty shouting of strong men, whose heroic hands were alre^y tightly closed upon their sword-hilts. So, with his ten thou- sand troops augmented to thirty thousand, he reached War- wick, and making his headquarters at the pretty vil- lage of Keynton near by, he gave his men time to draw breath, and called a council of war. Cromwell was now on the very ground whe the first battle of the Civil War had been fought. NIuc years pre- vious the Puritan camp had lain a*. Keyntc with the banner of Charles the First waving in '> Mr sight ^rom the top of Edgehill. Outside the village there was a large farmhouse, its red tiled roof showing through the laden orchard trees •, and the woman dwelling there gladly welconicd Cromwell to rest and comfort. "All my sons are with General Harrison," she said} " and rtuve not seen their faces for two years." "Nevertheless, mistress," said Cromwell, "they shall keep Harvest Home with you, and go out to fight no more, for the end of the war is near at hand." He spoke wkh 86 THE LION'S WHELP the fervour of a prophet, but she had not faith to believe, and she answered — " My Lord Cromwell, our Sword and our Saviour, their names are Thanet, James, and John, and Dickson, and Will. Surely you have heard of them, dead or alive ? " His keen eyes lost their fire and were instantly full of sadness as he answered, " Oh, woman, why did you doubt ? If they have fallen in battle, truly they are well. Judge not otherwise. Your blood and your sons' blood has not run to waste." Two hours after this conversation, Cluny Neville lifted the latch of the farm gate. He had heard reliably of Crom- well's pursuit of Charles at Newcastle, and turning back southward, had followed him as closely as the difficulty of getting horses in the wake of the army permitted. He was weary and hungry, but he was at last near the chief he adored. He gave himself a moment of anticipation at the door of the room, and then he opened it. Cromwell was sitting at the upper end of a long table. A rough map of the country around Worcester lay before him, and Harrison, Lambert, Israel SwafFham, and Lord Evesham were his companions. There were two tallow candles on the table, and their light shone on the face of Cromwell. At that moment it was full of melancholy. He seemed to be listen- ing to the noble fanaticism of Harrison, who was talking fervidly of the coming of the Kingdom of Christ and the reign of the saints on earth ; but he saw in an instant the entrance of Neville, and with an almost imperceptible movement commanded his approach. Neville laid the letters of which he was the bearer, before Cromwell, and his large hand immediately covered them. " Is ail well ? " he asked — and reading the answer in the youth's face, added, " I thank God ! What then of the city ? '* iH ilBiirilillli SHEATHED SWORDS 87 "Its panic is beyond describing," answered Neville. "Parliament is beside itself; even Bradshaw is in great fear ; there are surmises as to your good faith, my lord, and the rumours and counter-rumours are past all believing. But London is manifestly with the Commonwealth, and every man in it is looking to you and to the army for protection. Some, indeed, I met who had lost heart, and who thought it better that Charles Stuart should come back than that England should become a graveyard fighting him." " Such men are suckled slaves," said Lambert. " I would hang them without word or warrant for it." " Yea," said Cromwell ; " for Freedom is dead in them. That's their fault, it will not reach us. Thousands of Englishmen have died to crown our England with Freedom j for Freedom is not Freedom unless England be free!" Here he rose to his feet, and the last rays of the setting sun fell across the rapture and stern seriousness of his face, across his shining mail and his majestic soldierly figure. His eyes blazed with spiritual exaltation, and flamed with human anger, as in a voice, sharp and untunable, but ring- ing with passionate fervour, he cried — " I say to you, and truly I mean it, if England's Red Cross fly not above free men, let it fall ! Let it fall o'e» land and sea forever ! The natural milk of Freedom, the wine and honey of Freedom, which John Eliot and John Pym and John Hampden gave us to eat and to drink, broke our shackles and made us strong to rise in the face of for- sworn kings and red-shod priests, devising our slavery. It did indeed ! And I tell you, for I know it, that with this milk of Freedom England will yet feed all the nations of the worid. She will ! Only be faithful, and here and now, God shall so witness for us that all men must acknowledge it. For I do know that Charles Stuart, and the men with 88 THE LION'S WHELP him, shall be before us like dust on a turning wheel. We shall have a victory like that of Saul over Nahash, and I know not of any victory like to it, since the world began — Two of them — not left together. Amen ! But give me leave to say this : In the hour of victory it were well for us to re- member the mercy that was in Saul's heart, ' because that day, the Lord had wrought salvation in Israel.* From here there are two courses open to us, a right one, and a wrong one. What say you, Lambert ? " *' London is the heart of the nation, and just now it is a faint heart. I say it were well to turn our noses to London, and to let the rogues know we are coming." " What is your thought, Harrison ? " " Worcester is well defended," he answered musingly. " It has Wales behind it. We cannot fight Charles Stuart till we compass the city, and to do that, we must be on both sides of the river. Then Charles could choose on which side he would fight, and we could not come suddenly to help each other." " What way look you, Israel ? " " The way of the enemy. I see that he is here. What hinders that we fight him ? " " Fight him," said lord Evesham, " better now, than later." " Fight him ! That, I tell you, is my mind also," said Cromwell striking the table with his clinched hand. " Some may judge otherwise, but I think while we hold Charles Stuart safe, London is safe also." " Surely," said Lambert, " it may be more expedient to secure Charles Stuart, but " "Expedient, expedient! " interrupted Cromwell. "Who can make a conscience out of expediency ? Expediency says, it may be ; Conscience says, /'/ is. If Worcester were ten times as strong, I would not hesitate. God has chosen this « ■MUBIiill SHEATHED SWORDS 89 battle-field for us, as He chose Dunbar ; and because the place is strong, and because it is on both sides the river, we will draw closer and closer our crescent of steel round it. We will fight against it on both sides of the river, and we will expect that miracle of deliverance which will surely come, for we never yet found God failing, when we trusted in Him. In these parts we struck our first blows for Freedom, and here, at point and edge, we will strike our last, and then sheathe our swords. I give my word to you for this, and I will fully answer it. But there must be no slackness. The work is to be thorough, and not to do over again. The nation wishes it so, I know it. The plain truth is— we will march straight on Worcester ; we will cut off Charles Stuart from all hope of London ; we will fight him from both sides of the river, and bring this matter of the Stuarts to an end j for t' ey are the great troublers of Israel." The man and the time and the place had met, and there was no doubting it. His words burned this assurance into the hearts of all who heard him, and when he struck his sword-hilt to emphasise them, they answered with the same movement, unconscious and simultaneous. In some remarkable way, this tremendous national crisis had become known in every corner of the land. If the great angel who guides and guards the destinies of England had sent out a legion of messengers to cry it from every church tower, there could not have been any more conscious intimation of the final struggle. And the very vagueness and mystery of the conviction intensified its importance, for generally the information came as the wind blows, no one knew whence— only that the billows of war, though low and far ofF, were heard, only that a sense of presence and movement not visible thrilled and informed men and women and brought them nearer to their inner selves than 90 THE LION'S WHELP they had e«rer been before. Indeed, there were many whose spiritual senses were opened by intense longing and fearing, and they heard voices and saw portents and visions in the air above, yea, even on the streets around them. At Swaffham and de Wick this fateful feeling was ag- gravated by keen personal interests. To Mrs. SwafFham and Jane the coming battle might mean widowhood and orphanage; sons and brothers might be among those ap- pointed to die for Freedom's sake. To dc Wick it mignt mean the extinction of the family, root and branch, the loss to the lonely Earl and his daughter of the one love on which their future could build any hope. They could not bear audibly to surmise these things, but they feared them ; and not even Jane had yet reached that far-seeing faith, which, for a noble end, levels life and death. As the days went on they ceased their usual employments ; Jane went to the vil- lage, or even to Ely in search of news, or perhaps half-way to de Wick met Matilda on the same errand. Mutual fears drew them together ; they talked and wept and encouraged each other, and always parted with the one vjrhispcred w -' — *' To-morrnv." v At length there came a day when the unni|||ral tensi grew to its cruel ripeness. The soft gray a ^m n morn-'" ing was sensitive through every pulse of NatijKrod as the day wore on a strange still gloom hung far si^ w^e over the country. The very breath of calamity was in i^ Pur- itan and Royalist alike went to the open churchetp pray ; tradesmen left their wares and stood talking and watching the highways ; women wandered about their homes weep- ing and praying inaudibly, or they let their anxieties fret them like a lash. The next morning the west wind blew the sorrow in the air, far-ofF to sea ; but left an instanU- neous, penetrating sense of something being "all over.* ■■■ SHEATHED SWORDS 9« Whatever deed had been done, Englaud would »oon ring with it. On the third afternoon, there came rumours of a great Parliamentary victory, rumours that Charles ftuart had been slain in battle, suppositions and surmises innumerable and contradictory. Jane went as quickly as possibic to de Wick, for if indeed there had been a Royalist defeat, Stephen de Wick might have reached home and life was hardly to be 'jorne, unless some certainty relieved the ten- sion cutting like a tight thoiig her heart and brain. The neglect and desolation of de Wick Park had In it something unusual : it was that strange air of sorrow, new and unaccepted, which insists on recognition. It hurried Jane's steps; she felt sure she was either going to meet trouble or that trouble was following after her. When she reached the house, there were two horses tied, and even two horses were a strange sight, now, at thitt door where once there had been all day long the noise and hurry of sportsmen, and of coming and going guests. She entered the hall and saw a man in his stockinged feet softly descending the She knew his name and his occupation, and her The next moment Delia came stairs. heart stood still with fear. forward, and Jane said, « I am glad to see ycu back, D^lia. h Lady Ma- tilda well? Is any one ill? O Delia, what ii the matter ? Why are you crying ? And .vhy is Jabcx Clay here ? " « The priest is dead. Clay has been measuring him." "Dead!" "Yes, ma'am. He dropped dead when he heard of the fight— and the King's death." "Then you have news ? " " The worst news that could come. No one L-is seen 92 THE LION'S WHELP M' ■tt^mAii the King since the battle-all is lost— Audrey's Ben is back skin-whole, but he says " « Is that you, Jane Swaff ham ? " cried Matilda, mnmng down-stairs. " Come here, come here, come here ! " and seizing her by the arm, she compelled Jane to ascend at her side. As for Matilda, she was like a woman distraught. Grief and anger burned white in her face, her eyes blazed, her speech was shrill, her manner like one possessed. Jane made no resistance to such impetuous, imperative passion, and she was hurried up the steps and along the corridor until Matilda suddenly stopped and threw open the door of a darkened room. "Go in. Mistress SwafFham," she cried, "and look your last on one of Cromwell's victims." And Jane shook her- self free, and stood a moment regarding the placid face of the dead priest. He was wrapped in his winding sheet, the Book of Common Prayer lay on his breast, and his hands were clasped over it. " Oh, God be merciful ! " said Jane, and Matilda an- swered, " Yes, for men know nothing of mercy. Come, there is more yet." Then she opened the door next to the death chamber, and Jane saw lying on a grea': canopied bed the dying Earl. His last breatns were coming in painful sobs, but he opened his eyes and looked mournfully at Jane for a few moments. Then the physician sitting by his side motioned authoritatively to the two girls to leave the room. " He is dying. You see that. He may live till morning —no longer," said Matilda; "he is only waiting to see Stephen, and Stephen will never come. Ben said he was with the King's horse, and the King is slain, and all is »d ruin and sorrow without end. When you rise to-morrow morning, you can tell yourself Matilda de Wick is rather- SHEATHED SWORDS 93 less fatherless, brotherless, friendless, and homelesv, and I dare say yoa will add piously, * It is the Lord's doing * i Hut tt is not the Lord's doing, it is Oliver Cromwell's work. I would walk every step of ihe way to London if I might see him hung when I got there ! " « Indeed, Matilda, you are cruel to say such things. You are neither friendless nor homeless." " Indeed, I am in both cases. I will have no friends that are partners in Cromwell's crimes, and if Stephen be dead, de Wick goes only in the male line, and there is nrt a male left to our name. Cromwell and his ParUament may as weU take house and lands ; they have slain all who «n hold them— all, Reginald, Roland, Stephen, my Uncle Rob- ert, my cousins Rufus and Edward ! What wonder that Julian Sacy's heart broke, and that my father only waiU at the door of Death to say good-bye to Stephen." « What can I do for you, dear ? Oh, virhat can I do ? " I will have nothing ^rom you, not even pity, while you endure, yes, even admire, this monster of crue'ty, Oliver Cromwell." „ « Cruelty is far from him. He has the heart of a child. ^ « He is a very demon. He has drenched England in blood." "He has done nothing of the kind. Why did Chules Stuart invade England? What right had he to do so? England is not his private estate. England beloi»gs to Englishmen. No, I will not talk on this subject with you. When you are in reason send for me, and I will do any- thing, anything, that my heart and hands can do." " I will not send for you. I never wish to see your face again. And how poor Stephen loved you ! And you— you have not a tear for his fate. I thank God I am not of your profession. I can weep for the death jf those who loved me." 94 THE LION'S WHELP With these words Matilda turned sobbing away, and Jane, slowly at first and then hastily, took the road to SwaflFham. For after she had decided that it was best not to force her company on her distracted friend, she remembered that the news whiv-h had reached de Wick was probably at Swaff- ham. It might also have come there with a tale of death and danger, and her mother be needing her help and comfort. So she made all possible haste, and as soon as she reached SwafFham she was aware of a change. The servants were running about with unusual alacrity, and there was a sense of hurry and confusion. As soon as Jane spoke, her mother came quickly towards her. Her look was flurried, but not unhappy, as she cried, " Have you the news, Jane? *Tis the greatest victory that hath ever been in England. Dr. Verity came an hour ago, so tired he could scarcely sit his horse. He has had a warm drink and sleeps, it he says no victory was ever like it.'* " And my father and brothers ? What of them ? " "Your father is well; Tonbert and Will have some slight sword cuts. Cymlin has taken them to London, and Dr. Marvel will see to their wounds. We must be ready to go with Dr. Verity to London on Tuesday morning. Your father desires it." " I heard at de Wick that Charies Stuart is slain." " Dr. Verity believes not such a report. He says, how- ever, that the war is over. The Royalists have now neither army nor leader. Now, Jane, make some haste. Put carefully away what is to be left, and pack a small box with such clothing as you must take with you. Joslyn, the carrier, will bring the rest. To-morrow, being Sabbath, we can do nothing towards our journey, but on Monday all must be finished." It troubled Jane that there was so little sense of triumph. SHEATHED SWORDS 95 "The greatest victory that had ever been in England" ap- peared quite a secondary thing to Mrs. SwaiFham in com- parison with the hurried journey to London, and all it implied. An unspeakable fear had been lifted from every heart, and yet, instead of the great rejoicing which would have been fit and natural, there was a little ennui and for- gfitfulness— a feeling which if it had found words might have said, « There, now, the trouble is over. We have felt all we can feel. We would rather sit down and cry a little than shout to the church bells clanging all over Eng- land. We have given of ourselves freely while need waa, now the need is over, let us alone." Such an appearance of ingratitude troubled Jane in her very soul. Cromwell so eagerly looked for, so mighty to help, had not been even named. "What ingrates mortals are ! " she thought bitterly," what ingrates both to God and man. Yet had my father been here, he would have called the house together and thanked God for His help by the hand of Oliver Cromwell." To such thoughts she worked rapidly. Her little box was soon packed, her room put in order, and she was beginning to wonder if Dr. Verity's sleep was delaying supp'^r, when there was a sharp, impatient knock at the door. Before she could in any way answer it, Matilda de Wick entered and threw herself on her knees at Jane's side. "You said you would help me," she cried; "you said you would, with heart and hands ! Now, Jane, keep your word ! It is life or death ! Have pity on me ! Have pity on me ! " " What is it, Matilda ? What is it you wish ? " " It is Stephen ; it is his friend Hugh Belward. They are searching de Wick for them now. I have brought them to you. Father told me to come here. I could go 96 THE LION'S WHELP nowhere else, I had no time. Jane, for God', jake «ve them; not for my sake, not for pity's sake, but for God. sake save them ! They are now outside this door-thcjr may be seen by some servant-let them enter-may I open the door? Jane, speak. There is not a moment to lose. The men seeking them may be on their way here— Jane, Jane! Why don't you let them in ? You said you would help me! Oh, for God's dear sake ! '' « How can I do what you ask me, Matilda? Think ot what you ask " . " I know i I ask life for two poor souls ready to perish. One of them loves you-Jane, speak-why are you wait- ing ? " ^. , „ "My father— my brothers— and in this room f— My own room ? " "The more sure sanctuary. Be not too nice, when too much niceness may be murder. Jane, there is no time to talk. Let them through the door." "I will call mother," she said; "let them in until I bring her here." Thei. le opened the door, and Matilda brought the two wayworn, blood-stained, fainting fugitives within the sanctua7. Mrs. Swaff ham was not long in answering Matilda s pe- tition. That divine compassion that oversteps every ob- stacle, and never asks who or what art thou, saw the visible necessity and hastened to meet it. " Surely, surely, my poor lads," she said pitifully, " I wiU find hiding for you." " God Himself thank you, madame," sobbed Matilda. " Father said you would. He told me to bring the boys to you, and I brought them through the fields and under the hedges. No one has seen them j it was nearly dark," she said hysterically. SHEATHED SWORDS 97 *< Yet, dearie, and V/ ill shall saddle a horse and take you home." '* No, no, no ! It would then be known I had come here in th; dark i and the servants would ask what for, and suspect the truth. No one must know. I can find my way — and I must now go." *^ Tell your father that they who would hurt the young men must hurt me first." " It will be the greatest, the last, comfort he can have in this world." Then she kissed her brother, and with a glance of farewell pity at his companion, went quickly and quietly away. "Go down-stoirs, Jane," said Mrs. Swaffham, "and if Dr. Verity is waiting, order supper to be served. Tell him not to wait on my necessities, which are many, i^'th so much packing and putting away to look after. Keep men and maids busy on the ground floor, and the east side. I will bestow our friends in the oak room, on the west side of the house." To this room she took them, and then brought water and wine and bread and meat, and some of her son's clothing, showing them, also, that the wide chimney had been pre- pared for such emergencies by having stout, firm, iron stirrups placed right and left at very short intervals. " By these you can easily reach the roof," she said ; " Dr. Verity did so once, when Laud's men were seeking him. But I think no Parliament soldiers will search Israel SwafFham's house for succored malignants. To-night and to-morrow you can rest and sleep ; I will waken you very early Mon- day morning, and you can go to de Wick for your horses, ere any one is astir." She kissed them both and poured out wine and made them drink, and then, looking carefully to see that no chink in shutters or door let out a glimpse 9< THE LION'S WHELP of cwdle-light, left them to e.t md «t. H«r h^ wu Ugh^ «d .he l»d no «n« of """^-^'^l^^ Sttphl tad warned her that P«-li.n.en. h«l «ued « ori« S^ng Jl who .heltered royaUm with fin. wd im- 'tS;;-".-. orier. «e well enougV -he "^ » ta. «lf .. .he .tepped rapidly «.d lighUy »way from the «.« " h" d»obJ"«, "well enough, but I J^-nk f«r"^«J U« onler. of the King of king., »«'«%"''• ™1."I enemy hunger to f«»l him and give h.m dnnk, and of c«.n» S «.d dothing-the oU «.d the twopence-the cA fo. to "ible want.. 1 the twopence for the w«t. ^ ^ I mu.t not forget the twopence. Thank God, I can .pate lr^nd.f«th.poorlad.l" And her face wa.« ham m the thought that .he «emed to bring ,un.h.ne m» tte paHour, wh.« .he found Dr. Verity eat ng a l«.f..«ak pSin^ «.d taking, to Jan., wNo »t with a wh... and anxioo. face trying to .nule and aniwer him. "^me and r«S a Utde, Martha," he «id, " I am net t. halve a day." . , ^ . „ « But I am. Doctor. I want to see to my boy » wound., u Wounds ! Pshaw ! Scratches ! They will be in armour to enter London when CromweU does. And what t^. vou ? Here come a half-a^ozen riders awhde ago, seeking young de Wick. They said also that it was thought CharL Stuart might be with him, and they wodd tovc searched SwafFham-high and low-if I had not been h^ I vouched my word for no Stuart or de Wick in SwafFham, and told them the whole house was upside down, men and auids in every room, and you and Jane packing for London. And the rascals didn't uke my word, but went to kitchen and asked Tom and Dick and Harry and aU wenches, and so satisfied themselves." SHEATHED SWORDS 99 **• The impudent varlett," said Mrs. SwalFhuii, ** to tec your word at naught. I wish that: you had called me." ^ I told them when they hummed and hawed to 'light from their horses and go through the house, and Jane said, * Surely, sirs. Dr. Verity will go with you i * and then I let them have the rough side of my tongue, and said, *■ I'd do no such mean business as search Captain Israel SwaflFham's house for royalists, and he and his three sons fighting them on every battle-field in England and Scotland. Not I ! ' So they went their ways to the kitchen, and learned nothing to what I told them ; but they got a drink of ale, which was likely what they wanted. But if Charles Stuart had been here I would have gladly led the way to hkn, for I like well to betray a num who deceives and betrays all men." " You would not. Dr. Verity," said Jane. ** I know you better than your words. You would have put him on your own big horse, and put money in his hand, and said. Fly ! I am not thy executioner." " I say. No, downright.'* " I say. Yes," affirmed Mrs. SwafFham. ** J the heart of battle perhaps No, but if he came to you after the battle and begged for mercy, you would think of the reproach our Lord Christ gave to the unmerciful steward — shouldst not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant even as I had pity on thee." *^You argue like a woman, Martha. There is the example of Jael." " I wouldn't do what Jael did if England's crown was for it. There is not an Englishwoman living, not one living, who would play Jael. If Charles Stuart has got away from battle, he has got away ; and if you are looking to Englishwomen to betray a poor soul in extremities, Charles Stuart may live to be King of England yet." 100 THE LION'S WHELP "You are making a wicked and impossible suggestion, ^""no more wicked and impossible than that there is another Jael in England. There is not ! " " Don't flare up in that way, Martha. Thank God, we are neither of us yet called upon to decide such a question as Charles Stuart's life or death. But he might come here ; the courage of despair may bring him. What would you J f »» « Tou are here, and I would leave you to answer that "*"" Well,°'l"^ish he woul 1 come. There is danger wWle he is hiding here and there in the country. What good i. it to quench the fire in the chimney if it be scattered about the house ? I think we will begin our journey to London on Monday morning, Martha." r u « I cannot. If I had as many hands as fingers, I could not. You may keep watch and ward to-morrow and Mon- day, and it may be well to do so •, for to tell the tmth, I trust neither men nor maids in the kitchen. For a Parha- ment half-crown they would hide the devil. When was this great battle of Worcester fought ? " « L^it Wednesday, on the third day of this month. " Mother, remember how sad we were all that day. You said to me, ^ Jane, there is death in the air i ' and Ae men could not work, and they vowed the beasts trembled and were not to guide or to hold." " The third of September ! " said Mrs. SwafFham, "that was Dunbar day. A great victory was Dunbar ! " "Worcester was a greater victory; and there will M one more third of September, the greatest victory of^ But where it wiU be, and over what enemy, only Uoa knows." MM SHEATHED SWORDS lOI " When did the Worcester battle begin ? " asked Jane. *^ About four in the afternoon. It was a faiv day, the sun shone brightly over the old city, with its red-tiled roofs, its orchards and gardens and hop fields, and over the noble river and long line of the green Malvern hills a few miles away. And the Royalist army made a grand show with their waving cloaks and plumes, their gay silk banners, and their shouts of For God and King ! But they were as stub- ble before steel when Cromwell's iron men faced them with their stern answering shout of God PVith Us I It was a stiff business, but indeed God was with us. As for Crom- well, he was so highly transported that scarce one dared speak to him. Wherever he led, a great passion, like to a tempestuous wind, seized the men, and they crowded and rushed the enemy from street to street, shouting as they did so psalms of victory. Yes, Martha, yes, Jane, rushed them as the devil rushed the demon-haunted hogs into the sea of Galilee. Oh, I tell you, Cromwell ! our Cromwell ! is always grand, but never so mighty as when on horse- back in front of his army. Then you look at the man, and thank God for hini." " And the battle began at four ? I remember hearing SwafFham church strike that hour. I stood in a wretched mood at the door and counted the strokes. They had a fateful sound." " We had been at work all day, but at that hour we had two bridges over the Severn, and Cromwell with half the army passed over them to the west side of the city. He rode in front, and was the first man to cross. Pitscottie's Highlandmen were waiting for him, and he drove them at push of pike from hedge to hedge till they were cut to pieces, every man's son of them, one on the heels of the other. And when Charles Stuart saw this battle raging on 101 THE LION'S WHELP the west side of the river, he attacked the troops that had been left with Lambert on the east side. Right glad was Lambert, and 'tis said that the Stua:t behaved very gallantly and broke a regiment of militia; and the troops, bemg mostly volunteers, began to waver. But Cromwell .aw this new attack at once, and he and Desborough and Cob- bett came rattling over the bridges of boats. No dismay when Cromwell was there ! His voice and presence meant victory ' The malignants, with their Scotch aUies, re- treated before him into Wor ester streets, Cromwell's men after them pell-mell. Women, it was then hell let loose, for by this time it was nearly dark, and the narrow streets were lit only by the flashes of the great and small shot. Cromwell rode up and down them, in the midst of the fire; he took Fort Royal from the enemy, and with his own hands fired its guns upon them as they fled hither and thither, they knew not, in their terror and despair, where. Every street in Worcester was fuU of fire and blood, the rattle of artillery, the shouts of our captains, the shrieks of the dying. All night the sack of the city went on. Itwa. a tenfold Drogheda, and ever since, by day and night, Lam- bert has been following the flying enemy, hunting and slaying them in every highway and hiding-place. Oh, in- deed, the faces of our foes have been brought down to earth and their mouths filled with dust j and rightly so. No one will ever know the number slain, and we have ten thousand prisoners." , , .. c iri«« « Was such cruelty necessary ? " asked Mrs. Swaffham. "War is cruel, Martha i a battle would not be a bat^ unless it was cruel-furiously cruel. What is the use of striking soft in battle ? The work is to do over again. A cruel war is in the end a merciful war.'* « It is said Charles Stuart is slain.** SHEATHED SWORDS 103 ** I don't believe that report, it has been spread by his friends to favour his escape. At first he was distracted, and went about asking some one to slay him ; but he was seen afterwards beyond the gates of Worcester, moving eastward with a number of his adherents. David Leslie may be slain. I saw him riding slowly up and down like a man who had lost his senses. I could have shot him easily — but I did not." " Thank God, Doctor ! '* " I don't know about that, Martha. I'm not sure in my own miad about letting the old traitor go. But his white hair, his bloody face, and his demented look stayed my hand. He had left his bridle fall, his horse was trembling^ in every limb ; the old man did not know what he was do- ing, he had lost his senses. Yet David Leslie ought to have been shot — only, I could not shoot him i he fought at my side— once. God forgive him! Martha, I have had enough of war. I thank God it is over." "But is it over?" " Cromwell says so, and I believe him. When a man walks with God as closely as Cromwell does, be knows many things beyond ordinary knowledge. I saw him about ten o'clock. He had written then a few lines to his wife and family, and was writing to the Parliament. Anu what did he say in that letter? Did he praise himself? No ! He was bold humbly to beg that all the glory might be given to God, who had wrought so great a salvation. When he had sealed and sent off these letters — by Lord Cluny Neville, Mistress Jane— he lifted his sword, red from the hilt to the point, and wiped it upon a Royalist flag lying near him. Then he dropped the blade into the sheathe with a clang, and said, * Truly thou hast had thy last bloody supper. Rest now, thy work is done ! ' " lO^ THE LION'S WHELP cc Truly, I know not what work^ ' said Mrs. SwafFham. ** I sec only death and destruction." " Martha, suppose Charles Stuart had conquered at Worcester, and that he had marched on London and been received there as the conqueror of a rebellious people, what would follow ? " ** I know not, nor does any man or woman know." "I can tell you. Our Protestant faith and our civil lib- erty would be taken from us ; for the latter depends on the former, and all we have done since 1640 would be to do over again. Jericho has fallen, would you rebuild it ? " " All I want is peace." " That we shall now have. Our steel bodies, that have *galled us long with the wearing of them, may be cast ofF; our men will return to their homes and their daily work, and our worship shall never more be broken up, but our Sabbaths be full of good things." " If we love God, I wonder if it makes so much difference how we worship Him ? " " I am astonished at you, Martha." "I am astonished likewise at all the sorrow and blood- shedding about surplices and chasubles and written prayers and such things." " My dear mother ! " « Oh, my dear Jane, it is so; and I was astonished when I was a girl and saw my father go to poverty and prison for such trifles. Yes, I say trifles— and I am a Puritan minister's child, and not ashamed of it — and my husband and sons have bein taken from me, and my household left for the battle-field, and I know n<^t what sorrows and trials — " " Come, come, Martha, you arc tired and fretted. If we believe in a great and terrible God, bow we are most accept- HH Th. ^X DXOPPXO * .3 BLADE INTO THK SHSATHX WITB A CLAMG." ♦ ii UJt SHEATHED SWORDS 105 abljr to worship Him is not a trifling thing ; far from it ! I tell you both, the form of worship we have in England measures our civil liberty. If we submit to spiritual slavery, any king or queen or successful soldier may make us civil slaves. Now let the subject drop; the war is over, we will think of peace.** " Peace comes too late for many a family. There are the de Wicks." « I am sorry for them, and I could be sorrier if they had suffered for the right instead of the wrong. What will the young Lady Matilda do after her father's dejth ? '* " I know not what, with any surety." " Her aunt. Lady Jevery, has been written for, more than a week ago. She may be at de Wick even now. I think Matilda will make her home with the Jeverys." "Then she goes to London. I know their gre:. house near Drury Lane. It has very fine gardens indeed. I be- lieve the Jeverys are under ;iuspicion, Martha, as very hot malignants. And now, Jane, dear little Jane, listen to me. You are going to the great city, to Whitehall Palace, to Hampton Court, to the splendour and state of a great nation. You will be surrounded by military pomp and civil glory and social pride and vanity. Dear little girl, keep yourself unspotted from the world ! " " May God help me, sir.'* "And let not the tale of love beguile you. Young Harry Cromwell, gallant and good, will be there ; and Lord Neville, with his long pedigree and beautiful face; and officers in scarlet and gold, and godly, eloquent preachers in black and white, and foreign nobles, and men of all kinds and degrees. And 'tis more than likely many will tell you that Jane Swaffliam is fair beyond all other women, and vow their hearts and lives to your keeping. Tben^ :^. ,o6 THE LION'S WHELP Jane, in such hours of temptation, be low and humble towards God. Go often to the assembling of the saints and catch the morning dew and celestial rain of their prayers and praise. Then, Jane, cry all the more earnesUy — *Tell me, oh Thou whom my soul loweth'— my soul, Jane—* where Thou feedest, where Thou makest Thy flocks to rest at noon.' And no doubt you will add to this inquiry its sweet closing—* He brought me to the banqueting-housc, and His banner over me was love.' " And Jane smiled gratefully, and her eyes were dim with tws as she laid her hands in Doctor Verity's to clasp her promise. Yet when she reached her room and sat quiet in its solitude, no one will blame her because many thoughts of love and hope blended themselves with the piteous ones she sent to de Wick, and to the two weary fugitives under SwafFham roof. She was pleased at the thought of Harry Cromwell, but oh ! what a serious happiness, what a flush of maiden joy transfigured her face when she thought of her lover, forecasting rose-winged hours for him to glorify. And in her soul's pure sanctuary she whispered his name while her eyes dreamed against the goal of their expected meeting. For Love gives Hope to the true and tender, but counts a cold heart a castaway. BOOK II The Tools To Those Who Can Handle Them I m 1 i 1^ 1 CHAPTER VI ON THE TIDE TOP •• Cromwell ! Why Uuit'« the luune of Victory." *' The shouting cries Of the pleated people, rend the vaulted ikles." «« Let there be music. Let the Master touch The solemn organ, and soft breathing flute." ** Rupert ! Oh there's music m the name. Repeated as a charm to ease my grief. I, that loved name did as some g^ invoke ; And printed Vr^es on it u I spoke." The great day of triumph was over. Cromwell had entered London at the head of his victorious army, and the city was safe and jubilant. Standing at her mother's side, Jane had witnessed from a window in the crowded Strand the glorious pageant of Liberty, the martial vision of warriors whose faces had been bathed in that rain that falls on battle-fields, red as the rains of hell ; she had seen again the simple, kindly man who had been her childhood's friend, and who was now England's chief of men, being to England both father and son, both sword and shield. She had heard his name carried on rolling tides of human shouts and huzzas, chording with the firing of cannon, the beating of drums, the tread of thousands, the chiming of bells, and all the multitudinous and chaotic clamour which constitutes the excitement of a great crowd, and always brings with it the sense of bounding life and brotherhood. „o THE LION'S WHELP And in the midtt of thi. joyful turbulence the had caught tight of her father and brothers and lover •, her father's . ce •ternly glad, like the face of a man who had fought a good fight to assured victory-, his sons imitating his bearing, as well as youth could copy age ; and the young lord not far from them, proud and radiant and carrying aloft the colours of the Commonwealth. Somewhere in that crowd of spectators he thought Jane must be present, and he bore himself as if he were constantly in her sight. As yet they had not met, nor had Cluny any certain knowledge of the Swaffham's location. There had been some supposition that they would lodge in Leadenhall Street, at the home of Mistress Adair, the widow of an In- dependent minister who had preached often in the little chapel attached to Oliver Cromwell's house in Hunting- don i but of this he had no positive information, and he certainly expected that Mrs. SwafFham would advise him of their arrival in London. Mrs. SwafFham had, however, learned that Cluny NeviUc was personally objectionable to her husband and sons, and, as she could not see clearly what road to take, she very wisely stood still, waiting for some light and guidance. And it seen cd unnecessary to trouble Jane's heart until there was a positive reason for doing so; yet her depression and evident disappointment fretted her mother. "What is the matter with you, Jane?" :.he asked im- tably one morning •. " you look as if you had lost everything in the world instead of beiig, as your father thinks, right on the road to many a good day.^ I wouldn't throw such a damp over things if I were you." « You seem to have forgotten Cluny, mother." « He seems to have forgotten us i he might have called, I think." ON THE TIDE TOP III " Doe« he know where we are ? " "He could have found out. He tees Cymlin often enough.*' ,. « I think Cymlin di»liket him. I asked him yesterday if he knew Lord Neville and he answered me rudely." " He is your brother." 'Just for that reason he ought to have spoken civilly to ti me. U] He is your brother, and you must hear and heed what he says. And I must teH you, Jane, that it is not maidenly to toke any young man so seriously as you uke Lord Neville until your father and brothers are satisfied. It is a matter of importtnce to them what men are brought into the SwafFham family. There is plenty to make you happy with- out Lord Neville. Your own people are safe and sound, the Cause we love is secure, and you may now dwell your life out in England •, but if we had not conquered, it would have been over the seas and into the wilderness for us, and strangers forever in old SwafFham. I shouldn't think you were done thanking God for these mercies yeti and if not, then where do you find heart-room for such melancholy and moping as I see in you ? " ^^ " But, mother, when I look back to last August " If you want to look happily forward never look back- ward." " To be sure ; but though I know Cluny loves me, doubts and fears wiU come, and I cannot always fight them or reason with them. "Don't try either fighting or reasoning. There is a broad enough way between them." Jane smiled and lifted her tambour work, and her mother nodded cheerfully as she continued, " Enjoy the hour as it comes to you. I have always found that one good hour iia THE LION'S WHELP brings on another." And Jane took the counsel into her heart and anon began to sing — " It was alone Thy Providence, That made us Masters of the field," and when she had got thus far, a loud, joyful voice joined her in the next two lines, and its owner came into the room singing them — «« Thou art our Castle of defense. Our Fort, our Bulwark and our Shield." " Oh, Doctor Verity ! " Jane cried, " how glad I am to see you." "I had been here an hour ago, but I had to wait on the Lady Mary Cromwell. They who serve women must learn to wait. She has sent you a letter, and a coach is at your order, and you are bid to Whitehall. And you will be very welcome there." " I know not any ceremonies. Doctor." « You do not need to know them. It is Mary Crom- well, yet i though if the women of Cromwell's house assume greatness, he has won it for them. Why should they not wear the honours their father gives them ? " Then Jane ran to her mother, and her box of fineries was quickly packed, and the girl came down for her visit glow- ing with hope and happiness. All the shadows were gone i she sat a little proudly in the fine coach by the side of Doctor Verity, and was alert and watchful, for it did not seem an improbable thing that she might have a passing sight of her lover. The city had by this time recovered its cvery-day temper, and she could not help contracting the plodding, busy serenity of its present mood with its frenzjr ON THE TIDE TOP "3 of triumphant joy on the entry of Cromwell. Doctor Verity insisted that the two conditions were alike natural. " No one can play th' OOi ike a wise man," he said j " and the greater and the ic'.if r the cu- the more extravagantly and unreasonably an- \ umtingly it will express its victory and salvation. London aau ^j vMLch to lose," he continued, ^' that it would better have lain in ashes than lain at the feet of any Stuart." As they drew neai to Whitehall, Jane's spirits fell a lit- tle. She had not caught a glimpse of her lover, and she felt a sudden anxiety about her position. Sometimes pros- perity is as fatal to friendship as adversity, and the girl tried in silence to prepare herself for any change in affection that change of fortune might have caused. But her fears were very transient ; Mary and Frances Cromwell met her with effusive attentions; they called her affectionately by her name, and quickly took her to the general sitting-room of the family. Madame Cromwell was there, as kind and motherly as of old ; and Mistress Ireton, silently reading a sermon of Doctor Owen's; and Mrs. Claypole selecting some damask for a new gown ; and Mary and Frances, full of the joy and pride of their great position, soon carried Jane all through their splendid apartments, and aft rwards sat down together in Mary's room to talk over old times and the friends and occupations that had made them happy and memorable. Their first inquiry was for Lady Matilda de Wick, and when Jane answered, " Her father is dead, and I know not exactly what has befallen her since his death," the girls were all silent a few minutes. After the pause, Mary Cromwell said — "I remember her so well on her fine Barbary mare. How handsome she was ! How proud ! If the Earl spoke to my father then she would deign to ask after ^ I* V- I „4 THE LION'S WHELP „V lessons, or my dog, or how the skating was on the Broad. BJt she was older than I, and it --so long Lo-lately she has been deaf, dumb and blmd to the ^romwellUey do not mind that much now. I wonder ""^1, t s'tid she would live with her aunt, Lady Jevery , if so she must be in London." Xd you know it not > And you have not seen her! That is . mrvel. It w« thought impoMible for Mat,ld. d. Wick and Jane Swaffham to live long apart. I « There have been great changes," sighed Jane. feo^ pie that were once friends know ea.b other no more. It U hoped now that there will be many reconc,l.at.ons. ' « We have seen Lady Heneage often," sard Mary C^m^ weU, " and 'tis said there is a purpose of mamage h.«^.en Illi Heneage and a favourite of my fa.her-.-Lord Cluny "'Ifhlve seen Lord NeviUe," said Jane. « He brought ^ your letters and the blue and gold ribbon you _^nt me. His visits were dying ones-, he came and he went -Like the knight in the story-he loved and he rode away But we a^ all mightily uken with his fine „«nn« aid his beauty, and the Lord General, my father, thmks h>« to have great sincerity and discretion." " A very perfect youth," answered Jan. W|th a smJe. "indeed, w. think so, if you are of a diflerent opim«. you wiU change it on a bener knowWge of the young ^ He is coming here this afternoon, B he not, Frank ( " Hr.aid ». He was to make some copies of the hymn he wrote, for Mr. Milton has set it to music, and we «. 'o pnS; ■»« singing t-ge^er. Father think, very highly "'fD^te!" ejaculate! Jane, "is he .1«, a poetfl ON THE TIDE TOP "S thought he wrote only with his sword. I fear that he has too many perfections. Has he not one fault to balance them ? " " Yes," answered Ni 7, " he has one great fault, he is a Presbyterian, and a Scotch Presbyterian. In all other things he holds with the Lord General, but he sticks to his Scotch idols — ^John Knox and the Covenant." " I think no worse of him for that," said Jane. " If he knew what an Independent was, he would likely be an Independent." "It is not believable," retc.ied Mary. "He is a Scotchman, or next door to one. And if a man is a Samaritan, what can he know of Jerusalem ? " " I care not what he is," said Frances. " He has hand- some eyes, and he writes poetry, and he tells such stories as make your blood run cold — and sometimes love-stories, and then his voice is like music ; and if it was not sinf'il to dance " " But it is sinful," said Jane warmly, " and if I siw Lord Neville or any other man making mincing steps to a viol I would never wish to speak to him again. Would you, Mary ? " " Of course not, but Frank is only talking. We have masters now in music and singing and geography, and I am learning Morhy's Airs^ straight through, besides roundelays and madrigals. And we have a new harpsichord, though the Lord General, my father, likes best the organ or the lute." "And besides all this," continued Frances, "we are studying the French tongue, and history, and the use of the globes ; and Mrs. Katon comes twice every week to ^Popular and patriotic aonfi h&nng the nme vogue then at Mo«r^t MthdUt in our eta. '* ■ „6 THE LION'S WHELP teach us how to make wax flowers and fruit and take the new stitches in tatting and embroidery. And, Jane, I have got a glass bowl full of goldfish. They came from Ch,i«^ and there are no more of them, I think, m England. Come with me, and you shall see them." "Never mind the fish now, Frank," said Mary; "there is the bell for dinner, and we must answer it at once or we shall grieve mother." . j- • They rose at these words and went quickly to the dinmg- room. Mrs. Cromwell, leaning upon the arm of her daugh- ter, Mrs. Ireton, was just entering it, and Jane wondered silently at the state these simple country gentry had so easily assumed. Officers of the household, in rich uniforms, waited on all their movements and served them with obsequious respect ; and they bore their new honours a. if they had been bom to the purple. Mrs. Cromwell* simplicity stood her in the place of dignity, and the piety and stern republicanism of Mrs. Ireton gave to her bearing that indifference to outward pomp which passed readily for inherited nobility, while the beauty of Mrs. Claypole and her love of splendour fitted her surroundings with more than accidental propriety. 'AH the women of this famous household were keenly alive to the glory of those achieve- ments which had placed them in a palace and all of . them rendered to its great head every title of honour hi. miehty deeds claimed as their right. "The General dines with the Speaker," said Mrs. Cromwell i and she was herself about to say grace when Doctor Verity entered. He was greeted with » chorus of welcomes, and readily took his scat at the foot of the table and spoke the few words of grateful prayer which sweetened and blessed every Puritan meal. Then in answer to some remark about Cromwell's absence he said, illHHriaHHMMIIMailllHIl ■iilllii ON THE TIDE TOP 117 "The Lord General is much troubled about the Worcester prisoners. There has just been a pitiful kind of triumph made out of their miseries. I don't approve of it, not I, God forbid ! They have been made a spectacle for men and angels, marched from Hampstead Heath, through Aldgate, Cheapside, and the Strand, to Westminster- hungry, beggarly creatures, many of them wounded, and nearly naked." " Poor fellovirs," said Mrs. Cromwell. « Sturdy, surly fellows, madame. I don't envy the men who will have to manage them as slaves." " They go to the Barbadoes, I hear ? " " Yes, — it is Scotland no more for them." " Is that right. Doctor ? " " Indeed, madame, I am not clear in my conscience con- cerning the matter. It is the liberty of war. The Lord General has given two or three prisoners to each of his friends and entertainers between here and Worcester. However, the miserable fellows brought some comfort out of their evil plight, for the citizens along all the route for- got they were enemies, and the women fed them with the best of victuals, and the men stepped from their shop door* and put money in their hands. Pll be bound the rogue* got more money and good white bread this morning than they have seen in all their lives before. Besides which, there is, in the Exchange and in the ale-houses, a box for the poor prisoners, and whenever men make a bargun they drop a God's-penny into it for them. That's Englishmen all over; they fight to the death in fair battle, but when their foe is at their feet they lift him up and help him and forget that he was ever their enemy. And may God keep Englishmen ever in such mind ! " "Indeed," said Mary Cromwell, "these Scots have ii8 THE LION'S WHELP given us trouble and sorrow enough. They ought to be sent out of the country, or out of the world, and that at once!" "That is my opinion," said Mrs. Ireton. *^ Our brave men are being slain, and the country is torn asunder for their malignancy." " There have been as brave spirits as the world ever saw in both Puritan and Royalist armies, madame," answered the Doctor. " I, for one, am glad that both parties have fought their quarrel to the end. I rejoice because our hard-smiting Puritan hosts would not let the Stuarts come back and trample them, with all law and liberty, under their feet. But I would have been deadly sorry if the Cavaliers of England had wanted the temper to fight for their King and their church. Right or wrong, we must honour men who have convictions and are willing to die for them." « Monarchy and Prelacy go together," said Mrs. Ireton ; " and England has had more than enough of both." " We are of one mind on that point, madame," said Doctor Verity. " In this respect, the man George Fox and his followers have some true light, and they are scattering the truth, as they see it, broadcast. I have taken occasion, and sought occasion, and gone out of my way to find oc- casion, to meet George Fox, but have not yet done so. I was told that he once listened to my preaching at St. Paul's Cross, and that he said I was not far from the Kingdom. I liked that in George; I hope I may say the same for him. Our Lord General tk iks him to be a man after God's own heart." "My father sees t.ie best in every one," said Mis. Claypole. "Why do you not speak to the Lord General about these poor prisoners ? " Mrs. Cromwell said. " He gave IB ON THE TIDE TOP 110 very kind orders about the Dunbar prisoners, and if they were not carried out it was not his fault." ^^^^^ „ «I neglect no opportunities, madame. And CromweU needs not that any one soften his heart. The sight of hese fallen heroes made him weep-but there are cons.de^^- ations-and every triumph implies some one crushed a. the ^'"otlr Verity," said Jane, "if we may lawfully fight and kill for the sake of our rights and our convictions, may we not also lawfully punish those who made us put our lives in such jeopardy ? " . ^ r if J.fi.n«#.. « Jane, I am sure that we have the right of self-defense , the awful attributes of vengeance and retribution are dif- ferent things. Will mortal hands be -"ocent th^ukc the sword of vengeance from God's armoury ? I fear not. I had a long talk with Sir Richard Musgrave this morning on this very subject. I found Lord Cluny Neville with him-, it seems they are related." "Why did you not bring Lord Ncvdle with you? ^"^ « LordNevUle looks after his own affairs. Lady Frances _I do likewise." u u.»..r -Then, Doctor," said Mrs. Cromwell, «look better after your dinner. That buttered salmon has gone cold while you talked. There is a jar of olives near yuu,-and ;'; what will you have? a dish of steaks or marrow Les? or ribs of roast beef? or some larded veal? or broiled larks ? " , . , ^f "Roast beef for John Verity, madame, and a couple of broiled birds and a dish of prawn« and cheese. I enjoy n^ meat, and am not more ashamed of it than the flowers are of drinking the morning dew." « You arc always happy. Doctor," said Jane. 120 THE LION'S WHELP i I m " I think it is the best part of duty to be happy, and to make others happy. No one will merit heaven by making a hell of earth. As I came through Jermyn Street I saw Lady Matilda de Wick. She looked daggers and pistols at me. God knows, I pity her. She was shrouded in black." " Has anything been heard of Stephen de Wick ? " asked Jane. " It is thought he reached The Hague in safety. His companion. Sir Hugh Belvard, joined Prince Rupert's pirate fleet there." Then Mrs. Ireton, as if desirous of changing the sub- ject, spoke of Doctor John Owen, and of his treatise on " The Pattern-Man" and Doctor Verity said he was " a Master in Israel." Talking of one book led to conver- sations on several '-thers, until finally the little volume by Cromwell's brother-in-law. Doctor Wilkins, was men- tioned. It was a dissertation on the moon and its inhabi- tants, and the possibility of a passage thither. Mrs. Ireton disapproved the book altogether, and Mrs. Cromwell was quite scornful concerning her brother Wilkins, and thought " the passage to the heavenly land of muf ,1 greater im- portance." But it was easy to turn from Doctor Wilkins to the great University in which he was a professor, and Mrs. Claypole reminded her mother of their visit to Oxford after its occupation by Cavalier and Puritan soldiers. "I remember," she answered. "It was a sin and a shame to see ! The stained windows were broken, and the shrines of Bernard and Frideswide open to the storm ; the marble heads of the Apostles were mixed up with cannon balls and rubbish of all kinds. Straw heaps were on the pavements and staples in the walls, for dragoons had been quartered in All Souls, and their beasts had crunched their Miii ON THE TIDE TOP lai oats under the tower of St. Mary Magdalene. I could not help feeling the pity of it, and when I told the General he was troubled. He said » the ignorant have clumsy ways of showing their hatred of wrong i but being ignorant, we must bear with them.' " r • l »» -j '» All these barbarisms have been put out of sight, said Dr. Verity, " and thanks to Doctor Pocock, Oxford is it- self again." « Doctor Pocock ! " ejaculated Mrs. Cromwell. " He was here a few days ago to consult with the General. He had on a square cap, and large rufF surmounting his doctor's gown } his hair was powdered and his boots had lawn tops trimmed with ribbons. ' He looked very little like a Com- monwealth Divine and Professor." « My dear madame, Doctor Pocock is both a Royalist and a Prelatist." " Then he ought not to be in Oxford," said Mary Crom- well hotly. " What is he doing there ? " « He is doing good work there. Lady Mary for he is the most famous Oriental and Hebrew scholar in England. No Latiner, but -reat in Syriac and Arabic ; and no bigot, for he is the close friend of Doctor Wallis and of your uncle, Doctor Wilkins, though he does not go with them to the Wadham conventicle. The Parliamentary triers de- clared him incompetent but Edward Pocock had powerful friends who knew his worth, and perhaps if you ask your honoured father, he can tell you better than I why Dr. Po- cock is in Oxford, and what he is doing there." At this moment. Lord Cluny Neville entered the room. He saw Jane on the instant, and his eyes gave her swift welcome, while in the decided exhilaration following his entrance Love found his opportunities. But among them was none that gave him free speech with Janej they were 122 THE LION'S WHELP iiis not a moment alone. Cluny had a fund of pleasant talk, for he had just come from. the Mulberry Gardens, where he had met Mr. and Mrs. Evelyn and had some refresh- ment at the tables with them. " I suppose the Evelyns were as gaily dressed as usual ? " asked Mrs. Claypole, " and looking as melancholy as if the world would come to an end in a week's time ? " " Indeed, they were very handsome," answered Neville; " and the coach they brought from Paris is extremely fine. We had some chocolate in thin porcelain cups, and some Italian biscuits and sweetmeats. And anon we were joined by Mr. Izaak Walton, the gentlest of malignants, and very entertaining in his talk. Mr. Evelyn was praising Mr. Milton's p -try, but Mr. Walton did not agree with him. He though ^ jhn Milton was always trying to scale heaven by a ladder of his own, or else to bring down heaven on earth in some arbitrary shape or other — that in truth, he knew not in his work where he was going." " He goes, truly, where Mr. Izaak Walton cannot follow him," said Mrs. Ireton. " John Milton has looked God's Word and his own soul in the face, and he will not hold Mr. Walton's opinion of him as anything to his hurt." " Besides, " added Cluny with a pleasant laugh, " Mr. Walton is writing a book, and Mr. Milton will soon not need to say with the patient man of Uz, ' Oh, that mine enemy had written a book ! ' He may have reprisals." During this speech there was heard from a distant apart- ment the sound of music, low and sweet, and full of heavenly melody. " That is Mr. Milton playing," said Mary Cromwell. " I would know his touch among a thousand." And then Cluny blushed a little, and held out a small roll which he carried in his hand. It contained three fair copies of bit ON THE TIDE TOP «a.1 own hynn. and M»y '^^''^'iXll «"h:; ™.«d a«2vwithhertothemuiicun. He turnea M tncy en 1 towed gravely, «. glass in an ebony frame, and many fine chairs and stools, and her toilet table is covered with silk and lace, and furnished with gilded bottles of orange-flower water and rose perfume. All the rooms are very handsome i Mrs. Cromwell's " "That is enough. I have often been in Elizabeth Cromwell's room, both in Slepe House and in Ely. I re- member its tent bed and checked blue- and- white curtains ! Well, well — it is a topsy-turvy world. You must go and see Matilda to-morrow. I have been making inquiries about the Jeverys ; they are what your father calls * Trim- mers,' — neither one thing nor another. He is an old soldier, and has made use of his wounds to excuse him from further fighting i and Lady Jevery mingles her company sio well that any party may claim her. A girl so outspoken as her niece Matilda will give her trouble." In the morning Jane was eager to pay her visit, and she felt sure Matilda was as eager as herself; so an hour before noon she was on her way to Jevery House. It stood where the busy tide of commerce and the drama now rolls unceasingly, close by Druiy Lane — z mansion nobly placed upon a stone balustraded terrace, and surrounded by a fine garden. In this garden the old knight was oftenest found ; here he busied himself with his flowers and his strawberry beds, and discoursed with his friend John Evelyn about roses; or with that excellent person and great virtuoso, Mr. Robert Boyle, about his newly invented air pump ; or thoughtfully went over in his own mind the scheme of the new banking establishments just opened by the City Gold- smiths : certainly it would be more comfortable tQ have his superfluous money in their care than in his own strong chests — but would it be as safe ? He was pondering this very question in the chill, bare ,3^ THE LION'S WHEI P c T Hn..<;e when lane's carriage stopped at walks of Jev-y Hou e -^^^ J ^, ^„, almost upset in its iron gates. She had been y ^^ Drury ^^ X^;^l7J^^^^^^ walked striking as Sir Thomas Jevery m ^^^^ -* her to the --« "^^^^^^^^^ „.„„ ^ of «tvams, .nd their ««'"', . ^ .^^ ti,tor of th. „,o„ .he walls of whjch «;" P-«ta tse «oriei ..ne^ for above the mantel *'« «™ 7^„^, „f Oliver Cron.- .rrestea her attention. I '^^J^^ „„, „id, «rtble r"'*^Ttror^XrH-pa.n,S.raffora,nd ir'^wrthe countenances of all b«. Mon.ro« Montrose With the co ^_^^___^^_^ ^^ ^^ Jane was familiar, and she rega ^^^ ^^ ^ the most intense interest. It *" f,^ „„ u« and having been seen, -«;'° '«J:^;7^„U ,o true, Florentine curtains, «"« Venet 'n c ys , ^.^^ ^ celain, when Delia came ^^^-'^^ ^"g;^^,,^ , Qh, Mi- elamationoM^ght. Oh M^ „ «- ^' ' rierjarur:Ta^ 'b- ^^^^^^^^^ -^ -^^ -r:-/rH:ibei"i.v„d^.^^^^^^^ reached Matilda's apartment. As the door op and stretched out her arms. ^ ^^ .;fu"Stle''4:? Vouhe.stru.sth.ar.. H« glad I am to see you ! " ON THE TIDE TOP 133 And Jane took her in her arms, and both girls cried a lit- tle before they could speak. Matilda was so weak, and Jane so shocked to see the change in her friend's appear- ance, that for a few moments tears were the only possible speech. At length Jane said : "You have been ill, and you never sent for me. I would have stayed by you night and day. I would have been mother and sister both. Oh, indeed, my mother would have come to you, without doubt ! Why did you not let us know ? " • " I have only been in London three days. I was ill at de Wick. I became unconscious at my father's burial. We had heard that day that Stephen had been shot while trying to reach the coast. It was the last thing I could bear." " But I assure you Stephen is at The Hague. Doctor Verity said so, and he said it not without knowledge." " I know now that it was a false report, but at the time I believed it true. My father was lying waiting for burial, so was Father Sacy, and Lord Hillier's chaplain came over to read the service. It was read at midnight in the old chapel at de Wick. We did not wish any trouble at the last, and we had been told the service would be forbidden ; so we had the funeral when our enemies were asleep. You know the old chapel, Jane, where all the de Wicks are buried ? " " Yes, dear ; a mournful, desolate place." " A place of graves, but it felt as if it was crowded that midnight. I'll swear that there were more present than we had knowledge of. The lanterns made a dim light round the crumbling altar, and I could just sec the two open graves before it. Father Olney wept as he read tlie service •, we all wept, as the bodies were laid in their graves j and I ,34 THE LION'S WHELP then our old lawyer, Willlan. Studley, ^ut into Father Olney's hands the de Wick coat of arms, and he broke it m pieces and cast the fragments on my father's coffin; for we all believed that the last male de Wick was dead. And when I heard the broken arms fall on the coffin,! hewd no more. I fell senseless, and they carried me to my own room, and I was out of my mind for many days. My aunt and Delia were very kind to me, but I longed for you, Jane, I did indeed. I am nearly well now, and I have left my heartache somewhere in that awful land of Silence where I lay between life and death so long. I shall weep no more. I will think now of vengeance. I am only a woman, but women have done some mischief before this day, and may do it again." « Tonbert and Will are now at Swaff ham -, they wiU keep a watch on de Wick if you wish it." "I suppose I have left de Wick forever; and I could weep, if I had tears left, for the ill fortune that has come to the old place. You remember Anthony Lynn, the tan- ner and carrier, Jane ? " " Yes." « He has bought de Wick from the so-called Parliament. He was very kind to me, and he knew his place; but on my faith! I nearly lost my senses when I saw him sitting in my father's chair. Well, then, I am now in London, and all roads lead from London. I shall not longer spoil my eyes for the Fen country, and «« « De Wick, God know*. Where no com grows. Nothing but a little hay. And the water comet And takes all away.' iiiMfiil iiiliii ON THE TIDE TOP «35 You remember the old rhyme ; we threw it tt one another often when we were children. But oh, Jane, the melan- choly Ouse country ! The black, melancholy Ouse, with its sullen water and muddy banks. No wonder men turned traitors in it." And Jane only leaned close, and closer to the sad, sick girl. She understood that Matilda must complain a little, and she was not unwilling to let the dreary meadows of the Ouse bear the burden. So the short afternoon wore away to Jane's tender ministrations without one cross word. Early in her visit she had yielded to Matild .'s entreaties, had sent home her carriage, and promised to remain all night. And when they had eaten together, and talked of many things and many people, Matilda was weary i and Jane dismissed Delia, and herself undressed her friend as tenderly as a mother could have done •, and when the tired head was laid on the pillow, she put her arms under it and kissed and drew the happy, grateful girl to her heart. " Sweet little Jane ! " sighed Matilda ; " how I love you ! Now read me a prayer from the evening service, and the prayer for those at sea — you won't mind doing that, eh, jane ? " And after a moment's hesitation Jane lifted the inter- dicted book, and taking Matilda's hand in hers, she knelt by her side and read the forbidden supplications ; and then Matilda slept, an . jane put out the candles and sat silently by the fire, pondering the things that had befallen her friends and acquaintances. The strangeness of the house, the sleeping girl, the booming of the city's clocks and bells, and the other uncsual sounds of her position filled her heart with a vague dream-Iikc sense of something far off and unreal. And mingling with all sounds and sights, not to be put away from thought or presence, was that strange 136 THE LION'S WHELP = powerful picture .n the salon-the terrible force of Crom- well's face and attitude as he seemed to stride forward from the group; and the unearthly passion and enthusiasm of the unknown, just . step i^hind him, would not be for otten. She saw them v^ no lickering flume and in the shad-^wy corners, and they vt.t haunting presence she tned m vain to deliver hers f f om. So she was f;'^^ ' 'i' " she turned around to d Matilda awake, and sh-' weiu t.> her side, and said sor 'e of those sweet, foolish words v hir^ alas ! too often bev ame :. for- gotten tongue. Matilda u.swer.d them in the amc tender, broken patois— "Dear heart ' Sweetheart! Darling Jane! Go to the little drawer ii my xodct table ani bring me a picture you will find there. It is in lu ivory box, Jane, and here is the key." And jane went and founo the miniature she had once got a glimpse " and she laiu t in Matilda's hand. And the g rl kissed 11 and said, « Look here, Jane, and tell me who it is ' Then Jane looked earnestlv at th. handsome, melan- choly, haughty face; at the black hair cut straight across the brows and flowing in curls over the laced coUar anc steel corselet, and she lifted her eyes to MatUu bui she did not like to speak. Matilda smiled r. pturou an. said, "It is not impossible, Jane, th gh I see you ink so. He loves me. He has vowed to n arry me, or to uiarry no one else." « And you ? " « Could I help loving him ? I vas ju^ first met. I g^v*- my heart to a. i was worthy of it. I adore hin vet. worthy of it tt But — but — ae cannot mat "oo. 8!^ een wl a wc adored h m H'^ He h 5'^ Ii i»ore t^ m\ m> ON THE UDE TUP 1^7 lowf i. Half^a-Jozen kings and queens would rise up to pK ,at it - for I am «urr I iitiow the face." Who i^ u, Ja M hispcr the word* t ' me. Who is It, dear leart And J ane stooped to th^ fac on the nillow and '•hispei'^ '., " -'tinct J^ftpfrt." And as th< ' urn fr- on ' er ear, Matilda's, i ace grew c.v%\cr - »wft. and -nd r, - ic smiled and sighed, and ^crd — ■,t. softly ' '*nocd }s, e's L " Ruj rt." CHAPTER VII TWO LOVE AFFAIRS ' Justice, the Queen of Virtues ! All other virtues dwell but in the blood. That in the soul; and gives the name of good.** If'. " The wise and active conquer difficulties By daring to attempt them. Fear and Folly Shiver and shrink at sight of wrong and hazard. And make the impossibility they fear." MATiLiJA's confession brought on a conversation which lasted many hours. The seal of silence having been broken, the sick and sorrowful girl eagerly took the conso- lation her confidence procured her. She related with an impulsive frankness— often with bitter, though healing tears the story of her love for the gallant Royalist leaden " He came first when I was yet a girl at my lessons," she said, " but my governess had told me such wonderful things of him, that he was like a god to me. You must know, Jane, that he is exceedingly tall and warlike, his black hair is cut straight across his brows, and flows in curls upon his shining armour. And he is always splendidly dressed." " Indeed, all have heard of his rich clothing j even the laced cravats are called after him." ^^See how people talk for nothing. Rupert's laced cravat was a necessity, not a vanity. He told me himself, that being out very early drilling his men, he took a wtt 138 MHMMiiyiMliiifHiMIIIHiMIHliM TWO LOVE AFFAIRS 139 throat, and having no other covering, he drew his laced kerchief from his pocket and tied it round his neck. And his officers, seeing how well it became him, must needs also get themselves laced neckerchiefs; and then civilians, as is thei ked me to beer m«; one." "You never asked hsm for his daughter, his youngest child, his darling." " Forgive me, sir ; Mistress Swaft'ham has no objection to my faith." " Because, if men have not every good quality, some woman invents all they lack for them. Mistress SwaiFham assures herself she can change your creed." " I hope that she judges me of better mould. I can no more change a letter in my creed than a fe^iture in my face." ' "That is John Knoxism! It won't do, Lord Neville. 148 THE IJON'S WHELP li If I wu, asking you to become a Fifth Monarchy Man, or one of those nnhaptii«d, »>.- ilea, hypocritea, who caU themsel e. Quakers, you migiu talk about the lettcn of your creed. Pooh! Pooh!" " Sir, not for any woman born, will a man, worth the name of a man, give up hi» creed or his country. Mistreaa SwafFham would not ask this thing of me. She takes me as I am. I love her with all my soul. To the end of our life days, I will love and cherish her. Whether you credit me thus f?x, or not, I can say no more. I am a suppliant for your grace, and I know well that I have nothing worthy to offer in return for the great favour I ask from you." Dauntless, but not overbold, the fine, expressive face of the suppliant was very persuasive. General SwafFham looked at him silently for a few moments and then said, "I will not be unkind to either you or my daughter; but there must be no leap in the dark, or in a hurry. Take five years to learn how to live together fifty years. At the end of five years, if you are both of a mind, I wiU do ail I can for your welfare." "Your goodness is very great, sir; make it more so by bringing it nearer to us. Five years is a long time out of life." . , "That is what youth thinks. Five years' service for fifty years of happiness. You gave your teachers far more time to prepare you for life. Now go to school five years, for love. I waited six years for my wife ; Jacob waited fourteen for Rachel." " Sir, we live not by centuries, as Jacob did — if it would please you to say two years." " I have said five, and verily it shall be five j unless thete strartge times bring us some greater iress or hurry than » now evident. Cannot you wait and serve for five yeait? .i^.auL_iai^diBikiUHiiWHliililiaiMiilii^^ TWO LOVE AFFAIRS «49 If not, your love it but a summer fruit, and Jane Swaff .am it worthy of something better." ^^ Sir, I entreat. I am no coward, but I cannot br w to think of five years." " I have said my say. There is nothing to add or to take from it — save, to remind you. Lord Neville, that tha« is more heroism ir .elf-denial than in battle." Then Cluny perceived that entreaty would only weaken his cause, and he advanced and offered his hand, saying, ** I am much in your debt, sir. 'Tis more than I deserve, but Love must always beg more than his descit." And General bwafTSam stood up and held the slim brown hand a moment. He was moved beyond his own knowledge, for his vmce trembled perceptibly as he answered — ^ You have time and opportunity to win your way to my heart, then I wil' ;^ve you a sen's place. Go and aiik ^ane} she will tell you T have done k ndly and wisely." A d Cluny bowed and w . •Icntly tc -^ek his betrothed. There was a sense of 6 >■ •• ncnt in his heart. Pcr- haos also an unavoidable ;: of offense. The Lo'd General had looked into hiS f .ce and trusted hmt ; yea , about great affairs, public and private. He had i ; krd ao five years' trial of his honour and honeKtx- , and such thought gave an air of dissatisfav :ion and h " '^htine8e and Wisd .>m, i id so at the b^inning of their pro- ,50 THE LION'S WHELP bation, they rejoiced in the end of it. Cluny wa« hopeful of getting some military appointment in Edmburgh, and then the esute that was "no g"^»\"«"f "^ /^l^^,^ * home, at no inconvenient distance. And he descnbed the old place with its ivy-covered walls and ancient rooms, and Us gard^n, dark with foliage, until Jane knew all us beaufe. and possibilities. They were so happy and so full of happy plans, that they were laughing cheerfully tc^ether when he General came in with his wife and household foi evening priyers. And it touched and pleased Cluny that he w^ Lntioned by name in the family petition, and so, a. were,taken publicly and affectionately mto It. H felt this all the mor« when the servants, in leaving the room, in- eluded him in their respectful obeisance to t- r •""^*'^;"^ mistress. It restored to him the sense of home, and he Tried that strength and joy with him to his duty, and day by day grew to more perfect manhood in it. Life soon settled itself to the ne^ conditions of the SwafFhams. The General, in f ^%^^/« ^'^^ ""J daughter's disapproval, bought the Sandys House n^ Russel Square, and some of the most precious heirlooi^ of old Swaffham were brought up to London to adorn it. For it was now certain that the Lord General would not agree to part with his faithful friend and ally •, and^ indeed, SwafFham's inHuence in the army could not wdl be spar^ for it was evident enough that there was such 1 1-mll ^ tween the army and the Parliament as might easily become a verv dangerous national condition. Z we may be here the rest of our lives Jane, and we may as well get our comforts lound us," said Mrs. Swafl^ ham, and there was a tone of fret m her voice she 59 Israel SwafFham's temper on this matter was but a re- flex of the sterner dissatisfaction which Cromwell \rmced for the people. The Parliament then sitting was the one summoned by King Charles the First, eleven years pre- viously, and it had long outlived its usefulness. Pym wat dead, Hampden was dead, and it was m shrunken from honour, that in popular speech it was known as "the Rump " of that great assembly which had moulded the Common- wealth. It was now attacked by all parties > it was urged to dissolve itself j yet its most serious occupation seemed to be a determination to maintain and continue its power. The leader of these despised legislators was Sir Harry Vane, the only man living who in ParliamenUry ability could claim to be a rival of Cromwell. But Vane's great object was to diminish the army, and to increase the fleet j and as chief Minister of Naval affairs he had succeeded in passing the Navigation Act, which, by restricting the imporution of foreign goods to English ships, struck a fatal blow at Dutch Commerce, hitherto controlling the carrying trade. Thii act was felt to be a virtual declaration of war, and though negotiations for peace were going on, English and Dutch sailors were flying red flags, and fighting each other in the Downs. Everything relating to the conduct of affairs both in Church and State was provisional and chaotic; and the condition of religion, law, and all social matters, filled Cromwell with pity and anger. He wanted the Amnesty Act, to relieve the conquered royalists, passed at once. Intensely conservative by nature, he was impatient for the settlement of the nation, and of some stable form of govern- ment. And he had behind him an army which was the flower of the people, — men who knew themselves to be the natural leaders of their countrymen, — trained politicians. I • tl J-'' J ,60 THE LIONS WHELP unconqucred soldiers j the passion, the courage, and the conscience of England in arms. Their demands were few, but definite, and held with an intense tenacity. They wanted, first of all, the widest rcl lious freedom for them- selves and others } secondly, an orderly government and the abolition of all the abuses f..r which Laud and Charles had died. And though devoted 10 ihcir great chief, they longed to return to their homes and to civil life, therefore they echoed strenuously Cromwell's cry for a " speedy settle- ment," a consummation which the sitting Parliament was m no hurry to take in hand. On this sute of affairs Crom- well looked with a hot heart. Untiring in patience when things had to be waited for, he was sudden and impatient when work ought to be done, and his consunt word then Ilk was — ** without delay." There was a meeting of the Council at the Speaker's house the night after Israel Swaffham's indignant protest against the Parliament, and Cromwell, sitting among those self-seeking men, was scornfully angry at their delibera^ tions. His passion for public and social justice burned, and in a thunderous speech, lit by flashes of blinding wrath, he spoke out of a full and determined heart. Then he mounted his horse and rode homeward. It was late, and the city's ways were dark and still ; and as he mused, he was uplifted by a mystical ecstasy, flowing from an intense realisation of his personal communion with God. Cluny Neville was in attendance, anu as he silently fol- lowed that dauntless, massive figure, he thought of Theseuf and Hercules doing wonders, because, being sons of Jove, they must of necessity relieve the oppressed, und help the needy, and comfort the sorrowful } an^? tacn he added to this force the sublime piety of a Hebrcv/ prophet, and in his heart called Cromwell the Maccabeus of the Engiisn TWO LOVE AFFAIRS i6i Commonwealth. And in those nnoments of inspiration, amid the shadows of the starlit night, he again saw Crom- well grow vague and vast and mythical, and knew that his gigantic soul would carry England on waves of triumph until she could look over the great seas and find no rival left upon them. Thought is transferable, and unconsciously Cluny's enthusiasm affected the silent, prayerful man he loved and followed. And so hope came into Cromwell's reveries, and many earthly plans and desires ; and when he alighted at Whitehall, he thought instantly of his wife, and longed for her sympathy. For though he seldom took her counsel, he constantly looked to her for that fellow-feeling which is as necessary as food. Man lives not by bread alone, and there is untold strength for him in womanly love which thinks as he thinks, feels as he feels, and which, when he is weary and discouraged, restores him to confidence and to self-appreciation. He walked rapidly through the silent, darkened rooms, and opening the door of his own chamber very softly, saw his wife sitting by the fire. There was no light but its fitful blaze, and the room was large and sombre with dark furniture and draperies, the only white spots in it being the linen of the huge bedstead, and the lace coverings of Mrs. Cromwell's head and bosom. Yet apart from these objects there was light, living light, in the woman's calm, uplifted face, and even in her hands which were lying stilly upon her black velvet gown. She stood up as her husband Advanced, and waited until he drew her to his heart and' icissed her face. **You are late, Oliver," she said with quiet assertion, ** and I have been a little anxious — ^your life is so precious, and there are many that seek it." " Why do you fret yourself so unwisely ? Of a surety MICROCOPr ReSOWTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 13.6 2.0 1^ 14.0 1.8 ^ /APPLIED IN/HGE Inc ^^ 16S3 East Main Street S^B Rochnler, New York U609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - rax !!' i62 THE LION'S WHELP you know that I have a work to do, and I shall not sec death until it be finished. Yet I am greatly troubled ^o England, I tell you plainly, Elizabeth, that we are, for all good purposes, without a government." "There is the Parliament, Oliver." . . , ,j cc I look for no good from it-a noisy, self-opm.ated old Parliament. We want a new one. Vane, and others think wisdom was born with them , yea, and that U will d»e with them. They fritter time away about tnfles when an Act of Amnesty ought to be passed without delay. It is the first necessity ; they must pass if, they must turn to- or turn out." ^^ "Therein you are right, as you always are. ^ " Truly, the whole country is like the prophets roll, written within and without with mourning and wrong and woe As for the Royalists, they are harried to death ; they hold everything on sufferance. The time for this strict- ness has gone by. England now wants peace, justice for all. Amnesty, and above all, a new Parliament. If these things don't come to pass, worse things wiU-I say this to you ; it is the plain truth ; I profess it is ! " "Then tell them what to do, Oliver. And if they will not obey, make them. Are they not as much at your dis- posal as the shoes on your feet ? " « The time is not fully ripe i a little longer they must trample upon law and justice and mercy, and do such bare- faced things as will make men wonder-a little longer we must suffer them, then " "Then, Oliver?" " I will thunder at the door for inquisition, and it will be with no runaway knock. I am sorry, and I could be sorry to death, for the netds-bc, but it will come, it will come. God knows I wish it otherwise. I do, indeed ! ^ . TWO LOVE AFFAIRS 163 " What were they about to-night ? " '■'• About nothing they should be. Have we not come to a pretty state when Parliament looks to the private doings of its members ? After some testimonies, there came a motion to expel all profane and unsanctified persons from the House, and I rose and said, — *• I could wish also, that all fools were expelled; then we might have a house so thin it would be at our say-so.' " " Pray, what said Sir Harry Vane to that ? He is as touchy as tinder." ^^ He said, * General, no man in England knows better than you do, the usefulness of piety ; ' and I answered him prompt, * Sir Harry Vane, I know something better than the usefulness of piety, it is the piety of usefulness. Take heed,' I said, *■ of being too sharp, or of being too easily sharpened by others. If Parliament is to sit that it may count the number of glasses a man drinks, or the style of his coat and his headgear, England is in her dotage. I would rather see death than such intolerable things, I would truly.' And I said these words in great wrath, and I could wish I had been in still greater anger." " Why don't they do what you desire ? Will they come to disputing with you ? " " I look for it, but I understand the men. This state of affairs will grow to somewhat. I know what I feel. My dearest, I need pity ; I do, indeed. I am set here for Eng- land's defense, and there is One who will sift me as wheat concerning my charge. Elizabeth, there are at this very hour twenty-three thousand unheard cases in Chancery. I see the law constantly abused. If I say a word that mercy may now be shown, I am accused of pandering to the ma- lignants for some end of my own. Hundreds of English- men are in prison on matters of conscience ; — they ought 164 THE LION'S WHELP ! I to be free. There are tithes and exactions intolerable, and this fragment and figment and finger-end of an old Parlia- ment busies itself with its members' moralities j with rais- ing money for a Dutch war, or with selling the stonework, leads aAd bells of our Cathedrals. If my God will give me a word, I will better such work ; I will indeed ! " "Sir Harry Vane has already reduced the army. He thought thus to curtail your power, Oliver ; I saw through the man from the first." " My authority came not through Sir Harry Vane, nor can Sir Harry Vane take it from me. My comfort is that God called me to be captain of Israel's host. Truly, I never sought the place. I did not. But while my head is above the mold, my heart will burn against oppression. I will not sufFer it ; before God and angels and men I will not sufFer It ! 'Tis the time now for showing mere and for settling the Kingdom, and these things shall be done. I know the sort of men I have to deal with, I will carry jus- tice through their teeth, even if they be a Parliament. And let God be my judge." "But what will you do? There are strong men that hate you." " I will do nothing just yet— unless I get the commis- sion. Who are these men ? Only cedars of Lebanon that God has not yet broken. » They shall be able to do nothing against me. His Hands shall cover me.' That word came to me by little ^ne SwafFham. I have thanked her many times for it." ^^ " I know your patience and your goodness, Oliver. " Yes, but patience works to anger. I shall stand no - nonsense from any one much longer. When Opportunity comes, I shall make Importunity fit Opportunity— I WiB that." TWO 1.0VE AFFAIRS 165 He had been unbuttoning his doublet as he spoke these words, and he flung it from him with an extraordinary force and passion } then suddenly calming himself he sat down, and said with a sadness equal to his anger, "Let it' have your prayers, dear wife, let me have them. For come what will, we must work God's good pleasure and serve our generation — our rest we expect elsewhere. I live in Meshec (prolonging) and in Kedar (blackness), yet as John Verity said to me last Sabbath — *■ Brother Oliver, you have daily bread, and you shall have it, despite your enemies. In your Father's house there is enough and to spare of every good thing } and He dispenseth it.' Those three words go to my heart like heavenly wine — He dispenseth it^ Elizabeth ; " and he took her hand, and she leaned her* face full of light and trust against his shoulder, and as he stooped to it, his countenance grew sweet and tender as a little child's. For a few moments they sat silent, then the God-full man burst into rapturous thanksgiving, because all his hopes were grounded on the Truth of God, on the immutability of His Counsel, and on the faithfulness of His promises. "Promises," he cried out, "having this double guar- antee, that they have not only been spoken, they have been sworn to." An inward, instant sense of God's presence came to both of them. They had a joy past utterance. Troubles of al' kinds grew lighter than a grasshopper. They par- took of those spiritual favours which none know, save those who receive them ; and urged by a spiritual pressure within, Cromwell sighed into the very ear of God, ** Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee.*' For the Eternal God was the firmament of this man's i ,66 "HE LION'S WHELP lifci whether on the battle-field or in the Council Chamber, amid his family or alone in his closet, God was the Majestic Overhead and Background of all his thoughts, affections, purposes and desires. CHAPTER Vir UPON THE THRESHOLD " Predestinated ills arc never lost." ****** " The Power that ministers to God's decrees. And executes on earth what He foresees. Called Providence, — ^^ Comes with resistless force ; and finds, or makes a way. * If we believe that life is worth living, our belief helps to crer^c that fact, for faith is in matters of the spirit all that courage is in practical affairs. To Jane and Cluny this belief was not difficult, for limitation always works for happiness, and during the ensuing year life kept within the bounds of their mutual probation and of Cluny's military duties, was full of happy meetings and partings ; days in which Love waited on Duty, and again, days in which Love was lord of every hour ; when they wandered to- gether in the Park like two happy children, or, if the weather was unfit, sat dreanr.ing in the stately rooms of Sandys about the little gray house in Fifeshire, "/hich was to be their own sweet home. These dreams and hopes were set to a national life full of unexpected events and rumours of events, and to inter- esting bits of gossip about the beloved Lord General and his family and friends. The news-letters were hardly necessary to the SwafFhams j they were in the heart of affairs, and life was so full of love and homely pleasures, 107 :lKr 1* i68 THE LION'S WHELP I IS m that the days came and went to thanksgiving— literally to, for Jane could not but notice how at this time her father and mother selected for the household worship psalms, whose key-note was, " Bless the Lord," " Make a joyful noise unto the Lord," or, " I will love thee O Lord my strength." And she could so well remember when these prayers were implorations for help and comfort, or for victory over enemies. How different was now her father's tone of joyful confidence when he recited with the family his favourite portion from the eighteenth psalm, generally beginning about the thirtieth verse, and growing more and more vivid and earnest, until in a voice of triumph he closed the Book with a great emphasis, to the exulting words, " The Lord liveth, and blessed be my Rock, and let the God of my salvation be exalted." So the weeks and months went by, and though they were not alike, they had that happy similitude which leaves little to chronicle. Jane's chief excitements came from her visits to Mary Crrmwell and Matilda de Wick. The latter had now quit . ed her beauty and brightness, and she had grad' v aided her new life to her satisfaction. It was not H luc that Jane thoroughly understood, and indeed she shrank from Matilda's confidences about it ; and Ma- tilda was soon aware of this reluctance and ceased to make any overtures in that direction. And in this matter, Mrs. Swaffham was of her daughter's mind. " If Sir Thomas is blind to what goes on beneath his own roof, Jane," she said, " why should you see incon- veniences ? There is a deal of wisdom in looking over and beyond what is under your eyes. The Lord General does it, for Sir Thomas dined at Whitehall last week. Your father says one of his ships has been taken by Prince Rupert, and Cromwell has written to Cardinal Mazarin UPON THE THRESHOLD 169 about the matter. But Admiral Blake is the only mes- senger Mazarin will heed." The affection between Jane and Matilda had, however, the strong root of habit as well as of inclination. They could not be happy if they were long apart. Jane visited frequently at Jevery House, and Matilda quite as frequently at Sandys. That they disagreed on many subjects did not interfere with their mutual regard. It was an understood thing that they would disagree, and yet there was between them such a sincere love as withstood all differences, and ignored all offenses. Generally Jane was forbearing but occasionally her temper matched Matilda's, and then they said such words, and in such fashion said them, that final estrangement seemed inevitable. Yet these bursts of anger were almost certainly followed by immediate forgiveness and renewal of affection. One morning in the spring of 1653, J^"^ ^^^ returning from a two days' visit to the Cromwells. The air was so fresh and balmy she went to Jevery House, resolved to ask Matilda to drive in the Park with her. She had not her key to the private door, and was therefore compelled to alight at the main entrance. Sir Thomas was among his crocus beds, at this time a living mass of gold and purple beauty, and he was delighted to exhibit them to one so sen- sitive to their loveliness. Jane told him she had been at the Cockpit, and he asked after the Lord General, adding, " It is high time he stepped to the front again." Then Jane instantly remembered the picture in the cedar salon, and smiled an understanding answer. As she went up-stairs she wondered what mood she would find Matilda in, for there was a certain mental pleasure in the uncertainty of her friend's temper. It was so full of unlooked-for turns, so generally contrary to what was to be 170 THE LION'S WHELP ■* V ■ ill. expected, that it piqued curiosity and gave spice and interest to every meeting. She found her lying upon a sofa in her chamber, her little feet, prettily shod in satin, shoveing just below her gown; her hands clasped above her head, her long black hair scattered loosely on the pillow. She smiled languidly as Jane entered, and then said, " I have been expecting you, Jane. I could not keep the thought of you out of my mind, and by that token i knew you were coming. But how bravely you are gowned ! . , Pray, where have you been ? Or, where are you going ? '' » ^ "I have been spending two days with the Cromwells^p J* and the morning is so fair, I wondered if you would not drive an hour in the Park. Perhaps, then, you would comr^ home with me to dinner, and so make mother very happf Do you know that Cymlin arrives from Ireland to-day ? He would think the journey wcU taken, if he saw you at the end of it." " You are a little late with your news, Jane. That is one of your faults. Cymlin was here last night. He spent a couple of hours with me;" then she smiled so peculiarly, Jane could not help asking her — " What is there in your way o." smiling, Matilda? 1 am sure it means a story of some kind." " I shall have to tell you the story, for you could never guess what that smile was made of. First, however, what did you see and hear at the Cromwells ? 'Tis said the great man is in a strange mood, and that his picked friends are wondering how he will ast the scale. Vane and he must come to ' Yes ' and * No ' soon ; and when rogues fall out, honest folk get their rights." " England will get her rights if Cromwell cart the scale. He is both corner-stone and keystone of her liberties. He was in the kindest of moods, and I took occasion to speak UPON THE THRESHOLD >7» of you and your many «orro"'«. And he wet my speech with the most pitiful tears ever man shed, saying such words of your father as brought me to weeping also. He spoke also very heavenly about j afflictions, and bade me tell you sorrow was one of the suicst ways to heaven." ** But J could wish a pleasanter way, and so will not take Cromwell's guidance." " I heard in a passing manner that Prince Rupert is off the seas forever— that he is at the French Court, where he is much made of." " Jane Swaff ham, have you no fresher news ? " and she pulled out of her bosom many sheets of paper tied together witli a gold thread. " I had this yesterday," she said, " by the hand of Stephen, and I may as well tell you to prepare to meet Stephen de Wick, for he vows he will not leave England again until he has speech with you." " Then he is forsworn j I will not see him." " It will be no treason now to speak to your old servant. The Amnesty Act will cover you. But I fight not Stephen's battles ; I have enough > do to keep my own share of your friendship fr< n fraying. Sre how Fortur orders • affairs ! The shi' my unc .c has en worrying C.omwell about, and which Cromwell har >een bullying Mafearin about, was taken by Prince ' nM-f, and I hope, by this of cai ;o and her last Oi time, he has turned her last inch of plank into good goU du. "But that would be to your un " Cromwell has promised to set his army ought to be of some us> secret suspicion, you may believe, v. was not averse to letting the roya! fa £!eat loss." that. The man and If you can keep a 1 mc that my uncle " ha. this one of bis ventures. They need the money fro.t t, and Cromwell will collect the full value from the F an i like r- 1 •i AM', 1' . ,72 THE LION'S WHELP that way of paying Sir Thomas. The French 'avc be- haved abominably to the poor Queen and Hi« Majesty, and their unhappy Court. Let them pay for what Rupert took. They owe it to His Majesty i let them pay ! Make them pay ! In grace of God, 'tis good enough for them. As for Uncle Jevery, he dways gets his ownj some one, in some manner, will pay him for the Sia Rcv*r, piank and cargo. In the meantime, th- King can have a little conv- fort. Why has Cymlin come at this time from Ireland ? " "He has leave of absence from Commander-in-chief Fleetwood." t u- i. r "Oh, Jane! I am tipsy with laughing when I thmk of the doleful widow Ireton— and Fleetwood. You remember what a hot quarrel we had about Ireton being buried among the Kings of England -they will kick him out yet, though they be dead— and how you shamed me for not weeping with the desolated woman ? " " It would be better to forget these things, Matilda." " And then she let the widower Fleetwood console her in less than half a year ! It makes me blush ! Yet the widow Ireton is an honourable woman ! To be sure, only God understands women. I don't. I don't understand ^nvhclf -^. you." " No woman likes to be put down ; and when General Lambert got Ireton's place, Madame Lambert was insolently proud, and insisted on taking precedence of Ireton's widow, though she was Cromwell's daughter." " Fancy the saints quarreling about earthly precedence ! Madame Lambert was right. A living dog is better than a dead lion. And I admire the devout Bridget's revenge; it was so human—so sweetly womanly. How did she get round her father ? " "Indeed, men are sweetly human too; and the better UPON THE THRESHOLD »73 men, the more human. Colonel Fleetwood by taking Lady Ireton's part, won her affection i it was a fitting match, a*id it pleased the Lord General ; he recalled Lambert— who was truly overpowered by his great position — and made Fleetwojd commander in Ireland, thus giving his daughter back the precedence." " 'Twas a delightful bit of domestic revenge. I enjoyed it, don enjoyed it. Puritans and Royalistt alike I; . over it. It was such a thing as any mortal father wou.d have done, and every mortal father, for once, fe.. kin to the Lord General. * Nicest thing I ever heard of him,' said Lord and Lady Fairfax •, for, as you know. Lord and Lady Fairfax always have the same opinion." "Why do you talk of it? The thing is past and over." " By no means. The Lamberts are still going up and down, he in wrath and she in tears, ulking about it." "Then let us talk of other things. As I came here I met a large company of Dutch prisoners. They were uking them to our Fen country, that they might drain it." " They are very fit for that work. They are used to living in mud and water. How came they ? " "They did not come. Blake sent them. He sunk their ship and made them his prisoners." " Why did they interfere with Blake ? It serves them right." " The Dutch are at war with the Common ^ -^alth. Does not that please you ? " " No. What right have the Dutch to meddle in our af- fairs ? The quarrel is between our King and the Parlia- ment. It is our own quarrel. Englishmen gainst English- men. That is all right. It is a family afiair ; we want no for- eigners tcking a hand in it. The only tjme I ever saw my 174 THE LION'S WHELP father angry at the King was when he landed foreigners to fight Englishmen. We can settle our own quarrels. If Dutchmen will come into our boat they will, of course, get the oars over their fingers. Serve them right. Let them go to the Fens. They are only amphibious creatures." " But you do not understand ; they " " And I do not want to understand j I have settled that affair to my satisfaction. Now I must tell you something concerning myself. I am going to France." " France ! " cried Jane in amazement. " Yes, France. I have persuaded my uncle that he ought to go there, and look after the Sea Rwer. I have per- suaded my aunt that it is not safe for my uncle to go with- out her; and they both know my reason for going with them, although we do not name Prince Rupert." " When do you go, Matilda ? " " To-morrow, if Stephen be ready. And let me tell you, Jane, Stephen's readiness depends on you." " That is not so." ** It is. I hope you will be definite, Jane. You have kept poor Stephen dangling after you since you were ten years old." " What about Cymlin and yourself? " Then Matilda laughed, and her countenance changed, and she said seriously, " Upon my word and honour, I was never nearer loving Cymlin than I was last night, yet he was never less deserving of it. 'Tis a good story, Jane. I will not pretend to keep it from you, though I would stake my l^st coin on Cymlin's silence about the matter. He came into my presence, as he always does, ill at ease ; and why, I know not, for a man more handsome in face and figure it would not be easy to find in England. But he has bad manners, Jane, confess it; he blushes and stumbles ova* UPON THE THRESHOLD i7S things, and lets his kerchief fall, and when he tries to be a gallant, makes a fool of himself." " You are talking of my brother, Matilda, and you are making him ridiculous, a thing Cymlin is not, and never was." "Wait a bit, Jane. I was kind to him, and he told me about his life in Ireland, and he spoke so well, and looked so proper, that I could not help but show him how he pleased me. Then he went beyond his usual manner, and in leav- ing tried to give me a bow and a leg in perfect court fashion ; and he made a silly appearance, and for the life of me I could not help a smile — not a nice smile, Jane ; indeed, 'twas a very scornful smile, and he caught me at it, and what do you think he did ? " " I dare say he told you plainly that you were behaving badly ? " " My dear Jane, he turned back, he walked straight to me and boxed my ears, for * a silly child that did not know the difference between a man and a coxcomb.' I swear to you I was struck dumb, and he had taken himself out of the room in a passion ere I could find a word to throw after him. Then I got up and went to a mirror and looked at my ears, and they were scarlet, and my cheeks matched them, and for a moment I was in a tower- ing rage. I sat down, I cried, I laughed, I was amazed, I was, after a little while, ashamed, and finally I came to a reasonable temper and acknowledged I had been served exactly right. For I had no business to put my wicked lit- tle tongue in my check, because a brave gentleman could not crook his leg like a dancing-master. Are you laughing, Jane ? Well, I must laugh too. I shall laugh many a time when I think of Cymlin's two big hands over my ears. Had he kissed me afterwards, I would have forgiven him —I think," 176 THE LION'S WHELP " I cannot help laughing a little, Matilda, but I assure you Cymlin is suffering from that discipline far more than you are." " I am not suffering at all. This morning I admire him. There is not another man in the world who would have pre- sumed to box the Lady Matilda de Wick's ears } accord- ingly I am in love with his courage and self-respect. I de- served what I got, I deserved it richly, Jane ; " — and she rose and went to the glass, and turned her head right and left, and looked at her ears, and then with a laugh said, " Poor little ears ! You had to suffer for a saucy tongue. Jane, my ears burn, my cheeks burn, I do believe my heart burns. I shall laugh and cry as long as I live, and remem- ber Cymlin Swaffham." " It was too bad of Cymlin — but very like him. He has boxed my ears more than once." "You are his sister. That is different. I will never speak to him again. He can go hang himself if he likes, or go back to Ireland — which seems about the same thing." "Cymlin will not hang himself for man or woman. Cymlin has the fear of God before him." " I am glad he has. Surely he has no fear of Matilda de Wick. There, let the matter drop. I wish now, you would either take Stephen, or send him off forever. I am in a hurry to be gone, and Sir Thomas also." " Sir Thomas seemed full of content among his lilies and crocuses." " I'll wager he was bidding them, one by one, a good- bye. Go and send Stephen with a * Yes ' or ' No * to me. I am become indifferent which, since you are so much so." The little fret was a common one } Jane let it pass without comment, and it did not affect the sympathy and affection of their parting. Many letters were promised on .M UPON THE THRESHOLD 177 both sides, and Jane was glad to notice the eagerness and hope in her friend's voice and manner. Whatever her words might assert, it was evident she looked forward to a great joy. And as long as she was with Matilda, Jane let this same spirit animate her ; her ride home, however, was set to a more anxious key. She was a little angry also. Why should Stephen de Wick intrude his love upon her ? Twice already she had plainly told him that his suit was hopeless, and she did not feel grateful for an affection that would not recognise its limits, and was determined to force itself beyond them. She entered Sandys with the spring all about her ; her fair face rosy with the fresh wind, and her eyes full of the sunshine. Cymlin and Stephen were sitting by the fireside talking of Irish hounds and of a new bit for restive horses which Cymlin had invented. It was evident that Mrs. SwafFham had given Stephen a warm welcome; the re- mains of a most hospitable meal were on the table, and he had the look and manner of a man thoroughly at home. In fact, he had made a confidant of Cymlin, or, rather, he had talked over an old confidence with him. Cymlin ap- proved his suit for Jane's hand. He did not like the idea of Cluny as a member of his family. He had an aversion, almost a contempt, for all men not distinctly and entirely English, and he was sure that Cluny had won that place in the Lord General's favour which he himself was in sight of when Cluny appeared. Again, Stephen had been his playmate ; he was his neighbour, and if the King ever came back, would be an important neighbour ; one whose good offices might be of some importance to SwafFham. Besides which, though he habitually snubbed Jane, he loved her, and did not like to think of her living in Scotland. It was a pleasanter thing to imagine her at de Wick ; and it 178 THE LION'S WHFXP may be noticed that the return of the Stuarts was lUmost assured by this constant thought and predication o/ it in the staunchest Puritan minds. The fear was the uncon- scious prophecy. When Jane entered, Cymlin and Stephen both rose to meet her. Cymlin was kind with the condescension of a brother. He spoke to her as he spoke to creatures weaker than himself, and kissed her with the air of a king kissing a subject he loved to honour. Then he made an excuse to the stables and gave Stephen his opp irtunity. The young man had kept his eyes fixed on the beautiful face and slen- der form of the girl he loved, but had uttered no word ex- cept the exclamation that sprung from his lips involuntarily when she entered : " Jane ! " Even when they were alone, he first put the logs to- gether with the great tongs and replaceo them in their stand ere he went to her and clasped her hands and said with a passionate eagerness, " Jane, dearest ! I have come again to ask you to marry me. Say one good, kind word. When you were not as high as my heart, you drd promise to be my wife. I vow you did ! You know you did ! Keep your promise ; oh, I look for you to keep your promise ! " " Stephen, I knew not then what marriage meant. You were as a brother to me. I love you yet as I loved you then. I am your friend, your sister if you will." " I will not. You must be my wife." " I cannot be your wife. I am already plighted." " To Lord Neville. What the devil " « Sir ! " " I beg your pardon. I am no saint, and what you say stirs me to use words not found in books. As for Neville, nail UPON THE THRESHOLD 179 you shall never marry him. I forbid it. I will hunt him to the gates of death." " It is sinful to say such things." " Let my sins alone. I am not in the humour to be sorry for them. I say again, you shall not marry that scoundrelly Scot." '^ He is not what you call him — far from it." " I call things by their right na'nes. I call a Scot, a jcot ; and a scoundrel, a scoundrel." He threw her hands far from him, and strode up and down the room, desperate and full of wrath. ** You shall marry no man but myself. Before earth and heaven you shall ! " " If God wills, I shall marry Lord Neville." " I sa;' no ! " uC shouted. ** Jane, when the King comes back, and I have my estate and title, w83 on the Westminster side. In one of these, " a pretty garden house," Mr. Milton lived, and they found him walking with his daughters under the shady elms. Cluny delivered to him some papers, but did not accept his invita- tion to enter the house and sing with him an anthem which he had just composed; for the evening promised to be exceedingly lovely, and Jane's company in the sweet, shady walks was a far greater attraction. They soon lost sight of all humanity, and were con- scious only of each other's presence, for indeed a general air of complete solitude pervaded the twilight shades. Jane was telling Cluny about her interview with Stephen, and they were walking slowly, hand in hand, quite absorbed in their own affairs. So n.uch so, that they never noticed a figure which emerged from behind a clump of shrubs, and stood looking at them. It was the Lord General. He had been pacing a little alley of hazel trees near by, for some time, and was alour to alter his course in order to take the nearest road to his apartments in Whitehall. His face was grave, but not unhappy, and when he saw Cluny and Jane he stood still a moment, and then quietly withdrew into the shadow he had left. A smile was round his mouth, and his lips moved in words of blessing, as he took another path to the gate he wished. Amid thoughts of the most momentous interest, a little vision of love and youth and beauty had been vouchsafed him, and there was a feeling of pleasure yet in his heart when he entered the sombre apartment where Israel SwafFham with a guard of soldiers, was in at- tendance. He saluted his General, and Cromwell called him aside and had some private speech with him. He then entered a lofty, royally furnished room, where the Council were awaiting his arrival — officers of the army, and membefs of Parliament. St. John, Harrison, !«♦ THE LION'S WHELP '•1. I \r Fleetwood, Desborough and others instantly gathered round Cromwell ; Marten, Whitelock, Hazelrig, Scott, Sidney, an'^ about seventeen others, supported Sir Harry Vane, who was leading *he Parliamentary cause. Cromwell opened the discussion by reminding the mem-^ bers that he had already held more than a dozen meetings, in order to induce Parliament to issue an Act for the elec- tion of a new Parliament, and then discharge itself. " This is what the people want, in every corner of the nation," ho said ; " and . they are laying at our doors the non-perform- ance of this duty and of their wishes." Hazelrig reminded him that Parliament had determined to dissolve on the 3d of the ensuing November, after call- ing for a new election. " It is now only the 19th of April," answered Cromwell, sharply. " Give me leave to tell you that the 3d of No- vember will not do. I am tired talking to you. There must be a healing and a settling, and that without delay. As for your resolution, the people will not have it. I say, the people will not have it. A Parliament made up of all the old members — without reelection — and of such new ones, as a committee of the old approve and choose ! Such a patched, cobbled, made-over, old Parliament will not sat- isfy the people. I know it ! I know it better than any man in England. It will not satisfy me. It will not sat- isfy the army " " Oh, the army ! " ejaculated Sir Harry Vane. " The army, Sir Harry Vane, has been so owned of God, so approved of men, so witnessed for, that, give me leave to say, no man will be well advised who speaks lightly of the army. The question is not the army, the question is the sitting Parliament, which, without either moral or legal right, wants to make itself perpetual." UPON THE THRESHOLD 185 .c a nent, "This Parliament, General Cromwell, has been the nurs- ing mother of the Commonwealth," said Sir Harry Manen. " If that be so, yet it is full time that the Commonwealth be weaned. Milk for babes truly, but England wants no more nursing; she wants strong meat, good gov- ernment, just laws and the settlement of the Gospel Ministry. There is nothing but jarrings and animosities, and we are like to destroy ourselves when our enen es could not do it." " The army is full of factions and designs, and II the I^ord General is aware of them," said Hazelrig. ' ir insolency to members of Parliament is beyond rea' " Sir, I cannot be of your judgment," answers well ; " but I do admit that the army begins t strange distaste against certain members of Pai and I wish there was not too much cause for it." " Cause ! What cause ? " asked Whitelock. " Their self-seeking, their delays in business 'hr\r re solve to keep all power perpetually in their o^ a hi*' their meddling in private matters, their injustice vher > do so meddle, and the scandalous lives of som r the of them. These things do give grounds for good people whether in the army or not in the army — to open mouths against them." " There is the Law to punish all evil-doers," said V " While the Law lasts the army need not make inqui, tions." " This Parliament has been, and is, a law unto themselves. They are not within the bounds of the law — there being no authority so full and so high as to keep them in better order," answered Cromwell with some anger. Then the discussion assumed a very acrimonious character. Undoubtedly Vane was sincerely afraid for the liberties of England, with i86 THE LION'S WHELP ''I ' Mil f i I : r I f t w Cromwell and his victorious army at the very doors of the House of Commons. He was also intensely interested in the creation of a British Navy, which should not only bal- ance the glory and power of the army, but also make Eng- land lord of the seas, and of their commerce. Besides, his genius had just perfected a plan for raising iJi 20,000 a moi to continue the war with Holland; and a project setting quite as near to his heart was publicly to sell all the royal palaces, and so remove from the sight of any am- bitious man a palpable temptation to seize the crown. To' surrender all he had done in these directions, to leave his cherished projects for others to carry out, or to bring to naught, to forego all the glory and profit Blake was even then winning for the Parliament, was not only hard for him- self, but he feared it would be disastrous to England and to her liberties. He spoke of these things, and especially of the great naval victories of Blake over the Dutch, with eloquence. Cromwell admitted all. He was far too great to wish Blake's honour less, for Blake's honour was England'" honour, and England's honour was Cromwell's master pas- sion. " Blake is a good man, and a great commander," he said heartily ; " I have seen him on the battle-field, again and again ; he took his men there through fire to victory; I 60 think he will now take them through water the same pure road." When it drew towards midnight the long, bitter argument was at its height ; no decision had been reached, no course of conduct decided on ; and it was evident to Cromwell that passion and self-interest were gaining the mastery. He stood up, and pointing to the smoky, flickering lights of the nearly burned out caudles, said, « The plain truth is, we must have a new Parliament, fci UPON THE THRESHOLD 187 though wc do carry it by force through the teeth of the greatest in the land. I say we must have it. I wish that we had such due forwardness as to set about it to-mor- I row." " The 3d of November," cried Whitelock. " Such a far-off promise is but words for children. will better it. I will say to-morrow." " I am with Mr. Whitelock," said one of the members; "at least with present showing." " And I am of the sam*; mind," added Hazelrig. " Hazelrig, you are 'jv jging people of two minds to be of the worser." " My Lord Genen. "ou put us all down. It were well, my lord, if you could believe there are some others of ac- count beside yourself." Cromwell looked keenly at the speaker but did not an- swer him. Turning to Sir Harry Vane he said, " It is now near to midnight, and we have done no good, and I think we shall do none. Let us go to rest. To-morrow, we will talk the matter down to the bottom, and do what God wills." " Or what the Lord General wills," said Harry Marten with a light laugh, rising as he spoke. " I want not my own will," answered Cromwell with a sudden great emotion. " I have sought the Lord's will, night and day, on this question. I have indeed! But I do think we have fadged long enough with so great a subject, and the people want a settlement of it — they will have a settlement ,..' it — and I tell you the plain truth, to- morrow there n'.:u )C *• - *• decision. It cannot longer be delayed. Then ^vc those wH- will not suffer it. Truly, I believe this is 'r c-argar occasion that has come to us. As the business . h—l I. ^; - not, and somewhat must be i88 THE LION'S WHELP m done to mend it. I must say this to you— impute it to what you please." This speech beginning with a pious submission to God's will and ending with a dauntless assertion of his own de- termination, had a marked efFect. The Parliamentary members agreed to let the bill for perpetuating themselves lie over until after another conference to be held the fol- lowing day, and with this understanding, the members of the Council separated. Cromwell took the promise in good faith ; and he said to Israel SwafFham as they went towards ' Whitehall, " I have at last brought Vane to terms. I do think we may draw up the Act for a new Parliament." " Then I know not Vane," answered Israel. " He has more shifts than you dream of, and the other members cluster round him like twigs in a broom." " Everything must bide its time ; I mean His time. Truly, I hoped for a settlement to-night ; it seems we must wait for to-morrow." Cromwell spoke wearily, and after a moment's pause added, " 'Tis striking twelve. Hark to the clocks, how strangely solemn they sound! Well, then, to-day has come, but we have not got rid of the inheritance of yester- day ; and what to-day will bring forth, God only knows. We are in the dark, but He dwelleth in light eternal." CHAPTER IX CROMWELL INTERFERES " His port was fierce. Erect his countenance ; manly majesty Sate in his front and darted from his eyct. Commanding all he viewed." Daylight came with that soft radiance of sunshine over fresh green things which makes spring so delightful. Israel, who had slept his usual six hours, was in the garden to enjoy it, and his heart was full of praise. He watched the little brown song sparrows building their nests, and twittering secrets among the hawthorns. He saw the white lilies of the valley lifting their moonlight bells above the black earth, and he took into his heart the sweet sermon they preached to him. Then suddenly, and quite una- wares, a waft of enthralling perfume led him to stoop to where at the foot of a huge oak tree a cluster of violets was flinging incense into the air. He smiled at his big hands among them, he was going to gather a few for Jane, and then he could not break their fragile stems. " Praise the Lord where He set you growing," he said softly ; " my hands are not worthy to touch such heavenly things, they have been washed in blood too often." And his heart was silent, and could find no prayer to utter, but the conscience- stricken cry of the man of war centuries before him, " Cast me not away from Thy presence, and take not Thy holy spirit from me." Softened by such exquisite matins, he went in to break- .4 1 £f ,90 THE LION'S WHELP fast. He was seldom inclined to talk on public affairs, and this morning he said not a word about the CouncU of the previous night, nor of the self-humiliation which he felt cer- tain would be demanded of the Parliament that day. He cat his portion cheerfully, listening to Jane, who was more talkative and light-hearted than usual. She told her father she was going with Alice Heneage and a number of young people to Hampton Court. They were to picnic in the park and come home in the gloaming by the river; and as she dwelt on what was to be done and seen that happy day, Israel looked it her with a tender scrutiny. He said to himself, " She is more beautiful than she used to be ; " and he watched with pleasure her soul-lit eyes and speaking face, not oblivious, either, of the neatness of her shining hair and the exquisite purity of her light gown of India calico, with its crimped rufflings and spotless stomacher of embroidery. ^' She might have worn the violets on her breast," he thought ; and then he rose hastily and called in the household, and read a psalm, and made a short, fervid prayer with them. And this morning he looked at the men and maids iftr- wards, and was not pleased at what he saw. " Tabitha," he said sternly, " you come to worship with too little care. Both you and the other wenches may well wash your faces, and put on clean brats when you are going to sit down and listen to the Word of the Lord ; " then observing a grin on one of the men's faces, he turned on them with still more anger, and rated them for their want of respect to God and man for their uncombed haii and soiled garments and un- blacked shoes, and so sent all of them away with shame in their red faces and not a little wrath in their hearts. And he had no idea that Jane's delicious freshness and purity had really been the text prompting his household homily. CROMWELL INTERFERES 191 Soon after General Swaffham's departure for Whitehall, Jane's friends called for her, and they went away together full of youth's cnthusias:n and anticipation. They took the road to the river, and to the sound of music and the falling and dipping of the oars they reached Richmond and soon spread the contents of their hampers upon the grass under some great oaks in the secluded park. Jane was disappointed at Cluny's absence ; he had certainly been expected, and ut word explaining his failure to keep hi» engagement had been received. But the general tone of the company was so full of innocent gayety, that she could not, and did not, wish to resist it. After a happy, leisurely meal, they spent the rest of their holiday in wandering through the palace, until its melancholy, monastic grandeur subdued them almost to silence. Captain Desborough, a young officer who waited on Alice Heneage, was familiar with the building, and as he led them through the rooms he told them stories, good and ill, connected with the various apartments. Finally they came to one on the ground floor, that had been the private parlour of King Charles — a gloomy room furnished with a sombre magnificence — and here the young man drew the company closer to him, and said — " I can tell you something true and strange about this room. There were two prophecies made in it, and one of them has come to pass. King Charles stood at this window one day, just where we are now standing, and his three eldest children were with him. And a woman, swart as an Indian savage, with eyes full of a strange, glazing light, came suddenly before them. And she said to the King, ' Let me read the future of your children. It may comfort you when you will need comfort.' But the King, being in one of his melancholy tempers, answered her haughtily, ,92 THE LION'S WHELP «No mortal man or woman can foresee the future ;* and she looked scornfully at him, and putting a small steel mirror before his face said, * Look ! ' and the King cast down his eyes and saw his own head lying on a bloody sheet; and he shuddered and reeled as if he would have fallen. Then a look of pity came into the woman's face, anc she put aside the mirror, and said in a strange, far-ofF voice— as if she was already a long way distant— * When a dog dies in this room, your son will come to the throne again.' And the King called loudly for his attendant, but when the officer came, the woman had disappeared, nor could any trace or tidings of her be found or heard tell f »» And every one was strangely silent; they walked away separately and examined the fine tapestry hangings, but they said not a word to each other about the uncanny incident. It seemed only a fit sequence that their next visit should be through the low, narrow portals to the gloomy subterranean apartments, which had been the guard rooms, and which were still decorated with dusty battle flags and old arms and armour. A singular sensation of having been in these vault-like rooms before, a sense of far-backness, of existence stretching behind everlastingly, of sorrows great and unavailing, permeated the atmosphere. Jane felt that here, if anywhere, men of war might under- stand the barrenness of their lives, and anticipate the small, and gloomy harvest of their tremendous pilgrimage. It was like passing from death unto life to come out ^ of these caverns of the sword into the light and glory of the westering sun, to feel its warmth, and see iis brave colours, and hear the cuckoo, like a wandering voice, among the tree.. Jane was the first to speak. " How beautif. li- aad light ! " ^he cried. " Let us get far CROMWELL INTERFERES >93 away rrom this woeful palace. I fek such sorrowful Presence in every room ; I thought I heard sighs following me, and soft steps. Who would live in such a home ? To do so, it is to say to Misfortune, * Come a ad live with me.' " The spirits of the little party, so gay' in the morning, had sunk to the level of their surroundings : the damp river with its twinkling lights, the gray gloaming, the laboured dip of the traveling oars. They were near the city when Mary Former said a few words about the evil-omened parlour and the two prophecies } then she wondered, " If it was really in the power of any one to reveal the future." And Philip Calamy, a very devout young man, who was in attendance upon Jane, answered, " The Book of the Future, in whatever language it may be written, is a perilous one to read. We should go mad »,vith too much learning there." " Yet," said Jane, " it is most sure that certain signs precede certain events ; and I see not why the good man, being related to heavenly beings — a little lower than the angels — may not foresee and foretell ^ and by the same token, the evil being, related to evil angels, might have a like inte''igence." The discussion was not continued, for they were at the river stairs, and as they passed through the city they were instantly aware of great excitement. The rabble were gathered round the men of news, and were listening with open mouths } the tradesmen were talking in groups at their shop doors ; they heard the name of Cromwell re- peatedly, sometimes in pride, sometimes in anger; and small bodies of the army were very much in evidence. It was impossible not to feel that something of great moment had happened, or was going to happen ; and when Jane entered the hall at Sandys and saw Doctor Verity's hat and 111! 194 THE LION'S WHELP cloak there, she expected that he had come with informa- tion. The next moment Mrs. SwafFham came hurriedly forward, and when she saw Jane, she raised her eyes and threw up her hands with the palms outward, to express her huge astonishment and dismay. " Mother," cried Jane, " what is the matter ? What has happened ? " and Mrs. SwafFham answered — " The strangest thing that ever happened in England." Even while she spoke they heard General SwafFham coming up the steps, the clatter of his arms emphasising his perturbed feelings. He was very little inclined to parade his military importance, so that the rattle of swords and spurs meant something more than usual to those who understood him. He had scarcely entered the door ere Doctor Verity came into the hall crying — " Is it true, Israel ? Is it true ? " " Quite true." " And well done ? " ** Well done. I am sure of it." Men and women went into the parlour together, and a servant began to remove the General's cavalry boots and spurs. " I told you. Doctor, this morning, that a settle- ment of some kind must come to-day: When I reached Whitehall I found the Lord General waiting for Sir Harry Vane and the members who had promised to come and continue the conference relating to the bill early in the day. The General was occupying himself with a book, but as the hours went by he grew restless and laid it down. Then he turned to me and said, * Truly these men are kng in coming ; are you ready. General ? ' and before I cSild answer he asked again * ready and willing ? ' I told him a word would move my troop as one man, if that word came from himself ; and he waited silently a little longer. Thea CROMWELL INTERFERES ,95 Lord' Cluny Neville came in very hastily, and said a few words I know not what they were ; and he had scarce gone when^olonel Ingoldsby entered, and there was no secrecy « » My lord ! ' he cried, * Parliament is sitting at this moment; and Sir Harry Vane, Sidney, and Henry Marten are urgmg the immediate passage of the bill so hateful to the whole nation.' "Then Cromwell roused himself like an angry lion His passion at this perfidious conduct leaped into flame; he shouted to Lambert and his own troop of Ironsides. He gave me the signal I understood, and we went quickly to the Parliament House. In the lobby St. John was stand- mg, and he said to Cromwell, * Arc you come down to the House, my lord, this morning ? It was thought you were safe at the Cockpit? 'and Cromwell answered, » I have somewhat to do at the House. I am grieved to my soul to do It. I have sought the Lord with tears to lay the work on some other man. I would to God I could innocently escape it-but there is a necessity I ' and he spoke with force and anger, and so went into the House." " But what then ? " asked Doctor Verity, his face burn- ing with the eager soul behind it. « I stood at the door watching him, my men being in the iobby. He went to his usual seat, but in a very great and majestic manner, and for a little while he listened to the de- ^Tj *u ^^'" ^"^ beckoned Major General Harrison and told him he judged » it was high time to dissolve this Par- liament.' And Harrison told me this afternoon, that he ad- vised Cromwell to consider what he would do, for it was a work great and dangerous ; and who, he asked, » is sufficient Jor It? ' And Cromwell answered, »The Servant of the Lord, he is sufficient ;' yet he sat down again, looking at mm 196 THE LION'S WHELP ','«ii' MIH, •wSi(. , me as he did so, and I looked back straight into his cyc« that I and mine could be depended on. " In a few minutes the question for passing the bill was put, and the man could be restrained no longer. He stood up, took off his hat, and looked round the House, and it quailed under his eyes ; every man in it shifted on his seat and was uneasy. He began to speak, and it was with a tongue of flame. He reproached them for their self-seek- ing and their hypocrisy and oppression ; and as he went on, there was the roar of a lion in his voice, and the members, being condemned of their own consciences, cowered before him." " Did no one open their mouth against him ? " " No one but Sir Peter Wentworth. He said, * My Lord General, this Parliament has done great things for England;' and Cromwell answered, 'The spoke in the wheel that creaks most does not bear the burden in the cart ! ' Then Sir Peter told Cromwell his abuse of the Par- liament was the more horrid because it came from the serv- ant of the Parliament, the man they had trusted and obliged." At these words Dr. Verity laughed loudly—" Cromwell, the servant of such a Parliament ! " he cried. " Not he ; what then, Israel ? " "He told Wentworth to be quiet. He said he had heard enough of such talk, and putting on his hat, he took the floor of the House. I watched him as he did so. He breathed inward, like one who has a business of life and death in hand. I could see on his face that he was going to do the deed that had been the secret of his breast for many days i and his walk was that quick stride with which he ever went to meet an enemy. He stood in the middle of the House, and began to accuse the members personally. CROMWELL INTERFERES 197 His words were swords. He flung them at the men as if they were javelins ; shot them in their faces as if from a pistol i and while rivers run to the sea, I can never think of Oliver Cromwell as I saw him this day but as one of the Immortals. He did not look as you and I look. He filled the House, though a less man in bulk and stature than either of us. He told the members to empty them- sc'ves of Self, and then they would find room for Christ, and for England. He told them the Lord had done with them. He said they were no Parliament, and that he had been sent to put an end to their sitting and their prating. "And at these words, Ciuny Neville spoke to the Ser- jeant, and he opened the doors, and some musketeer? en- tered the House. Then Sir Harry Vane cried out, * This is not honest j ' and Cromwell reminded him of his own broken promise. And so, to one and a)!, he brought Judg- ment Day i for their private lives were well known to him, and he could glance at Tom Challoner and say, ' Some of you are drunkards ; ' and at Henry Marten, and give the text about lewd livers } and at the bribe-takers he had only to point his finger, and say in a voice of thunder * Depart^ and they began to go out, at first slowly, and then in a i)urry, treading on the heels of each other." " What of Lenthall ? He has a stubborn will." " He sat still in the Speaker's chair, until Cromwell ordered him to come down. For a moment he hesitated, but General Harrison said, »I will lend you my hand, sirj ' and so he also went out." " But was there no attempt to stay . h dismissals ? I am amazed, dumbfounded I " said Doctor Verity. " Alderman Allen, the Treasurer of the Army, as he went out said something to Cromwell which angered him very much; and he then and there chained Allen with 198 THE LION'S WHELP - 19 II H ji , •if J «§ Hill li' a shortage of one hundred isand pounds, and committed him to the care of a musketeer for examination. And as Sir Harry Vane passed him, he told him reproachfully that his own treacherous conduct had brought afFairs to their present necessity ; for, he added, * if Sir Harry Vane had been at the Cockpit according to his words, Oliver Cromwell had not been in the Parliament House.' But I tell you, there was no gainsaying the Cromwell of this hour. He was more than mortal man ; and Vane and the others knew, if they had not knowii before, why he was never defeated in battle." " After the Speaker had left, what then ? " " His eye fell upon the Mace, and he said scornfully to some of the Ironsides, * Take that bauble away ! ' Then he ordered the musketeers to clear the House, he himself walking up to its Clerk and taking from under his arm the bill which had caused the trouble, and which was ready to pass. He ordered the man to go home, and he slipped away without a question. Cromwell was the last soul to leave the Chamber, and as he went out of it he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He then walked quietly back to his rooms in the Cockpit, and I dare say he was more troubled to meet Mistress Cromwell than he was to meet Sir Harry Vane and his company." " Oh, no ! " said Jane. " Mistress Cromwell is in all her husband's counsels. He would go to her for comfort, for whatever he may have said and done. I know he is this hour sorrowful and disturbed, and that he will neither eat nor drink till he has justified himself in the sight of God." " He will need God on his right hand and on his left," said Doctor Verity . " More than we can tell will come of this — implacable hostility, rancorous jealousy, everlasting envy and spite. The mem'jers " CROMWELL INTERFERES 199 " Tht members," interrupted General SwafFham, " have tied themselves, hands and feet, with cords of their own spinning, and Oliver Cromwell holds the ends of them. They will not dare to open their mouths. Sir Harry Vane said something about the business being *■ unconstitutional,' and Cromwell answered him roughly enough, after this fashion : * Unconstitutional ? A very accommodating word. Sir Harry Vane. Give me leave to say you Have played fast and loose with it long enough. I will not have it any longer ! England will not have it ! You are no friend of England. I do say, sir, you are no friend of England ! ' And his passion gathered and blazed till be spurned the floor with his feet, just as I have seen my bij^ red bull at SwaiFham paw the ground on which he stood." "This is all very fine indeed," said Mrs. SwafFham, al- most weeping in her anger ; " but you need not praise thitt man to me. He has. slain the King of England, and turned out the Engli h Parliament, and pray what next? He will make himseii King, and Elizabeth Cromwell Queen. Shall we indeed bow down to them ? Not I, for one." " He wants no such homage, Martha," said the Doctor, " and if I judge Madame Cromwell rightly, she is quite as far from any such desire." " You know nothing of the Cromwell women, Doctor — I know. Yes, I know them ! " " Dear mother " " Jane, there is no use » dear mothering ' me. I know the Cromwells. Many a receipt for puddings and comfits I have given Elizabeth Cromwell, and shown her how to dye silk and stuffs ; yes, and loaned her my silver sconces when Elizabeth married Mr. Claypole ; and now to think of her in the King's palace, and people bowing down to her, and hand-kissing, and what not! And as for Oliver Crom- ^ 200 THE LION'S WHELP it' : well's passions, we know all about them down in Cambridge- shire," she con;inued. " He stamped in that way when some one preached in St. Mary's what he thought rank popery ; and about the draining of the Fens, he kicked enough, God knows ! Oh, yes, I can see him in steel and bufF, sword in hand, and musketeers behind him, getting his way — for his way he will have — if he turn England hurly- burly for it." " Martha, he wore neither steel nor buff, and his sword was far from him. He went down to the House in a black cloth suit and gray worsted stockings, which, no doubt, were of his wife's knitting ; and his shoes were those made by Benjamin Cudlip, country fashion, low-cut, with steel latchets. He had not even a falling collar on, just a band of stitched linen round his neck." " I wonder, oh, I hope ! " said Jane, " that it was one of the bands I stitched when I was last staying at Whitehall." " Find it out, Jane ; settle your mind that it was one of them," answered Doctor Verity ; " and then, Jane, you may tell it to your children, and grandchildren, God willing." " At any rate," continued General Swaffham, " Crom- well at this hour owed nothing to his dress. I have seen him in the fields by St. Ives, and in Ely Market, in the same kind of clothing. What would you ? And what did it matter ? His spirit clothed his flesh, and the power of the spirit was on him, so that the men in velvet and fine lace wilted away in his presence." " No one minds the Lord General's having power, no one minds giving him honour for what he has done for England, but the Cromwell women ! What have they done more than others ? " asked Mrs. Swaffham. " Be at peace, Martha," said General Swaffham ; " here are things to consider of far greater import than the Crom- CROMWELL INTERFERES 201 well women. How the nation will take this afFair, remains to be seen. 'Tis true the Lord General was cheered all through the city, but he knows— and no man better— what a fickle heart the populace have. As like as not, it will be, as he said to me, * Overturn, overturn, and great tasks on all sides.' " "I look for measureless wrath and vain babble, and threats heard far and wide," said Doctor Verity. " The people have been given what they wanted, and twenty to one they will now nay-say all they have roared for. That would be like the rest of their ways." For once Doctor Verity was wrong. This master-stroke of Cromwell's went straight to the heart of London. " N- . a dog barked against it," said Cromwell to his friends, anc he was to all intents and purposes right. Those who called it " usurpation " confessed that it was an usurpation of capability, in place of one of Incapability. Even the lampoons of the day were not adverse to Cromwell, while some of them gave him a grim kind of pleasure. Thus, one morning, Cluny Neville passing the Parlia- ment House noticed placards on its walls, and going close enough to read them, found they advertised " This house to let; unfurnished" And when he told this to Cromwell, that faculty in the man which sometimes made for a rude kind of mirth, was aroused, and he burst into an uproarious enjoyment of the joke. "I wish," he cried, "I wish I knew the wag who did it. I would give him a crown or two, I would indeed, and gladly." There had been a little uncertainty about the navy, for Sir Harry Vane ha<» shown it great favour. But Admiial Robert Blake was as great and as unselfish a man in his office as was Oliver Cromwell. He accepted the change without dissent, jelling his fleet simply — 202 THE LION'S WHELP r. ^ \ ',1 ■ ««s " " It is not the business of seamen to mind state afFairs. Our business is to keep foreigners from fooling us, and to find the Dutch ships, fight them. : '-i sink them." And yet the feeling which .J to Mrs. S - afFham's little burst of temper was not particu a; o herself. Many women felt precisely as Martha Swafi ':".*> Hidl, a.id Cromwell did not take this element into his consideration. Yet it was one that worked steadily towards its reckoning, for men do not finally withstand the ceaseless dropping fire of their own hearthstones. Mrs. Fleetwood's and Mrs. Lambert's ill-feeling about precedence was indefinitely multiplied, and Mrs. Swaffham's more intimate rejection of the Cromwell women was a stone thrown into water and circling near and far. The Lord General Cromwell, men and women alike, could accept ; he had fought his way to honour, and they could give him what he had won. But the Cromwell women had done nothing, and suffered nothing beyond the ordinary lot ; it was a much harder thing to render liomage unto them. In these days, Mrs. SwaflFham, though ignoring the late King, waa distinctly royal and loyal where Queen Henrietta Maria was concerned. But it was, after all, a grand time in old England. Ad- ventures and victories were the news of every day. Noth- ing was too strange to happen ; people expected romances and impossibilities ; and because they expected them, they came. The big city was always astir with news ; it flew from lip to lip, like wild fire, was rung out from every steeple, and flashed in bonfires from one high place to an- other. This formidable man in black and gray was at the helm of affairs, and England felt that she might now trade and sow and marry and be happy to her heart's desire. Tlic shutting of the Parliament House affected nothing; the ma- chinery of Government went on without let or hindrance. CROMWELL INTERFERES 203 A new Parliament was quickly summoned, one hundred and forty Puritan notables "fearing God and of approved fidelity and honesty," and it was to begin its sittings on the ensuing fourth of July. Meantime, Robert Blake was wip- ing out of existence the Dutch navy and the Dutch com- merce. In the month of June, he took eleven Dutch men- of-war and one thousand three hundred and fifty prisoners ; the church bells rang joyously from one end of England to the other, and London gathered at St. Paul's to sing Te Deums for the victory. Thus to the echoes of trumpets and cannon the business of living and loving went on. The great national events were only chorus to the dramas and tragedies of the highest and the humblest homes. While Cromwell was issuing writs for a new Parliament and holding the reins of Gov- ernment tightly in his strong hands, his wife and daughters were happily busy about the marriage of young Harry Cromwell to Elizabeth Russel ; and Sir Peter Lely was painting their portraits, and Lady Mary Cromwell had her first lover; and Mrs. SwafFham was making the cowslip wine; and the Fermor and Heneago girls off to Bath for trifling and bathing and idle diversions ; and Jane sewing the sweetest and tenderest thoughts into the fine linen and cambric which she was fashioning into garments for her own marriage. In every family circle it was the same thing : the little comedies of life went on, whether Parlia- ment sat or not, whether Blake brought in prizes, or lay watching in the Channel; for, after all, what the people really wanted was peace and leisure to attend to their own affairs. One lovely morning in this jubilant English spring, Jane sat at the open window writing to Matilda dc Wick. All the sweet fresh things of the earth and the air were around 204 THE LION'S WHELP 1* her, but she was the s\. eetest and freshest of all. There was a pleasant smile on her lips as her fingers moved across the white paper. She was telling her friend about Harry Cromwell's marriage in the i 1 church at Kensington; about the dresses and the wedding feast, and the delightful way in which the Lord General had taken his new daughter to his heart. " And what now will Mistress Dorothy Os- borne do ? " she asked. " To be sure, she is said to be greatly taken with Sir William Temple, who is of her own way of thinking — which Harry Cromwell is not, though Mrs. Hutchinson has spoken of him eve /where as a * de- bauched, ungodly cavalier ; ' but Mrs. Hutchinson has a Presbyterian hatred of the Cromwells. And I must also tell you that the Lords Chandos and Arundel have been tried before the Upper Bench for the killing of Mr. Comp- ton in a duel. The crime was found manslaughter, and they were sentenced to be burned in the hand which was done to them both, but -Ty favourably. And the Earl of , Leicester said he was glad of it, for it argued a good stifF government to punish men of such high birth ; but my ' father thinks Leicester to be the greatest of levelers, he would abolish all rank and titles but his own. And I must also tell you that General Monk has discovered his mar- riage to Ann Clarges a market-woman of low birth, no beauty whatever, and a very ill tongue. My mother is sure the General must have been bewitched; however, Mistress Monk has gone to live in Greenwich palace, which has been given to the General for a residence. And the rest of my news is in a nutshell, Matilda. I heard from Tonbert that your brother had been seen at de Wick, but this I discredit. Did he not go with you to France? Cymlin is in Ireland, and sulking at his banishment to so barbarous a country ; and so I make an end of this long CROMWELL INTERFERES 205 letter, saying in a word I am your friend entirely and sin- cerely, Jane SwafFham." When Matilda received this letter she was in Paris. Her first resting-place had been at The Hague, where she had speedily been made known to the Princess Eliza- beth Stuart, the widowed ex-Queen of Bohemia, and the mother of Prince Rupert. In her poverty-stricken Court Matilda found kindred spirits, and she became intimate with the light-hearted Queen and her clever daughters. For in spite of the constant want of money, it was a Court abounding in wit and fun, in running about The Hague in disguise ; in private theatrica'^, singing and dancing, and other " very hilarious amusements," deeply disgusting to the English Puritans. So, then, while Sir Thomas Jevery was busy about his ships and his merchandise. Lady Jevery and Matilda spent much time with the ex-Queen, her dogs and her monkeys, her sons and her daughters, and the crowd of Cavalier gen- tlemen who made the house at The Hague a gathering place. Rupert, however, had never been his mother's favourite, yet she was proud of his valour and achieve- ments, and not generally indisposed to talk to Matilda about her " big hero." It pleased her most to describe with melodramatic thrills his baptism in the great old palace of Prague, his ivory cradle embossed with gold and gems, and his wardrobe — " the richest he ever had in his life, poor in- fant ;" — and then she continued, "He was not a lucky child. Misfortune came with him. He was not a year old when the Austrians overran Bohemia, and we were without a Kingdom — a king and a queen without a crown. Well, I have my dogs and my monkeys." " Which your Majesty greatly prefers to your sons and daughters," said the witty young Princess Sophie. 206 THE LION'S WHELP "They give me fewer heartaches, Sophie," was the answer. "Look, for instance, at your brother Rupert. What an incorrigible he is ! What anxieties have I not suffered for him. And Maurice, who must get himself drowned all because of his adoration of Rupert ! Oh, the poor Prince Rupert ! he is, as I say, most unlucky. I told my august brother Charles the same thing, and he listened not, until everything was lost, and it was too late. The great God only knows what calamities there are in this world." " But Prince Rupert has been the hope and support of his cousin's Court in the Louvre for three years," said Matilda warmly ; " it is not right to make little of what he has done." " He has done miracles, my dear Lady Matilda," answered Rupert's mother ; " but the miracles never pay. We are all of us wretchedly poor. He sells his valour and his blood for nothing worth while." " He is the greatest soldier and sailor in the world j so much even his enemies admit." " There are no results," said the ex-Queen, with a gay laugh and a shrug of her shoulders. " And I am told he has learned magic among the Africans, and brought home blackamoors and finer monkeys than my own. I object to nothing, since he assures me of his undying love for my- self and the Protestant religion. I assure you, if he did not love the Protestant religion I should find no difficulty in renouncing him." " He was too well educated in his religion to foiget it, madame," said the Princess Louise. 4 " I am not to blame if it were otherwise. I assure you he knows his Heidelberg Catechism as well as any Doctor of Divinity, and the History of the Reformers is at hit CROMWELL INTERFERES 207 tongue's end. I am not in health to go r^ ilarly to church, but my children go without omission, and they give me the points of the sermon in writing. I do my duty to them ; and of Rupert I had once great hopes, for the first words he ever spoke were * Praise the Lord,' in the Bohemian tongue. After that, one does not readily think evil of a Prince." Every day Matilda adroitly induced such conversations ; and once when the mother had talked herself into an en- thusiasm, she said, " Come and I will show you some pic- tures of this Rupert. His sister Louise makes portraits quite equal to those of her master, Honthorst. I may tell you frankly, we have sold her pictures for bread often ; they are said to be HonthorSt's, but most often they are the work of the Princess Louise. The poor child ! she paints and she paints, and foi^gets that she is a Palatine Princess without a thaler for her wardrobe. Look at this portrait of Rupert ! Is he not a big, sturdy . oy ? He was only four then, but he looks eight. How full of brave wonder are those eyes, as he looks out on the unknown world! And in this picture he is fourteen. He does not appear happy. No, but rather sad and uncertain, as if he had not fjund the world as pleasant as he expected. In this picture he is seventeen, gallant and handsome and smiling. He has begun to hope again, — perhaps to love. And look now on this face at twenty-nine ; he has carried too heavy a burden for his age, done too much, suffered too much." Matilda knew the latter portrait well, its facsimile lay upon her heart; and though she did not say a word, it was impossible not to notice in all the painted faces that strange, haunting Stuart melancholy, which must have had its root in some sorrowful, unfathomable past. On another evening they were talking of England, and 208 THE LION'S WHELP !iij of recent events there, chiefly of the high-handed dismissal of the Parliament, and the gay-hearted Elizabeth laughed at the affair very complacently. " I am an English Prin- cess," she said, " but I hate Parliaments ; so did his late Majesty, my brother Charles. But for the Parliament, my fate might have been different. I adored my husband, that is known, but it was the Parliament who made our mar- riage. My father, the great and wise King James, did not wish me to marry the Elector Palatine,— it was a poor match for the Princess Royal of England,— but the Parlia- ment thought the Elector would make himself the leader of the Calvinistic princes of the Empire. My dear Lady Matilda, he was sixteen years old, and I was sixteen, and we two children, what could we do with those turbulent Bohemian Protestants? You make a stir about your Oliver Cromwell ordering the English Members of Parlia- ment cat of their own House, listen then : the Protestant nobles of Bohemia threw the Emperor's ministers and members out of their Council Chamber windows. It was only their way of telling the Emperor they would not have the Catholic King he supported. The English adore the Law, and will commit any crime in it and for it ; the Bohemians air a law unto themselves. They then asked us to come to Prague, and we went and were crowned there, and in the midst of this glory, the Prince Rupert was born. He was a wonder for his great size, even then. And he had for his sponsors the King of Hungary and the Duke of Wurtenburg and the States of Bohemia, Silesia, and Upper and Lower Lusatia. Yet in less than a year we were all fugitives, and the poor child was thrown aside by his frightened nurse, and found lying alone on the floor by Baron d'Hona, who threw him into the last coach leav- ing the palac«^i and he fell into the boot and nearly pcr- HH CROMWELL INTERFERES 209 ished. So you see how unfortunate he was from the begin- ning." ^^ But, madame, you have a large family } some of them will surely retrieve your misfortunes." "I do no' trouble myself about the day I have never seen. There is a great astrologer in Paris, and he has told me that my daughter Sophia will bear a son, who will be- come King of England. Sophia gives herself airs on this prediction." Sophia, who was pre; nt, laughed heartily. " Indeed, madame," she said, " and when I am Queen Mother I shall abolish courtesies. Imagine, Lady de Wick, that I cannot eat my dinner without making nine separate courtesies, and on Sundays and Wednesdays, when we have two divines to eat with us, there are extra ones. I shall regulate my Court with the least amount of etiquette that will be decent." " You perceive. Lady de Wick, what a trial it is to have four clever daughters — not to speak of sons. My daugh- ter, the Princess Elizabeth, is the most learned of women ; I think she knows every language under the sun. You have seen the paintings of the Princess Louise. Sophia is witty and pretty, and is to be the mother of an English King } and my fair Henrietta is a beauty, and what is re- markable, she is also amiable, and makes adorable embroid- eries and confections. So the mother of four such prin- cesses must not complain." *''■ Especially when she has seventeen dogs and horses } not to speak of monkeys and blackamoors," cried Sophia. " Sophia is jealous ! " said the merry ex-Queen. *^ So is Rupert. Now, I am never jealous; I think jealousy is selfishness." Such intimate conversations occurred daily while Ma- ;| I 210 THE LION'S WHELP tilda frequented the House at The Hague ; and when Sir T omas Jevery was ready to proceed to Paris, the ladies did not leave their pleasant entertainer without tangible, financial proof of their interest in the Palatines. The light-hearted, dependent Elizabeth took the offering with open satisfaction. " It is very welcome," she said grate- fully; "and the more so, because it is so sensibly ex- pressed. Some would have thought it best to offer me a jewel, and so put my steward to the trouble of selling it, and me to the loss. Oh! " she sighed, smiling cheerfully at the same time, " it is a sad thing to be poor for want of money; poverty is so transparent. If you have only money, it is a cloak for everything." CHAPTER X RUPERT AND CLUNY *' Beauty formed Her face ; her heart Fidelity." "For he was of that noble trade, , That demigods and herci made ; Slaughter, and knocking on the head. The trade to which they all were bred." When the Jeverys arrived in Paris, they went immedi- ately to the beautiful Hotel de Fransac, which Sir Thoma$ had rented for their residence while in the city. It was situated in La Place Royale, almost within sight of the palaces of the King and the Cardinal. But Sir Thomas considered it necessary to the success of his business with Mazarin to wear the outside show of great wealth, and it was quite as necessary to Matilda's hopes and desires. If she would keep in enthralment a prince, she must, at least, be the princess of his im^ination. In reality, she was now much more so than ever before. Years and sorrow and manifold experiences had imparted to the mere loveli- ness of the flesh the captivating charm of the spirit. She was now a woman, not only to be adored for her beauty, but still more so for the qualities that would be in their perfection when beauty of face and form had faded away. And witii this rarer loveliness there had come a kind of necessity to express it in clothing marvelously splendid and effective. The paUce in which she was abiding also de- 3U 212 THE LION'S WHELP 4i ^ i I»1 ri:;: Btl manded it: the enormous spaces given to stairways and apartments, the magnificent furniture, the gorgeously liv- eried servants, were only the nature, accessories of some personage ;whose nobility or authority or wealth found in such splendour a fitting expression. One afternoon Matilda stood at a window watching the crowds passing incessantly from palace to palace. Silk and velvet and lace fluttered in the bright sunshine; jewels flashed from the soft hats, and the gleaming vests and the ready weapons. They were kissing hands, drawing swords, falling on one knee before some beauty or dignitary i they were laughing and swearing, and wooing and fighting, and riding and driving, as if life was only a grand Court pageant. To the right was the palace of the great King Louis, and not far away the palace of his Eminence, the great Cardi- nal Mazarin ; and between them, the crowd amused itself, conscious all the time of that other palace for the Unfor- tunates, called the Bastile. Its shadow was always over Place Royale ; dark, inexorable, mysterious ; and every soul of them knew that either road, or any road, might lead them to that silent, living sepulchre. How different was all this from the cool, gray, busy streets of London, with their steady movement of purposeful men and women I Matilda appeared to be watching the brilliant scene in La Place Royale, but she was taking no special notice of it. She had just received a letter from Jane, and was ponder- ing the news it brought her and waiting. She was won- derfully dressed, and wonderfully lovely, the delicate brightness of her complexion admirably enhanced by the darkness of her hair, and the robe of ruby-coloured Lyons velvet in which she was dressed. It fell away in billows of lace from her white throat and shoulders ; and its large RUPERT AND CLUNY 213 sleeves were lifted above the elbows with bands of Oriental pearls. There were pearls round her throat and round her arms, and the golden combs that held back her hair were ornamented with them. She was dressed for her lover, and awaiting his arrival, her soul flashing from her watching eyes, her whole sweet body at attention. When to ordinary ears there would have been n( thing to give notice, Matilda heard a step. She let Jane's letter drop to her feet, and stood facing the door with hands dropped and tightly '^lasped. She was very tall and her long velvet gown gave emphi.'iis to her stature. Unconsciously she had advanced her right foot — indeed, her whole body had the eager look of one whose soul was out- reaching it. A moment later the footsteps were very distinct j they were ascending the stairway quickly, peremptorily — the tread of impatience where all obstacles have been removed. A perfectly ravishing light spread itself over Matilda's face. A moment was an hour. Then the door flew open and Prince Rupert entered; "entered," however, being too small a word, for with the opening of the door he was on his knees at Matilda's feet, his arms were round her waist, she had bent hr face to his, they were both near to weeping and knew it not; for love must weep when it snatches from some hard Fate's control the hours that years have sighed for. " Adorable Mata ! O lovely and beloved ! O my love," he sighed. " O Mata, my flower ! my wine ! my music ! my sacred secret ! " She kissed him, and made him rise. And he told her again, all the waste, weary remembrance of his life apart from her, and showed her the long tress of hair which had kept for him the kisses and vows of long ago. And with 214 THE LION'S WHELP i li i-rT NM what sweet sighs she answered him ! Her tender eyes, her happy mouth, her soft tones, her gentle touch, were all to- kens from her heart's immediate sanctuary. Amid the sins and sorrows and shows of Paris, there was paradise for two hearts in the Hotel de Fransac. In these days men and women did really live and die for love, and a lover who did not fall at his mistress' feet was held graceless and joyless, and without natural fervour. And Rupert could do everything in excess and yet be natural, for all his being was abnormally developed; his gigantic stature, his passionate soul, his unreasoning love, his reck- less bravery, his magnificent jrenerosity, his bitter enmities, were all points in which he offended against ' • usual standard — though it was a large standard, if measu. ' the conventions of the present day. He had been dangerously ill after his arrival in Paris, and he was not the Rupert who had invaded the high seas three years previously. In these three years he had endured every evil that tempests, bad climates, war, fever, want of food and "strange hard- nesses " of all kinds could bring him ; and above all he had practically failed in everything. He had lost most of the treasure so hardly won ; his ships and his men and his idol- ised brother, Maurice; and all these losses had taken with them some of the finer parts of his nature. He had come home a disappointed and cynical man, his youth melted away in the fiery crucible of constant strife with human and elemental forces. Yet he was the most picturesque figure in Paris. The young King Louis delighted in his society. Mazarin was his frienH, and not only the English Court in exile, but also the French Court paid him the most extraordinary atten- tions. His striking personality, his barbaric retinue of black servants, his supposed wealth, the whispers of his RUPERT AND CLUNY a«5 skill in necromancy, were added to a military and naval reputation every one seemed desirous to embellish. Many great ladies were deeply in love with him, but their per- fumed billet-doux touched neither his heart nor his vanity. He loved Matilda. All the glory and the sorrow of his youth were in that love, and as he knelt at her feet in his princely, soldierly splendour, there was nothing lacking in the picture of romantic devotion. ^^ Adorable, ravishing Mata ! " he cried, " at your feet I an-, paid for my life's misery." And Matilda leaned towards him till their hand- some faces touched, and Rupert could look love into her eyes, soft and languishing with an equal affection. " How tall you have grown. You have the stature of u goddess," he cried with rapture i and then in a tone full of seriousness he added, " You are my mate. You are the only woman I can ever love. I vow that you shall be my princess, or I will die unmarried for your sake." For a little while their conversation was purely personal, but their own interests were so blent with public affairs that it was not possible to separate them for any length of time. " We have sold all our cargoes," he said triumphantly, " '^ spite of o}d Cromwell's remonstrances. Mazarin helped us, and the money is distributed. What can Crom- well do ? Will he go to war with France for a merchant's bill of lading ? The King and the Cardinal laugh at his demands. He is an insolent llow. Does he think he can match his Eminence ? But, this or that, the money is scat- tered to the four quarters of the world. Let him recover it." " [ vvi!l tell you something, Rupert. I had a letter to- day from my friend. Mistress Jane Swaffham. She says V France as soon as possible. My affiurs have been taken out of Mazarin's hands by Cromwell; he will visit the offense on me. Every moment is full of uncertainty and danger." " Prince Rupert will not see us injured." " I cannot take Prince Rupert for our surety. He has not yet spoken to me about your marriage. He it at the mercy of so many minds." 220 THE LION'S WHELP " That detestable Lord Neville ! Ever and always, he brings me trouble and sorrow. There are half-a-dozen of my lovers who would run him through for a look. I would do it myself. You need not smile, sir, I am as ready with the sword as any man, and have matched both Stephen and Cymlin SwafFam. I hate Neville. I would most willingly make an end of him." " Hush, Matilda ! Your words belie you. You mean them not. But there is no time for words now, we shall leave here for England in two days. If Prince Rupert loves you so much as to marry you, there are ways and means to accomplish that end. If money only is the lack, I shall be no miser, if I may ensure your happiness." " Dear uncle, shall we not return by The Hague ? " "No. Lord Neville has promised to do my business there. It is only a matter of collecting a thousand pounds frcm my merchant ; but he is going to take charge of your aunt's jewels, and you had better trust yours also with him. They will be safer in the saddle of a horseman than in a guarded traveling coach. In the latter case, robbers are sure there is plunder ; in the former it is most unlikely." ^* I will not trust anything I possess to Lord Neville. Nothing ! " "The man trusted by Cromwell is above suspicion." " It is his interest to be honest with Cromwell." You are angry at Neville." I have good reason. He is always the bringer of bad news. The order to leave Paris and the Prince could have come only through him." " The Prince knows how he may keep you -"t his side." " Oh ! I am wezry of balancing things impossible. The Prince cannot marry like a common man." Then he should only make love to such women as are ((' K u' RUPERT AND CLUNY 221 fit to marry with him. I have said often what I thought right in this affair } I have offered to help it with my gold as far as I can — (hat is all about it, Matilda. I say no more. ** It is enough," answered Lady Jevery. '* Matilda can- not wish to put in danger your liberty or life." ^' My happiness is of less consequence, aunt." " Certainly it is i " and there was such an air of finality in Lady Jevery's voice that Matilda rose and went to her own apartments to continue her complaints. This she did with passionate feeling in a letter to Prince Rupert, in which she expressed without stint her hatred of Lord Neville and her desire for his punishment. Rupert was well inclined to humour her wish. He had seen the young Commonwealth messenger, and his handsome person and patrician manner had given him a moment's envious look back to the days when he also had been young and hopeful, and full of faith in his own great future. The slight hauteur of Neville, his punctilious care for Cromwell's instructions, his whole bearing of victory, as against his own listless attitude of " failure," set his mind in a mood either to ignore the youi^ man, or else by the simplest word or incident to change from indifference to dislike. Matilda's letter furnished the impetus to dislike. He said to himself, ^* Neville showed more insolence and self- approval in the presence of his Eminence than T after all my wars and adventures, would have presumed on, under any circumstances. He wants a lesson, and it will please Matilda if I give him it ; and God knows there is so little I can do to pleasure her ! " At this point in his reflections, he called his equerry and bid him '* find out the lockings of Lord Neville, and watch him by day and night } " addii^, " Have my Barbary horse saddled, and when this English- 222 THE LION'S WHELP man leaves his lodging, bring me instant word of the coune he takes." The next morning he spent with Matilda. She was in tears and despair, and Rupert could do nothing but weep and despair with her. He indeed renewed with passionate affection his promise to marry her as soon as this was pos- sible, but the possibility did not appear at hand to either of them. Rupert certainly could have defied every family and caste tradition, and made the girl so long faithful to him at once his wife i but how were they to live as became his rank ? For in spite of popular suppositions to the con- trary, he was in reality a poor man, and he could not be- come a pensioner on Sir Thomas Jevery, even if Sir Thomas had been able to give him an income at all in unison with Rupert's ideas of the splendid life due to his position and achievements. But he had not long to wait for an opportunity to meet Neville. While he was playing billiards the following after- noon with the Duke of Yorke, his equerry arrived at the Palais Royale with his horse. Neville had taken the northern road out of the city, and it was presumably the homeward road. Rupert followed quickly, but Neville was a swift, steady rider, and he was not overtaken till twenty miles had been covered, and the daylight was nearly lost in the radiance of the full moon. Rupert put spurs to hit horse, passed Neville at a swift gallop, then suddenly wheeling, came at a rush towards him, catching his bridle as they met. " Alight," he said peremptorily. Neville shook his bridle free, aiid asked, " By whose orders ? " « Mine." « I will not obey them." RUPERT AND CLUNY 223 Wliat do I care? Alight, and ♦* You will alight. I have a quarrel to settle with you. ' " On what ground ? " " Say it is on the ground of your mistress. I am Earl de Wick's friend." " I will not fight on such pretense. My mistress would deny me if I did." " Fight for your honour, then." Neville laughed. "I know better. And before what you call Honotr, I put Duty." " Then fight for the papers and money in your posses- sion. I want them." " Ha ! I thought so. You are a robber, it seems. The papers and gold are not mine, and I will fight rather than lose them. But I warn yoa that I am a good swords- man." ''Heaven and hell! prove your boast." " If you are in such a hurry to die, go and hang yourself. On second thoughts, I will not fight a thief. I am a noble, and an honourable man." "If you do not alight at once, I will slay your horee. You shall fight me, here and now, with or without pre- tense." Then Neville flung himself from his horse and tied the animal to a tree. Rupert did likewise, and the two men rapidly removed such of their garments as would interfere with their bloody play. They were in a lonely road, par- tially shaded with great trees ; not a human habitation was visible, and there were no seconds to see justice done in the fight, or secure help after it, if help was needed. ' But at this time the lack of recognised formalities was no im- pediment to the duel. Rupert quickly found that he had met his match. Neville left him not a moment's breathing umim 224 THE LION'S WHELP it: space, but never followed up his attacks i until at last Rupert called out insolently, " When are you going to kill me?" The angry impatience of the inquiry probably induced a moment's carelessness, and Rupert did not notice that in the struggle their ground had insensibly been changed, and Neville now stood directly in front of a large tree. Not heeding the impediment, Rupert made a fierce thrust with the point of his sword, which Neville evaded by a vault to one side, so that Rupert's sword striking the tree, sprang from his hand at the impact. As it fell to the ground, Neville reached it first, and placed his foot upon it. Rupert stood still and bowed gravely. He was at Neville's mercy, and he indicated his knowledge of this fact by the proud stillness of his attitude. "It was an accident," said Neville; " and an accident is God's part in any affair. Take your life from my hand. I have no will to wish your death." He offered his hand as he spoke, and Rupert took it frankly, answering, " 'Tis no disgrace to take life from one so gallant and generous, and I am glad that I can repay the favour of your clemency ; " then he almost whispered in Cluny's ear three words, and the young man started visibly, and with great haste untied his horse. " We would better change horses," said Rupert ; " mine is a Barb, swift as the wind." But Cluny could not make the change proposed without some delay, his papers and jewels being bestowed in his saddle linings. So with a good wish the two men parted, and there was no anger between them; — admiration and good will had taken its place. Neville hastened forward, as he had been advised, and Rupert returned to Paris. He knew Matilda was expecting him, and he pictured to him- I ^ ■''r' I RUPERT AND CLUNY 225 self her disappointment and anxiety at his non-appearance i it was aJso her last evening in Paris, and it grieved him to miss precious hours of love, that might never be given him again. Yet he was physicaUy exhausted, and as soon as he threw himself upon a couch he forgot all his weariness and all his anxieties in a deep sleep. Matilda was not so happy as to find this oblivion. She knew over what social pitfalls every man of prominence in Paris walked— in the King's favour one day, in the Bastile the next day— and that this very insecurity of all good things made men reckless. Rupert might have offended King Louis or the great Cardinal. She in.agined a hundred causes for flight or fight or imprisonment j she recalled one story after another of nobles and gentlemen seen flourishing in the presence of Louis one day and then never seen again. She knew that plots and counterplots, party fueds and fam- ily hatreds, were everywhere rife ; and that Rupert was rash and outspoken, and had many enemies among the cour- tiers of Louis and the exiled nobles of England, not to speak of the Commonwealth spies, to whom he was an ob- ject of superstitious hatred, who regarded his blackamoors as familiar spirits, and believed firmly that " he had a devil " and worked evil charms by the devil's help and advice. And above all, and through these sad forebodings, there was the ever present likelih jod of a duel. Every man had sword in hand, ready to settle some terrible or trivial quarrel— though it did not require a quarrel to provoke the duel j men fought for a word, for a sign, for the colour of a ribbon, for noth- ing at all, for the pleasure of killing themselves to kiU time. Matilda was keenly alive to all these possible tragedies and when her lover failed to keep what was likely to be their last tryst, she was more frightened than angry; yet 226 THE MON'S WHEf.P u earlv hour in the n^orning, and s^ saw hmt sate and well, her anxiety bccai ' flavoured with h^pleasi « " How could you S( rruei > ippoin* me ? " she crieu. "You see now that our ume li -cany gone; in a few houn we must part, perhaps i irevcr.' "Mydt ivbi, I'^veliest ' 1 Ua, I f wat tollo..if'g ^ 'd N e, a: I cxpe -ed. vVh' . my ov >es- twenty miles r- idt back t( Pai >ul'l OHiv' *ei ab' Mt I'our pleasure. rje 'oot vc further than h him, I had ifcss to you, I lov cmem- u jnc ir beei a! k. to :^ mi uij ncubu Why him a lesson. He was going . night, or let him escape. By pleasure in mind." was too great ! I had to give u" at is a loss I shall mourn to the ^ncn ^at you killed him. Noth- was so wtary tnat 1 her how itch 1 .av "Lord ^-ev;!!' ag did you f> w hin " > ou - '^ed ic iiome^ ird. I ha . to 'id my trc , I bao )nly you "Os , but e price p your K Ki ty ! . ho!irs. end oi m life. 1 pf- ing less will suffict ^ 't." " ^ was t of ortaiie, as 1 always am. I had an acci- drnt, and wp : his ercy. He gave me my life." * N ii. -d, you pierce my heart. You at his mercy ! is an toletable shame ! It will make me cry out, cVen wne: ' - cp! I Hall die of it. You! You! to be at his mer.; , -at tht n 'cv ^<" .hat Puritan braggart. Oh, I can- not tildurc it ! " 'You see that I endure it very complacently, Mata. T ;; man behaved as a gentleman and a soldier. I have ev n taken a liking to him. I have also paid back his kind- .ss; we are quits, and as soldiers, friends. It was m iccidcnt, and as Neville very piously saidj * Accidents »re RUPERT AND CLUNY 227 God's part in an affair j ' and therefore we would not be'*' found fighting against God. You know, Mata, that I have been very religiously brou-ht up. And I can assure you no one's honour suffered, mire least of all." But Matilda was hard to comfort. Her last interview with her lover was saddened and troubled by this disagree- ment j and though both were broken-hearted in the mo- ments of farewell, Matilda, watching Rupert across ^e Place Royale, discovered in the listless impatience of his attitude and movements, that inward revolt against outward strife, which, if it had found a voice, would have ejaculated, " I am glad it is ov ?r." This, then, was the end of the visit from which she had expected so mu< h ; and one sad gray morning in November they reached London. Sir Thomas was like a man re- leased from a spell, and he went about his house and garden in • nood so happy that it was like a psalm of gratitude to be with him. Lady Jevery was equally pleased, though i^%e - ready to show her pleasure; but to Matilda, life appea^d""^^" without hope— a state of simple endurance, for she had no vita! expectation that the morrow, or any other morrow, would bring her happiness. The apparently fateful interference of Neville in her affairs made her miserable. She thought him her evil gen- ius, the bearer of bad news, the bringer of sorrow. She felt Rupert's " accident " as part of the bad fate. She had beta taught fencing, and Cymlin Swaffham had oftm de- clared her a match for any swor' n tha s' as well as Rupert knew, no hor i him and Neville. But the " 2 fhan this: she regarded it as ^ti!l against her good fortune, se ht inriuencing Neville and his pa Sti at I li\' 228 THE LION'S WHELP the King and his party to defeat in all their relationship*, private and national. She said to herself in the first hours of her return that she would not see Jane, but as the day wore on she changed her mind. She wisb i to write Rupert every par- ticular about national events, and she could best feel the Puriton pulse through Jane i while from no one else couW she obtain a knowledge of the household doings of Crom- well and his family. Then, also, she wished Jane to sec her new dresses, and to hear of the great and famous peo- ple she had been living among. What was the use of be- ing familiar with princesses, if there was no one to talk to about them ? And MatUda had so much to say concerning the ex-Queen of Bohw.nia and her clever daughters, that she could not deny herself the society of Jane as a Ustener. So she wrote and asked her to come, and Jane answered the request in person, at once. This hurry of welcome was a little malapropos. Matilda had not assumed the dress and style she had intended, and the litter of fine cloth- ing about her rooms, and the partially unpacked boxes, gave to her surroundings an undignified and unimpressive char- acter. But friendship gives up its forms tardily} people kiss each other and say fond wcrds long after the love dut ought to vitalise such symbols is dead and buried j and f« awhile the two giris did believe themselves glad to OMSt again. There were a score of things delightful to women over which they could agree, and Jane's admiration for her friend's beautiful gowns and laces and jewels, and her in- terest in Matilda's descriptions of the circumstances ia which they were worn, was so genuine, that MatiWa ha^ forgotten her relation to Lord Neville, when the irritsfiif name was mentioned. « Did you see Lord NevUle in Paris ? " Jane |»kedi an* ■M M RUPERT AND CLUNY 229 there was a wistful anxiety in her voice to which Matilda ought to have responded. But the question came when she was tired even of her own splendours and successes j she had talked herself out, and was not inclined to continue conversation if the subject of it was to be one so disagree- able. " No," she answered shaq)ly. « I did not see him. He called one day, and had a long talk with Sir Thomas, but aunt had a headache, and I had more delightful com- pany." " I thought for my sake you would see him. Did you hear anything of his affiurs ? " " Indeed, I heard he gave great offense to Cardinal Maza- rin by his authoritative manner." "OA/" "You know, Jane, that he has a most presuming, haughty way ? He has ! " " I am sure he has not, Matilda." " Every one wondered at Cromwell sending a mere boy on such delicate and important business. It was consid- ered almost an insult to Mazarin." " How can you say such things, Matilda ? The business was neither delicate nor important. It was merely to de- liver a parcel to Mazarin. Cluny was not charged with any explanations, and I am sure he took nothing on him- self." " I only repeat what I heard— that he carried himself as if he were a young AtUs, and had England's fate and honour on his shoulders." **You can surely also repeat something pleasant. Did you hear of him at the minister's, or elsewhere ? He is not one to pass through a room and nobody see him." " I heard nothing about him but what I have told you. He prevented my seeing the Queen of Bohemia on my re- 230 THE LION'S WHELP turn, because he ofFercd to attend to my uncle's business at The Hague for himj and for this interference I do not thank Lord Neville." " Nor I," answered Jane. « Had he not gone to 1 he Hague he might have been in London by this time/" Then wishing to avoid all unpleasantness, she said, " To be sure it is no wonder you forgot me and my affairs. You have been living a fairy tale, Matilda i and the fairy pnncc has been living it with you. How charming ! " Matilda was instantly pleased, her voice became melodi- ous, her face smiling and tender. « Yes," she answered, »*a fairy tale, and my prince was so splendid, so famous, so adored, kings, cardinals, great men of all kinds, and the loveliest women in France sought him, but he left all to sit at my side;" and then the girls sat down, hand m hand, and Matilda told again her tale of love, tiU they were both near to weeping. This sympathy made Matilda remember more kindly Jane's dreams and hopes concerning her own love affair, and though she hated Neville, she put aside the iU feeling and asked, "Pray now, Jane, what about your marriage ? Does it stand, like mine, under unwiUing stars ? " "No. I am almost sure my father has changed hit mindi i>erhaps the Lord General has helped him to do so, for no man, or woman either, Uikes such sweet interest m t true love affair. He is always for making lovers happy, whether the His own sons and daughters or those of Us friends i anr :es Cluny so much that when he returns he is to have a c. jmand at Edinburgh. And I can see faAtf and mother have been tidking about our marriage. One morning, lately, mother showed me the fine damask to* house linen she is going to give me, and another moniiiig she looked at my sewing and said, » I might as weU hutty RUPERT AND CLUNY 231 a little; things might happen sooner thai. I thought forj' and then she kissed me, and that is what mother doesn't often do, out of time and season." Jane had risen as she said these words, and was tying on her bonnet, and Matilda watched her with a curious inter- est. " I was wondering," she said slowly, " if you will be glad to marry Cluny Neville and go away to Scotland with him." " Oh, yes," Jane answered, her eyes shining, her mouth ^v-eathed in smiles, her whole being expressing her delight ia such an anticipation. Matilda made no further remark, r It when Jane had closed the door behind her, she sat do\. 1 thoughtfully by the fire, and stirring together the red em- bers, sighed rather than said — " Why do people marry and bring up sons and daugh- ters ? This girl has been loved to the uttermost by her father and mother and brothers, and she will gladly leave them all to go off with this young Scot. She will call it * Sacrifice for Love's sake j ' I call it pure selfishness. Yet I am not a whit whiter than she. I would have stayed in Paris with Rupert, though my good uncle was in danger. How dreadful it is to look into one's own soul, and make one's self tell it the honest truth. I think I will go to my evening service ; " and as she rose for her Common Prayer, she was saying under her breath, "We have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done. And there is no health in us." Lady Jevery had a dinner party that night, and Matilda went down to it in considerable splendour. Doctor Hewitt was present, and Mr. WaUer, the poet, and DenzU HoUis, and the witty, delightful Henry Marten, and Matilda's great favourite, the Lttle royalist linen diaper, Izaak Walton, i I I I I 232 THE LION'S WHELP whose Complete Jngler had just been published. He had brought Sir Thomas a copy of it, and Matilda found out at once the song, " Come live with me and be my love." Her praises were very pleasant to the old man, who had hid Donne and Hooker and Herbert in his Inner Chamber during the days of the Long Parliament; who had been the friend of bishops Ken and Sanderson, and of archbishops Usher and Sheldon; andwho,borr in Elizabeth's reign, had lived to see " Sceptre and Crown tumbled down." "But vou are not the only author of Great Oliver's reign. ...g.., she said with a whimsical smile. " This day Mis- tress Dorothy Osborne sent me a copy of the poems of my Lady Newcastle. She has been makmg h-srsclf still more absurd than she is by writing a book— and in verse. * Sure,' said Mistress Dorothy to me, » if I did not sleep for a month, I should never come to that point.' Why docs her husband let her run loose ? I vow there are soberer people in Bedlam." "Her husband adores her; he believes her to be a prodigy of learning." " They are a couple of fools well met. I am sorry for them She dashes at everything, and he goes about trum- peting her praises. Come, sir, I hear the company tossing Cromwell's name about. Let us join the combatants ; I wish to be in the fray." The fact was Sir Thomas had asked after political affiwrs since he left England in April, and there was plenty of ma- terial for discussion. Denzil HoUis was describing the opening of the Parliament summoned by Cromv jU, and which met on the fourth of July. " He made to this Par- liament," he said, " a wonderful speech. He declared diat he Mid not want supreme power, no, not for a day, but to put it into the hands of proper persons elected by the pe** RUPERT AND CLUNY ^33 pic' And he bid them *be humble and not consider themselves too much of a Parliament.' And then he burst into such a strain as none ever heard, taking texts from psalms, and prophets and epistles, mingled with homely counsels, and entreaties to them to do their duty — speaking till the words fell red hot from his lips, so that when he ended with the psalm on Dunbar field we were all ready to sing it with him } for as he told us, with a shining fiice, * the triumph of the psalm is exceeding high and great, and God is now accomplishing it.' " " No English Parliament was ever opened like that," said Sir Thomas. " Has it done anything yet ? " ** It has done too much. It has committees at work looking into the aflPairs of Scotland and Ireland, the navy, the army and the law. They have been through the jaik, and set three hundred poor debtors free in London alone. They have abolished titles and the Court of Chancery; and the last two acts have made the nation very uneasy. Upon my honour, the people are more unhappy at getting rid of their wrongs than you would credit." " Englishmen like something to grumble about," said Mr. Walton. »* If the Commonwealth leaves them with- out a grievance, it will doom itself." " That is not it, Mr. Walton," said Heniy Marten ; ^^ Englishmen don't like the foundations destroyed in order to repair the house. Going over precipices is not making progress. You may take it for an axiom that as a people, we prefer abuses to novelties." " The reign of the saints is now begun," said Doctor Hewitt scornfully j « and Sir Harry Vane is afraid of what he has prayed for. He has gone into retirement, and sent Cromwell word he would wait for his place until he got to heaven." iiHIi 234 THE LION'S WHELP (( Sir Harry k not one of Zebedee's sons." *' This Parliament is going toe fast." " They have no precedents to hamper them." ** Everything old is in danger of being abolished." '■'■ They talk of reducing all taxation to one assessment on land and property. Absurd ! " " Some say they will burn the records in the Tower ; and the law of Moses is to take the place of the law of England." " And the Jews are to have civil rights." " And after that we may have a Jewish Sanhedrim in ' place of a Puritan Parliament." " The good people of England will never bear such in- novations," said Sir Thomas with great indignation. " None of us know how much the good people of Eng- land will bear," answered HoUis. "And pray what part does Cromwell take in these changes ? Surely he is the leader of them ? " asked Lady Jevery. " He takes no part in them, madame," answered Walton; "gives no advice, uses no authority." " Oh, indeed he is just waiting till his Assembly of Saints have made themselves beyond further bearing," said Ma- tilda. " Then he will arise to the rescue, and serve them as he did the last Parliament." " And then. Lady Matilda, what then ? " asked Doctor Hewitt. " He will make himself Emperor of these Isles." " I do not think he has any such intent j no, not for an hour," said Sir Thomas. There was a cynical laugh at this opinion, and Matilda's 1 opinion was, in the main, not only endorsed, but firmly be- -S = lieved. Many could not understand why he had waited m^^ 1 long. "When he sheathed his sword at Worcester. he M RUPERT AND CLUNY a35 could have liftrd the sceptre, and the whole nation would have shouted gratefully, * God save King Oliver,' " said Sir Thomas. " Why did he not do so, I wonder ? " But if the spiritual eyes of these men had been suddenly opened, as were those of Elisha, they might have seen ;hat hour the man Cromwell, as God saw him, and acknowledged with shame and blame their ready injustice. For even while they were condemning him, accusing him of unbounded ambition and unbounded hypocrisy, he was kneeling by the side of a very old woman, praying. One of her small, shriveled hands was clasped between his large brown palms, and his voice, low, but intensely deep and earnest, filled the room with that unmistakable pathetic monotone, which is the natural voice of a soul pleading with its God. It rose and fell, it was full of tears and of triumph, it was sorrowful and imploring, it was the very sob of a soul wounded and loving, but crying out, " Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." When he rose, his face was wet with tears, but the aged woman had the light of heaven on her calm brow. She rose with htm, and leaning on the top of her ivory staff, said, " Oliver, my son Oliver, have no fear. Man nor woman shall have power to hurt thee. Until thy work is done, thou Shalt not see death; and when it is done, the finger of God will beckon thee. Though an host should rise up against thee, thou wilt live thy day and do thy work.** "My mother! My good mother! God's best gift to, me and mine.** " The Lord blen thee, Oliver, and keep thee. The Lord make His £ice to •hine upon thee. And be gradoos onto thee. The Lord lift op His countenance upon thee. And give thee peace.'* 236 THE LIONS WHELP Then Oliver kissed his mother tenderly, and went out from her presence with the joy of one whom ** his mother comforteth." And his face was bright and lifted up, and his footsteps firm } and he carried himself like a man whose soul had heen *^ ministered unto." And if the envious doubters at Sir Thomas Jevery's had seen him at that moment, they must have insuntly taken knowledge of him that he had been with God. All his fears were gone, all his troubles lighter than a grasshopper; in some blessed way there had come to him the knowle^ that even ** Envy's hsnh benie», and the chocking pool. Of the world's scorn and hsuvd, are the right mother milk To the true, tough hearu that pioneer their kind." BOOK III Oliver The Conqueror I * CHAPTER XI OUVBR PROTECTOR «• O hem heroic, Engltnd'a noblest $on f At what a height thy shining spirit burns StarliJte, ud floods our souls with quickening fire." *♦*♦*** " Fearful commenting is The leaden servitor to dull deky." The popular discontent with the rapid and radical re- forms of the saints' Parliament was not confined to the Royalists ; the nation, without regard to party, was bitterly incensed and alarmed. Cromwell was no exception j the most conservative of men, he also grew angry and restless when he saw the reign of the saints beginning in earnest. « These godly men are going straight to the confusion of all things," he said to Israel Swaff ham ; « they foiget they are assembled here by the people, and are assuming a direct power from the Lord. If we let them, they wiU bring ut under the horridest arbitrariness in the worid." There was reason enough for this fear. Not content with the changes in government, religion and law, Feakc and Fovvell were urging social changes that would level all ranks and classes to an equality, and Cromwell abomi- nated such ideas. Of equality, as we understand the word, he had no conception. He told the members plainly that England had known for hundreds of years, ranks and orders of men— nobles, gentlemen, yoemen— and that such S89 140 THE LION'S WHELP ranks were a good interest to the nation, and a great mm. ^ What it the purport," he askrd, ** to make the tenant m liberal a fortune as the landlord ? If obtained, it would not last i the men of that principle, after they had served their own turns, would have cried up property fast enough." To the Fifth Monarchy men who held that the saints alone should rule the earth, h^ gave the sternest rebuke, telling them plainly that the carnal divisions among them were not symptoms of Christ's Kingdom. ** Truly," he added, "you will need to give clearer manifestations of God's presence among you before wise men will submit to your conclusions." In the meantirre the anger outside the Parliament House rose to fury. Doulnless Cromwell had foreseen this crisis. Certainly a large number of the members were of his way of thinking, and on the twelfth of December, Colonel Sydenham r'>se, and accusing the members of wisn'qg to put a Mosai code in place of th' ^ mmon I t^ ot England— of depreciating a x<:gula m r*. - / (for what need of one, if all men could prophes) ) ■■■- the chief officers of the army, and by an imposing military escort. His family and friends in conveyances of equal splendour were behind, and were also attended by a military guard of honour. " Is it a dream, Jane ? " said M«. SwafFham to her daughter. " Am I asleep or awake ? Are these the very Cromwells we used to know ? Did you see that little chit, Frank, whom I have birched and stood in the corner, and scolded more times than I can remember ?- -did you see her ? Did you see her curtsying to her mother and calling her, * Your Highness' ? and Mary Cromwell giving orders like a very Queen ? and even Elizabeth Claypole looking as if England belonged to them ? After this, Jane, nothing can astonish mr." Jane was as silent as her mother was garrulous? the OLIVER PROTECTOR 245 crowd*, the excitement, the poignant crash and lare of martial music, the shining and clashing of steel, the waving of flags, the shouts and huzzas of the multitudes, the ring- ing of innumerable bells, the overpowering sense of the brotherhood of humanity in a mass animated by the same feeling, these things thrilled and Ailed souls untU they were without words, or else foolishly eloquent. A place of honour had been reserved for the Cromwell party, and the great General's mother found a throne-like chair placed for her in such a position that she could see every movement and hear every word of that august cere- mony which was to acknowledge her son " the greatest auw m England." And as she sat there, watching him stand uncovered beside the Chair of State, and listened to hkii taking the solemn oath to rule England, Scotland and Ire- land justly, she thought of this battle-scarred man as a baby at her breast, fifty-four years before, pressing her bosom with his tiny fingers, and smiling up in her face, happily unconscious of the travail of body and soul he was to un- dergo for the sake of England, and of all future free peo- ples. And she thought also of one cold winter day, when, a lad of twelve, he had come in from his lessons and his* rough play at football and thrown himself upon his bed, weary with the bufltting; and as he lay there, wide-awake in the broad daylight, how he had seen his angel stand at his feet, and heard him s^, " Thou shalt k, the greoUst mm, in England:' And there in her sight and hcarini, fhe prophecy was fulfilled that day, for she had never doubted It. The boy had been scolded and flogged for persisting in this story, but she had comforted him and alw^s kn^nrn that it was a vision to be realised. Her faith had its reward. She watched this boy of hers put on his hat, after taking the oath, an4 with a k^^ly air 246 THE LION'S WHELP ascend to what was virtually the throne of England. She saw him unbuckle his sword and put it oflp, to signify that military rule was ended ; and then she heard, amid the blare of trumpets, the Heralds proclaim him I^ord Prttecttr tf England^ Scotland and Inland. Her lips moved not, but she heard her soul singing psalms of glory and thanksgiving; yes, she heard the music within rising and swelling to great anthems of rejoicing. Her body was impotent to ex- press this wonderful joy ; it was her soul Sat made her boast in the Lord, that magnified the God of her salvation. And she really heard its glad music with her natural body, and the melody of that everlasting chime was in her heart to the last moment of her life. And her children looked at her and were amazed, for her face was changed i and when the people shouted, " God save the Lord Protector of the Com' monwealth ! " she stood up without her sufF, aiid was die first to render him obeisance. Jane watched her with wonder and delight ; she forgot her own grief in this s^ed mother's surpassing happiness, and she partly understood that hour the new doctrine of the men called Quakers. For she had watched this Inner sight of Life transfuse the frail frame, and seen it illuminate the withered face and strengthen the trembling limbs, and, above all, fill the Inner woman with a joy unspeakable and beyond speech or understanding. The ride back to Whitehall was an intoxicating one. Londoners had at last a ruler who was a supremely able man. Tliey could go to their shops, and buy and sell in security. Oliver Protector would see to their rights and their wel- fare. His very appearance was satisfying} he was not a young man headstrong and reckless, but a Protector who had been tried on the battle-field and in the Council Cham- ber and never found wanting. His personadity also was the ■Hi OLIVER PROTECTOR H7 visible presentment of the qualities they admired and de- sired. They looked at his sturdy British growth, and were satisfied. His head and face, muscular and massive, were of lion-like aspect j his suture nearly six feet, and so highly vitalised as to look much higher. Dark brown hair, min- gled with gray, fell below his collar-band, and from under large brows his deep, loving eyes looked as if m lifelong sorrow i and yet not thinking life sorrow, thinking it only labour and endeavour. Valour, devout intelligence, great simplicity, and a singular air of mysticism invested his rug- ged, broad-hatted majesty with a character or impress trans- cendentally mysterious. Even his enemies felt this vague shadow of the supernatural over and around him, for Sir Richard Huddleston, in watching him on Naseby's field, had cried out passionately, "Who will find King Charles a leader like him ? He is not a man i he is one of the ancient heroes come out of Valhalla." But be the day glad or sad, time runs through it, and the shadows of evening found the whole city worn out with their own emotions. Mrs. Swaffham and Jane were glad to return to the quiet of their home— " Not but what we have had a great day, Jane," said the elder woman j "but, dear me, child, what a waste of life it is ! I feel ten years older. It would not do to spend one's self this way very often." ' ' « I am tired to death, mother. May I suy in my room this evening ? I do not want to hear any more about the CromwelIs,.and I dare say Doctor Verity will come home with father, and they will talk of nothing else." " You are fretting, Jane, and fretting is bad for you every way. Why will you do it ? " " How can I help it, mother ? " Then Mrs. SwaiFbam looked at her daughter's white 248 THE LION'S WHELP U l!« face, and said, *^ You know, dear, where and how to find the comfort you need. God help you, child." And oh, how good it was to the heart-sick girl, to be at last alone, to be able to weep unwatched and unchecked— to shut the door of her soul on the world and open it to God, to tell Him all her doubt and fear and lonely grief. This was her consolation, even though no sensible comfort came from it — though the heavens seemed far off, and there was no ray of light, no whisper from beyond to encourage her. Hoping against despair, she rose up saying, ** Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him } " and these words she repeated over and over with increasing fervour, as she neatly folded away her clothing and put her room in that exquisite order which was necessary to her sleep, or even rest. For she kept still her childish belief that her angel would not visit her, if her room was untidy. And who will dare to say she was wrong ? These primitive faiths hold truths hid from the wise and prudent, but revealed to the simple and pure of heart. At nine o'clock her mother brought her a possett and toast, and she took them gratefully. ** Is father home ? " she asked. "Yes, Jane. He came in an hour ago with Doctor Verity." " Have they any word of " "1 fear not. They would have told me at once. I haven't seen much of them. There were lots of things un- done, and badly done, to look after. The wenches and the men have been on the streets all day, and the kitchen is up- side down. You never saw the like. I am tired of this Cromwell business, I am that. Phoebe was abusing him roundly as she jugged the hare for supper, and I felt kindly to her for it. *■ You are a pack of time-serving turncoats,* OLIVER PROTECTOR 249 ihe was saying as I went into the kitchen} ♦you would drink as much ale to-morrow to King Charles as you have drunk to-day to old Noll Cromwell.' And as she was stir- ring the pot, she did not know I was there, until I an- swered, 'You speak God's truth, Phoebe!' Then she turned and said, ♦ I do, ma'am. And for that matter, they would drink to the devil, an he asked them with old Octo- ber ! • Then I stopped her saucy tongue. But I don't won- der at her temper—not a clean saucepan in the closets, and men and maids off their heads with ale and Cromwell to- gether." " If Doctor Verity gives you any opportunity will you speak about Cluny, mother? " "You know I will. He and others will, maybe, have time for a word of kindness now. I'm sure the last few weeks have been past bearing— a nice mess the saints made of everything— London out of its seven senses, and the whole country screaming behind it; and the men who had a little sense, not knowing which road to turn. Now Cromwell has got his way, there will be only Cromwell to please, and surely a whole city full can manage that." " I don't suppose he has ever thought of Cluny being so long over time." " Not he ! He has had things far closer to him to look after." " But now ? " "Now he will inquire after the lad. Doctor Verity ' must speak to him. Dear Jane, do you suppose I don't see how you are suffering? I do, my girl, and I suffer with you. But even your father thinks we are worrying our- selves for nothing. He says Cluny will walk in some day and tell his own story— nothing worse than a fit of ague or tcvcr^ or even a wound from some street pad } perhaps a 150 THE LION'S WHELP heavy snowstorm, or the swampy Netherlands under water. Men can't fight the elements, or even outwit them, dear. Mother is with you, Jane, don't you doubt that," and she stepped forward and clasped the girl to her breast, and kissed the tears off her cheeks. ** Now drink your possett and go to sleep ; something may happen while you are dreaming of it } the net of the sleeping fisherman takes just as well — better maybe — than if he kept awake to watch it." So Jane laid herself down and slept, and if her angel came with a comforting thought or a happy vision, she found herself in a spotless room, white as a bride chamber, holding the scent of rosemary and roses from the pots on the window-siils, and prophesying strength and comfort in the Bible lying open at the forty-second and forty-third Psalms — " Why art thou cast down, O my soul ? And why art thou disquieted in me ? Hope thou in God j for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance." Jane's supposition that Doctor Verity would be with her father and that their talk would be only of Cromwell, was correct. Mrs. SwafFhara found the two men smoking at the fireside, and their conversation was of the Man and the Hour. She sat down weary and sleepy, so much so, that she did not take the trouble to contradict Doctor Verity, though he was making, in her opinion, a very foolish state- ment. " If you only assert a thing strong enough and long enough, Israel, you will convince the multitude. To-day, as I was passing Northumberland House, a party of mus- keteers stopped there, and cried, * God savi the Lord PrttC" tor ! ' and the crowd asserted in the most positive manner that the big lion on the house wagged its tail at the shout Every one believed it, and looked at the beast admir- OLIVER PROTECTOR 251 iiigly i and I found it hard to keep my senwt in the face of such strong assertion. Vain babble, but it took and pleased." "■ I am Sony for Oliver Cromwell. Such a load as he has shouldered ! Can he bear it ? " said Israel. " Through God's help, yes ; and ten times over, yes ! He is a great man," answered the Doctor. *^ I think mem of measures than of men," continued Israel. " Vc7 good. But something depends on the men, just as in a fire something depends on the grate," said the Doctor. " Who would have thou« ht the man we knew at Hunt- ingdon and St. Ives /•-J r> man in him? And what a strange place for God t • t 'ng England's Deliverer out of. No capuin from the battle-field, no doctor out of the col- leges, but a gentleman farmer out of the corn market and the sheep meadows of Sedgy Ouse. 'Tis wonderful enough. Doctor." " Great men, Israel, have always come from the most unlikely places. The desert and the wilderness, the sheep- folds and threshing floors bred the judges and prophets of Israel. From the despised village of Nazareth came the Christ. From the hot, barren deserts of Arabia, came Mahomet. From the arid plains of Picardy, came Calvin. From the misty, bare mo.inuins of Scotland, came John Knox, and from the fogs and swamps of the Fen country, comes Oliver Cromwell. So it s, *nd should be. God chooses for great men, not only the rime, but the place of their birth. The strei.frth .f C/jm well's character is in its mysticism, and this qualify has been tU from its youth up by the monotony of his 'rural life, by the sombre skies above him, by his very house, which was liice a deserted 252 THE LION'S WHELP cloister buried in big trees. All those years Cromwell was being foiled and welded by spiritual influences into the man of Naseby and Dunbar and Worcester — into the man who stepped grandly to the throne we saw him mount to> day." " One thing is sure : he will set free all godly men in prison for conscience' sake — unless it be papists and prel- atists. Yet 'tis hard to imprison men because they can't agree about caps and surplices." ** Such talk does not go to the root of the matter, Israel. Oliver, and men like him, look on papists and prelatirts as Amorites and Amalekites to be rooted out, and as disloyal citizens to be coerced into obedience." ** I know papists that believe the Mass to be a holy obli- gation. They are sincere. Doctor ; I know it." *^ What of that, Israel i A good Puritan cares no more for their sincere opinions than the Jewish prophets cared about the scruples of a conscientious believer in Baal. Why should he ? " " Well, then, as to Episcopacy — a great number of Eng- lishmen love it i and you can't preach nor teach Episcopacy out of them." " Don't I know it ? Popery without the Pope, that is what Englishmen want. They love ceremonies dearly} they love Episcopacy as they love Monarchy. Queen Elizabeth made an ordinance that at the name of Chrttt every woman should curtsy and every man bare his head. It went straight to the heart of England. Men and women loved Elizabeth for it, and bent their knees all the more willingly to herself. As for Cromwell, his zeal for the Protestant religion will be the key to every act of his reign. Take my word for it." ** Reign?" .j^ OLIVER PROTECTOR 253 « Ye«, reign. He it King, call him what you like." « At ruler— King or Protector—over papiitt, will it be right to hate them u bitterly at he doet i ** " Right ? Yet, a thouiand timet right. You mutt re- member what hit education and experience have been. From tome who lived in Mary't reign he mutt have heard how Ridley and Latimer and Cranmer were burned in the streett of Oxford for their Protetuntitm. The whole awful hittory of Mary't reign wat part of hit education. He may have heard from eye-witnettet of the tcene in the great square of Brustels when Horn and Egmont, championt of the Protestant faith, were beheaded by Alva't bloody Council. The Armada tent to conquer England and force on us by fire and sword the Catholic religion, wat wrecked on our thores by God Almighty, only eleven yeart before Cromwell was bom. The Popish Gunpowder Plot to blow up the King and the Parliament was discovered when he was six years old. Both of these last events were the staple of fireside conversations, aud would be told him in wonderfully eflrctive words by his grand-hearted mother, and you may be sure they were burned into the heart of the boy Oliver. He was old enough to undemand the cruel murder of Henry by the Jesuits in Paris ; he grew into his manhood during the thirty years' war of Catholic Europe against the Protestants. When he first entered Parliament, he was one of the Committee that investigated the brutal treatment of Prynne, Doaor Bastwick and the Rev. Mr. Burton. I think, indeed, that he witnessed these noble confessors pilloried and burned with hot irons and deprived of their cars, because they would none of Laud's surplices and mummeries. And both you and I witnessed his agonies of grief and anger at the frightful massacre by Phclim O'Neil of one hundred thousand Protettantt in Mictoconr resoiution test chart (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 1^ ■ 2.8 |M IMM tim JUm Hi miA IK l» 1^ u »*• ., ■UUU 2.0 1.8 A /APPLIED IN/HGE li he 165} East Main Str««t Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 -5989 -Fax 254 THE LION'S WHELP A, li il I*. Ireland. How can Cromwell help hating popery and prel- acy ? How can any of us help it ? Let us judge, not ac- cording to outward appearance, but with righteous judg- ment. Oliver will do his work, and he will do it well, and then go to Him who sent him. Verily, I believe he will hear the * Well done ' of his Master." " And then ? " " The Commonwealth will be over. The soul of it will have departed— can it live afterwards ? '* " Think you that our labour and lives have been wasted ? No, no! We will be free of kings forever; we have written that compact with our blood." " Not wasted, Israel, not wasted. The Puritan govern- ment may perish, the Puritan spirit will never die. Before these wars, England was like an animal that knew not its own strength j she is now better acquainted with herself. The people will never give up their Parliament and the rights the Commonwealth has given them, and if kings come back, they can be governed, as Davie Lindsey said, by * garring them ken, they have a lith in their necks " If I survive the Puritan government," said Israel, " I will join the pilgrims who have gone over the great seas." " I will go with you, Israel, but we will not call our- selves ' pilgrims.' No, indeed ! No men are less like pilgrims than they who go, not to wander about, but to build homes and cities and found republics in the land they have been led to. They are citizens, not pilgrims." At these words Mrs. SwafFham, who had listened be- tween sleeping and waking, roused herself thoroughly, " Israel," she said, " I will not go across seas. It is no( likely. S waff ham is our very own, and we will stay h Swaffham. And I do not think it is fair, or even loyal, ii you and Doctor Verity, on the very day you have made a OLIVER PROTECTOR 255 Protector for the Commonwealth to be prophesying its end. It is not right." "It is wtty wrong, Martha, and you do well 'to reprove us," said Doctor Verity. # * "And talking of going across seas," she continued, " re- minds me of Cluny j neither of you seem to care about him, yet our Jane is fretting herself sick, and you might both of you see it." "Tell Jane to be patient," said Doctor Verity. "If Cluny is not back by the New Year, I will go myself and bring him back. There is no need to fret ; tell her that." "Yet we must speak to Cromwell about the young man," said Jane's father ; « there has likely been some let- ter or message from him, which in the hurry and trouble of the last month has been forgotten. You will see the Pro- tector to-morrow, speik to him." " If it is possible, Israel. But remember all is to ar- range and rearrange, order and reorder, men to put out of office, and men to put into office. The work before the Protector is stupendous." This opinion proved to be correct. Day after day passed, and no word concerning Cluny was possible j but about the New Year a moment was found in which to name the young man and wonder at his delay. Cromwell appeared to be startled. " Surely there must have been some word from him," he said. « I think there has. A letter must have come j it has been laid aside ; if so, there could have been nothing of importance in it — no trouble, or I would have been told. Mr. Milton is fond of I,ord Neville j so am I, indeed I am, and I will have inquiry made without delay." "Without delay" in government inquiries may mean much time. The accumulated papers and letters of a month or more had to be examined, and when this was accom- 256 THE LION'S WHELP t I \ !iV |!*|R ' plished, nothing had been found that threw any light on Neville's detention. Yet no anxiety was expressed. Every one had such confid'^nce in the young man ; he was accus- tomed to the ejcigencies of travel, ready in resort, and brave and wise in emergencies. Cromwell made light of any supposition affecting his safety, and there was nothing then for Jane to do, but bear, and try to believe with those sup- posed to know better than herself, that the difficulties of winter travel in strange countries would easily account for her lover's non-appearance. Thus, sad with the slow sense of time, and with grief void and dark, Jane passed the weary days. The world went on, her heart stood still. Yet k was in these sorrow- ful days, haunted by uncertain presentiments, that she first felt the Infinite around her. It was then that she began to look for comfort from withm the veil, and to listen for some answering voice from the other life, because in this life there was none. Outside of these consolations she had only a bewildering fear, and she would have wept and worried her beauty away, had there not dwelt in her pure soul the perennial youth of silent worship. But this con- stantly renovating power was that fine flame of spiritual light in which physical beauty refines itself to the burning point. The greatest change was in her manner ; a slight cold austerity had taken the place of her natural cheerful- ness—this partly because she thought there was a want of sympathy in all around her, and partly because only b] this guarded composure could she maintain that tearles reticence she felt necessary to her self-respect. Neverthe less, through her faith, her innocence, her high thought am her laborious peace, she set her feet upon a rock. One crisp, sunny morning in January she suddenly re solved to make some inquiries herself. It was not an ca$, OLIVER PROTECTOR ,57 thing .0 do, all her education and all conventional feeline «^r. ^a.„s. a g,rl talcing such a step. But th. misery of f fe« i„„ " I'V"'"' ""'' J""' ^«««'' ">« her di- rect mqu,r,es m,ght be of some avail. She went first to Jevery House. Sir Thomas had a financial i„L„?, „ Lord Nevme's return, and it was likely he had made nve" g...ons, ,f „„ o„e else had. She expected to find h.mt h,s garden and she was not disappointed, wrapped in fu« from d,e gates to the main door of the mansion. He waf and the fresh brown earth which, he said to Jane, was "nounshmg and cherishing his lilies and daSbils. Y^ niust come again in three weeks, Jane," he added , «and perhaps you w.ll see them putting out their little green fingers/ Jane answered, « Yes, sir , " but im«ed,S plunged mto the subject so near her. ^ "Have you heard anything about Lord Neville, Sir Thomas > she asked. " I must tell you that he i mv lover, we were betrothed with my parents' consent, L7l ™ very, ve^- unhappy at his long delay " man ,„ The Hague, and « seems Lord Neville collected the sir :\r """• ''" ''"^^ "S- A singular circum! tr '" ""^^O"""'"" « *at he refused a note on the L .her Merchants' Guild of this city, and insisted on bemg pa,d m gold, and was so paid. Now, Jane, a thou^ sand sovercgns are not easily carried,-a„dla„d -ll!" "Well, Sir.' Please go on." ginL^C:;:'„,!^'' ^'" "'^'^ ^ortheA^encas-rorthe Vl. " But Lord Neville did not go to America. Oh, no, sir I That IS an impossible thought." ' 258 THE LION'S WHELP « Well, then, there is this alternative : the merchant who paid him the money died a few days afterwards of smallpox. Was there infection in the money ? Did Lord Neville take the smallpox and die ? " " But if he had been sick he would have known the danger, and written some letter and provided for the safety of the property in his charge. He knew nany people in The Hague. This supposition is very unlikely." " Why did he insist on the gold ? This is the thing that troubles me." " Who says he insisted on gold ? " " The widow of the man who pai ' it." " She may have been mistaken. She may herself be dis- honest. The money may never have been paid at all. I do not believe it has been paid. Did your trusty man see Lord Neville's quittance ? " "I hav^- not thought of that, Jane. I was troubled at the story, and accepted it as it was given. It was too pain- ful and suspicious to examine." " For that reason it must be sifted to the very bottom. That Dutch widow has the money, doubtless. Did your messenger ask her to describe Lord Neville ? Did he ask her any particulars of the interview ? It is easy to say the thousand pounds were paid. I do not believe her." " Well, my little mistress, your faith infects me. I will send again to The Hague." "Yes, sir; and let your messenger ask to see Lord Neville's quittance. Cluny did not receive from any one a thousand pounds without an acknowledgment of the pay- ment. Let the woman show it." "You are right. I will make further inquiries at once." " To-day sir ? Please, to-day, sir." V Hp OLIVER PROTECTOR 23^ "I will se .i a man to The Hague to^ay." ^n.lXli:^;!'-- Can I now see Lad, Jeve^ "My dear, they are both at de Wick A w^^t ruece received , ,e„e. f„„ .he ^ '1 bfugT lt.,7 He urged them ,o come and see hin,. He said he hid „« long o h«, and ,hat before he wen. away he had sol' most ,n,pona„, in.ellig.nce, viu% affecing'he de W X .0 con,mun,ca.e. My niece .hough, i, p^n., even „ec essaiy, .o make .he visi., and Lady Jevery wen. wi.h w" In a couple of weeks I shall go for ,h ™7 " But before you go " "I have said »to^ay/ Mistress Jane. I will ke^n n. pro..e Whydo you not see th'e Prote toW HeM^ fond of the young man ; he believed in him." She only answered, « Yes, sir," and then adding, « Good She received this acknowledgment wuh a gmteful smile yet her whole appearance was so wretched Sir Th' could not rid himself of her unhappy atmosphere H^s "^ll^ was spoiled ; he went into his private room ^nA c I j Wdes.oTrisW:g7 '"'""'■" '-'"^ '" "f''^"' *= CHAPTER XII HOLD THOU MY HANDS ** Hold Thou my hands : In grief and joy, in hope and fear. Lord let me feel that Thou art nea* Hold Thou my hands." There are two ways to manage a day that begins badly; we may give the inner man or woman control, and permit them to compel events ; or we may retire until unpropitious influences iiave passed us by. It is perhaps only in cr tremes the first alternative is taken ; usually the soul pre- fers withdrawal. Jane felt that it was useless for her to attempt a visit to the Protector that day, and she hastened to the covert of her home. Her mother's kind face met her at thj threshold, and the commonplace domestic in- fluences of the set dinner-table, and the busy servants, recalled her thoughts from their sad and profitless wander- ing among possible and impossible calamities. Mrs. SwafFham had a letter in her hand, and she said as soon as she saw her daughter, " What do you think, Jane? Cymlin has got his dischai^e, and instead of coming here, he has gone to SwafFham. And he says Will and Tonbert are in the mind to join a party of men who will pay a visit to the Massachusetts Colony ; and Cymlin says it is a good thing, and that he will stay at SwaflFham and keep everything up to collar." "I was at Jevcry House, mother," said Jaiie, "an^ Lady Jevery and Matilda are gone to de Wick." 9eo HOLD THOU MY HANDS 161 f iTT' L^" """"" '■"'■ Cy"""'' being lo tkough.- wonun „ the l».,on, of ,11. I ™ .orfier dun I J^ you. M«, d. wiU uke her .p„„ „„. of Cymlin, »d" „ "But why, mother? You can do no good. A word a ook fro. Matilda, and a fig for all advii ! " tZX old her mother of And,ony Lynn', menage, «,d ,h.y ut7T °' •" "r**" "^'"8, Mt'swaffZ being of the opm,„„ tha, Lynn's conscience wa. trou- blmg h,m, and tha, he wanted, a. far a. he wa. rf,le, to pre- pitiate the de Wick.. ' ' from hu boyhood he wa. fo.,ered by the de Wick., and .ben .0 think of hi. buying out ,^Un,E^J:t^ woZ*'.""'' "" "rl w- 1"^''^; ""^^ "« old re^. TJ *' ^'''" ""^^ '«'■" >»« " .. I. • V '"'"* unknown aranger," raid Tane b„ it il'^ " T" "'"' *' -^ '^•' "'•^ «% f^ vo „ IT ^'^ *" *"" ""'' ~« '" *» ""ri'l « «1« you won t be afraid to meet them in the next world I t«l Marmaduke, anyway, he ought to be ariuuned Anthony w^ alway, known for a prudent man, ^u 262 THE LION'S WHELP Then Jane told her mother what .u.picions evidently ex- isted in the mind of Sir Thomas, and Mr.. Swaffham laughed at their absurdity, and was then angry at the.r .n- justice i and finally she sent Jane up-stair. to dress for dm- ner in a much more hopeful and woridlike temper. This day was followed by a week of wretched weather. Jane could do nothing but wait. Her soul, however, had reached its lowest depth of despondence during her v. tit to Sir Thomas Jevery, and on reviewing it, she felt as if she had betrayed her inner self-~let a stranger look at her grief and see her faint heart, and suspect that she, also, had a doubt of her lover. She was mortified at her weakness, and fully resolved when she visited Cromwell, to show him the heart of a fearless woman— brave, because sh doubted neither God nor man. ..,..••. It was, however, the month of March before this visit could be made. The bad weather was the precursor of a bad cold, and then she had to consider the new domestic ar- rangements of the Cromwell family. The royal apartments in Whitehall and in the palace of Hampton Court were being prepared for the Protector's family, and Jane knew from her father's reports, as well as from her own acquamt- ance with her Highness and her daughters, that aU the changes made would be of the utmost interest to them. She was averse either to intrude on their joy or to have them notice her anxiety. ^ But one exquisite morning in March she heard General SwafFham say that the Cromwell ladies were going to Hampton Court. The Protector would then be alone m Whitehall, and she might see him without having to share her confidences with the family. She prepared a note ask- ing for an interview, and then called on Mr. Milton and induced him to go with her to the palne and deliver it into HOLD THOU MY HANDS 263 Cromwell'. h«,d. In her simplicity .he con.idered thi. 1. tie plan to be « very wise one, and to it proved. Mr. Mdton had no difficulty in reaching the Protector, who. u Tu""a t '~^ -^r'" *PP"'' ^" «*^X »o receive her. She had been much troubled about thi. audience, ho^ .he was to behave, and with what word, .he .hould «ldre«8 CromweJ, but her fear left her as ««n a. the door clo«d, and she was alone with her old friend. "Jane," he »ud kindly, "Jane, what i. the trouble ?" "It i. Lord Neville, «ir. Nothing ha. been heard of h.m and I w.sh to tell you what Sir Thoma. Jeveiy .aid." She d.d so, ard Cromwell listened with a smile of incredul- ity. "We know Neville better than that," he an.wered " It would be a great wonder if he should think of America! Jane. Would a man in his sense, leave you, and his es- tatc and his good friends and good prospects to go into the wilderness? Truly he would not. His home ^d land in Fife are worth more than Jevery's gold and jewels, and I do think my favour may count for something. And more than ^these things there is your love. You do love him. " Better than my life, your Highness." " And he loves you ? " " Indeed, I am most certain of it." " When did you hear last from him ? " Jane had expected this question and she offered Crom- well Cluny s last letter, and asked him to read it. He read It aloud, letting his voice become sweet and tender as he did so. " My dearest and most honoured mistress, I am just on the moment of leaving Paris , my horse is at the dbor; but by a messenger that wiU come more directly ihan myself! I send you a last word from this place. My thoughts out- 264 THE LION'S WHELP reach all written words. I am with you, my own dear (Mie, in all my best momenti , and my unchangeable love salutes you. Graciously remember me in your love and prayers. "ClUNY NEVItLE." ** A good letter, Jane. I do think the man that wrote it is beyond guile, beyond dishonour of any kind. I will n«^ hear a doubt of him. I will not " With these words he rose, and taking Jane's hand in his, he began to walk with her, up and down the room. His clasp was so hot and tight she could have cried out, but glancing into his face she saw it was only the physical expression of thoughts he did not care to give words to. In a few minutes he touched a bell, and when it was answered said, " Mr. Tas- burg to my presence — without delay." Mr. Tasbui^ came without delay, and Cromwell turned to him in some pas- sion. "Mark Tasburg," he said scornfully, "I know not whether you have been alive or dead. I have not once heard from you in the matter of Lord Neville's delay } I have not, and that you know. The commission for your search is more than a month old ; it is, sir ; and I like not such delays. I will not have them." ** My Lord Protector, I reported to Mr. Thurloe and Mr. Milton that my search had been of no avail." " Who gave you the order to make this search ? " "Your Highness." " Did I give you an order to report to Mr. Thurloe ox Mr. Milton ? Did I ?" "No, your Highness." "See, then, what you have taken upon yourself. Be not so forward again, or you may go back to St. Ives and make clay pipes. What date does Lord Neville's last lettor bear?" HOLD THOU MY HANDS 365 "It was written at Pari, on the elevens day of Novem- OCT, "The same date as your last letter, Mistress SwaflFham. Four months ago. This is serious." Then turning to Tasburg he sa.d, « Find Colonel Aynon and send him be«, to me, without delay." During the interval between Tasburg's departure and Ayrton s arrival, Cromvell was occupied in wnting a letter, and when it was Hnished Colonel Ayrton entered Neville r'^'*' ^' "^^^^ '^'"^ ^"^ ^"°^ ^"* ^^"»y "Your Highness, I know him well. His mother was my fifth cousin." "He has disappeared, I do fear, in some unfortuna^ way. On the eleventh of last November he left Piris, after despatching the business he was sent on with Cardinal Mazann No one has heard of him since. He was going to The Hague, but whether by land or water, does n^ ap- pear. I have written to his Eminence, the Cardinal, here « the letter, and if his reply be not to the po:nt, go next f the lodging of Lord Neville, and from there foUow hi steps as closely as it may be in your power. The trca*.ier will honour this order for your expenses. Waste -^n time. Be prudent with your tongue. Say not ^ ; our mii^r^, and send me some tidings with all convenient speed." " I am a willing messenger, your Highness. I am bound to my cousin by many kind ties, and I have been most uneasy at his silence and absence." " Farewell, then, and God go with you." He waited until the door closed, and then he said "I owe you this and more, Jane ; and I like the youth_a dear, religious youth, of a manly spirit and a tru^ heart. He was always counted fortunate, for in all our battles he 'I?li 1 1 I 266 THE LION'S WHELP went shot free. I wish, I do wish, we could hear of him ! And you love him, Jane ? And he loves you. My heart aches for both of you ; it does indeed. But I think I can do somewhat in this matter, and truly I will use my en- deavour. Why does he not come ? What can have hin- dered him ? " he cried impatiently as if to himself. " Oh, sir, he is sick or wounded — perhaps at death's door in some poor man's cottage, in some lonely place far from help or friends," and here Jane burst into passionate weeping. " You must not, you must not cry, Jane ; I beg it as a favour — not in the sight of men and women. Tears are for the Father of spirits. Retire to Him who is a sure resting-place, and there weep your heart empty ; for He can, and He will wipe all tears away. As for your dear lord and lover, he is within God's knowledge, and if God saves souls, surely He can save bodies." ** It is four months, sir. 'Tis beyond my hope ; and I fear Cluny is now beyond human help." " Well, then, Jane, we will trust to the miraculous. We do not do that enough, and so when our poor help is not sufficient, we tremble. Where is the hope and trust you sent to me when I lay between life and death in Scotland ? Oh, what poor creatures we are, when we trust in our- selves ! nothing then but tears and fears and the grave to end all. But I confess I never expected Jane SwaiFham to be down in the mire. Jane knows she is the daughter of the everlasting, powerful, infinite, inscrutable God Al- mighty i she knows this God is also one of goodness and mercy and truth without end, to those who love Him. You love Him, you do love Him ? " ^^ I have loved Him ever since I could speak His Holy Name. But He never now answers me ; when I pray to HOLD THOU MY HANDS 267 Him the heavens seem to let my prayers fall back to me. Has He foi^gotten me ? " "Jane, Jane, oh, Jane ! What a question for you to ask ! I could chide you for it. Have you forgotten the teachmg of your Bible, and your catechism, of your good pastor, John Verity, and your father and mother ? Do you believe for one moment that God has any abortive chil- dren ? He has not. He is the father of such souls as, ac- cordmg to His appointment, come to perfection. If you have ever, for one moment, felt the love of the Ineffable Nameless One, I do assure you it is a love for all eternity » It IS, Jane, it is, surely. He does not love and withdraw • no, no; we may deserve to be denied, we may deserve to be abandoned, but just because it is so. He seeks and He saves the children lost, or in danger." And then he stooped and dried her eyes with his kerchief, and seating her on a sofa, he brought a glass of wine, and said, « Dnnk, my dear; and as you drink, ask for strength no ju.ce of earthly fruit can give. Do not pray for this thing, or that thmg; ,f you will say only, * Thy will be done,' you will find mercy at need ; you will indeed. I do know " All is so dark, sir." "And will be, till He says, » Let there be light.' I scruple not to say this." " Oh, sir, what shall I do ? What shall I do ? " " Put a blank into God's hand, and tell Him tq fill it as He chooses-Cluny or no Cluny, love, or death of love, joy or sorrow, just what He wills. In my judgment this is rte way of Peace. Do you think, Jane, that I have chosen the path I now walk in ? I have not, God knows it. God knows I would be a far happier man with my flocks in the Ouse meadows; I would, I say what is in my heart. Jg 268 THE LION'S WHELP this greatness laid on me for my glory and honour ? Truly, it is only labour and sorrow. If I did not find mercy and strength at need, I should faint and utterly fail under the burden, for indeed I am the burden-bearer of all England this day. I need pity, I do need it ; I need God's pity, yes, and human pity also." There was the shadow of unshed tears in his sad, gray eyes, and an almost childlike pathos in his dropped head. Jane could not bear it. She stroked and kissed his big hand, and her tears fell down upon it. " I will go home," she said softly, " and pray for you. I will not pray for myself, but for you. I will ask God to stand at your right hand and your left hand, to beset you behind and before, and to lay His comforting, helping hand upon you. And you must not lose heart, sir, under your burden, because many that were with you have gone against you, or because there are constant plots to take your life. There is the ninetieth Psalm. It is yours, sir." And Cromwell's face shone, and he spoke in an ecstasy, '* Truly, truly, he that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. How did David reach that height, Jane ? " " He was taught of God, sir." " I am sure of that. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress ; my God, in Him will I trust — thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day — He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." " My dear lord, is not that sufficient ? " and Jane's face was now full of light, and she forgot her fears, and her sorrow was lifted from her. She found a strange coun^, SLtif' the words were put into her mouth, so that she must needs say them : HOLD THOU MY HANDS 269 « I« •» most true, onr Protector, that you have a great burden, but are you not glad of heart that God looked down from heaven, and seeing poor England bound and suffering chose you-you from out of tens of thousands of Enl- hshmen and called you from your sheep and oxen aTd wheat-fields, and said unto you, » Oliver Cromwell, free My people; ^A then so filled your heart with the love of free^ dom that you could not help but answer, ^ Here am /, Lord. The other n.ght I listened to some heavenly •scourse from Doctor Verity, and he said that from henceforth, every flying fold of our English flag would freedom. Some may be ungrateful, but your faith and J^alour^and labour for England will never' be forgotten Her face gathered colour and light beyond the colour and hght of mei. aesh and blood as she spoke, and Cromwell's reflected .t He was "in the spirit," as this childlike woman with prescient vision prophesied for him, and look- ing far, far off into the future, as one seeing things invisi- ble, he answered confidently — ^ " ^ ^"7; ^^ I an; sure, Jane, that time will be the seal o my farthfdness. I know, and I am sure, that my name hdl mix w.th every thought and deed of Freedom, even Tn lands now unknown, and in ages yet to come. Then brave freemen shall say in my ears, * Well done my son.' And sha^^ not the dead ears hear? They shall. Indeed they shall ! I know, and am sure, Jane, that English speakmg men will take in trust, not only m/name,^ names of all who, with me, held their lives less thin Free! dom, and gave them a burnt-ofFering and blood sacrifice wuhout pnce or grudging. These men dying, mixed their breath and names with Freedom's, and they shall live for 270 LION'S WHELP ,1$' I- ever. For this is the truth, Jane : thrones shall fall and nations pass away, hut death has no part in Freedom." And as he spoke, his words rang and sounded like music, and stirred the blood like a trumpet ; and Jane's face was lifted to the rough, glorified visage of the warrior and the seer, who saw yet afar off his justification, saw it in the Red Cross of St. George flying over land and sea, and car- rying in all its blowing folds only one glorious woid — " Freedom." In such moments Cromwell's spirit walked abreast of angels ; he looked majestic, he spoke without pause or am- biguity, and with an heroic dictation that carried conviction rather than offense, for it had nothing personal in it, and it suited him just as hardness suits fine steel. In this enthusiasm of national feeling, Jane foi^ot her personal grief, and as she went homeward, she kept re- peating to herself Cromwell's parting words, " Don't doubt, Jane. God nor man nor natu.e can do anything for doubt- ers. They cannot." She understood what was included in this advice, and she tried to realise it. The moment Mrs. SwafFham saw her daughter, she took notice of the change in her countenance and speech and manner, and she said to herself, " Jane has been with Oliver Cromwell. No one else could have so influenced her." And very soon Jane told her all that had been done and said, and both women tried to assure themselves that a few more weeks of patience would bring them that certainty which is so much easier to bear than suspense. For the vrry hope of suspense is cruel, but in the face of a sorrow, sure and known, the soul erects herself and finds out ways and means to mitigate or to bear it. States of enthusiasm, however, do not last ; and they are not often to be desired. The disciples after the glory of HOLD THOU MY HANDS 271 Mount Tabor were not able to go with Christ up Calvary Jane felt the very next day that she had mentally prom^ ised herself to do more than she was able to perform. She could not forget Cluny, or put in his place any less selfish object i and though the days came laden with strange things, she did not take the fervid interest in pu ,- he events her father and mother diu. For there are in na- ture pomts of view where a cot can blot out a mountain, and on our moral horizons a personal event can put a national revolution fa the background. In the main, she earned a loving, steadfast heart, tl at waited in patience sometimes even in hope ; but there were many days when her life seemed to be tied in a knot, and when fear and sorrow crept like a mist over it. For there was nothing for her to do; she could only wait for the efforts of others, and she longed rather for the pang of personal conflict. But human beings without these tidal fluctuations are not interesting ; people who always pursue the "even tenor of their way " leave us chilled and dissatisfied ; we prefer that eharm of uncertain expectation, which, with all its provo- cations, made Matilda dear and delightful to Jane, and Jane perennially interesting, even to those who did not think as she thought or do as she did. At length April came, and the bare brown garden was glorious with the gold and purple of the crocus flowers and the moonlight beauty of the lilies. Birds were building in the hedges, and the sun shone brightly overhead. The spirit of spring was everywhere; men and boys went wi)istling along the streets, the watermen were singing in their baiiges, and a feeling of busy content and security pervaded London, and, indeed, all England. Suddenly, this atmosphere of cheerful labour and abound- ing hope was filled with terror and with a cry of murder 272 THE LION'S WHELP ' 1- of possible war and another strugg'e for liberty. A gigan plot for the assassination of the Protector was discovered that is, it was discovered to the people ; Cromwell himsc had been aware of its first inception, and had watched grow to its shameful maturity. He had seen the waverii give it aid, and those who were his professed friends, strii hands with those pledged to strike him to the heart. Tv months previously he had retired a number of foolii Royalist officers, broken to pieces their silly plans, ai given them their lives; but this drama of assassinatit came from Charles Stuart and Prince Rupert, and from tl headquarters of royalty in the French capital. Its pn gramme in Charles' name giving " liberty to any man wha soever, in any way, to destroy the life of the base mechan fellow, Oliver Cromwell," had been in Cromwell's po session from the time of its printing, and he knew not onl every soul connected with the plot, but also the day an the hour and the very spot in which, and on which, his lil was to be taken. But to the city of London the arrest o forty conspirators in their midst, was a shock that suj pended for a time all their business. Israel SwafFham was the first person called into the Pi« tector's presence. He found him in great sorrow, sorrow mingled with a just indignation. Standing by the Ion] table in the Counci' Chamber, he struck it violently witl his clenched hand as he pointed out to Israel the person alities of the. conspirators. At one name he paused, am with his finger upon it, looked into Israel's face. And a iron struck by iron answers the blow, so Israel answer© that sorrowful, inquiring gaze. " It is a burning shame," he said angrily. « You haw pardoned and warned and protected him for years." " I must even now do what I can ; I must, Israel, fd HOLD THOU MY HANDS 273 his father's sake. A warrant will be issued to-night, and I cannot stay that ; and personally I cannot warn him of it. Israel, you remember his father ? " " Yes, a noble, upright man as ever England bred " "You and he and I fought some quarreh out for our country together." " We did." "And this son is the last of the name. He played with my boys. ' " And with mine." " 7 hey went fishing and skating together." " Yes ; I know." "One day I saved this man's life. He was a little lad, twelve years or about it, and he went thnbugh the ice. A some nsk I saved him, and he rode home behind me ; I can eel, as I speak, h.s long childish arms around my waist, can mdeed Israel. These are the thorns of power and office. On thes. tenter-hooks I hang my verv heart evenr day. What am I to do ? " ' "My dear lord, do nothing. I can do all you wish. There needs no more words between us. In two hours Abel Dewey-you know Abel-will bt on the road. Nothing stops Dewey. Give h.m a good horse and he will so manage himself and the beast as to reach his jour- ney s end m twenty-four hours." •' " But charge him about the good horse, Israel. These poor^^ammals-they have almost human troubles and sick- Plated '/'l" "'"' f"^^' '""" "^ ^^"^^^ J-- »"d ex. plained to her m a few words what she was to do ; and by e t,n,e her letter to Matilda was ready, Abel Dewey was at he door wa.tmg for it. Its beginning and ending v « •n the ordmary stram of girls' letters, but in the cen.« 274 THE LION'S WHELP there were some ominous words, rendered remarkable by the large script used, and by the line beneath them — ^^ I musi tell yuu there has been a great plot against the Protectoi discovered. Charles Stuart and Prince Rupert are the head and front of the same, but there is a report that Stephen de Wick is not behindhand, and my father did hear that a warrant was ou: for Stephen, and hoped he would reach French soil, ere it reached him. And I said I thought Stephen was in France ; and father answered, ' Pray God so ; if not, he cannot be there too soon if he would not have his head oiFon Tower Hill.' " Then the letter went on to speak of the removal of the Protector's family to Hampton Court palace, and of the signing of the Dutch peace, and the banquet given to the Dutch Ministers. ^I was at the table of the Lady Protectoress," she said, ** and many great people were present, but the Protector seemed to enjoy most the company of the Rev. Mr. Wheelwright, who was the only one who could beat the Protector at foot- ball wl n they were at college together. Some New England Puritans also were there, and I heard with much pleasure about their cities in the wilderness; and Mr. Thurloe smoked and said nothing ; and Mr. John Milton played some heavenly tr'^sic, and lastly wc all sung in parts Mr. Milton's fine piece, '■The Lord has been our dwelling' place.' Ladies Mary and Frances Cromwell were beauti- fully dressed, but the Lady Elizabeth Claypole is the light of Whitehall." At these words Jane stopped. " Do I not know," she asked herself, " how Matilda will have flung away my letter before this ? And if not, with what scorn she will treat *the light of Whitehall'?" And these reflections so chilled her memories, that she hasted to sign her name and close the letter. Abel Dewey was ready for it } and HOLD THOU MY HANDS a,, » .he ^.ched him rid. .way. her .hougha ,„r„.d ,„ j, W,ck, and .he wondered in wh« mood Matilda might be and bow .h. would «ceiv. ,h. information .en, her. W«M It be a surprise ? ,11 \^, \" '^"'"t *^"- *""^'»"'- " M«iW' know. J atout the pl« , .h„ i, „o„ „^„ , ,„, .„ • may be news to her, and if .0, .he will not thank you tZ in daigcn '"'' ''""' '"• "• '"'"''' "« <«-' "" "> •>« P" " We do not know all, mother." " That is the truth, Jane. We know very little about «.^Ivcs, let alone our friends. Doctor Ven> woLd «y a sleu" fe ?"'iL"'' "" """' "'"l *' »»"« like te !d " H ■; '' °™' '"• "■''"K '='•«'% " he en- tered. How IS It with you to^y, Jane ,' " ftl»n„g Fa.th that c» move mountains. Have you go. ^^ "I am so we;^,'6octbr John. P„y fo, „,... ^By, and were fretful J „..,„,. ..rj;- J^-- » % 276 THE LION'S WHELP your hands. That steadied you. You were not used 1 the whirling earth, or you had that sense of falling into U void all babies have, and you trembled and cried out i your fear, and then your mother instinctively held your lii tie hands in hers, and you felt their clasp strong as t| everlasting hills, and went peacefully to sleep. Go to Go in the same way, Jane j you are only a little babe in Hi •ight i a little babe crying in the vast void and darkness, an trying to catch hold of something to which you may cling Say to the Father of your spirit, » Hold my hands! * " And she rose and kissed him for his sweet counsel, an( that night, and many a night afterwards, she fell aslee] whispering, " Hoid Thou my hands.'* m .1 1 I A"^ ■'■•.^- CHAPTER XIII CHANOU AT DB WICK •• PrioKWup. of itielf ■ holy de, la made more ucred by advenity.'* "A fbnn of •eoKlett clay— the leavingi of a loal." When Matilda received Anthony Lynn', letter, the was immediately certain that the old man's conacience troubled him m the presence of death, and that he wUhed to return de Wick to Its rightful owners. Sir Thomas and Lady Jeveiy were of the same opinion. « He can leave the tL tate to you Matilda," said Sir Thomas, "you have never been » out for either Stuart, and the Commonwealth ukes no action on private opinions, only on overt acts. Stephen IS barred, but Lynn can leave de Wick to you, and having neither kith nor kin, I think he ought to do so. He ow^ everything to your father's help and favour." This idea took entire possession of Matilda i she thouirht It a daty to her family to answer the request of AnA«,y Lynn favourably. It had been a surprise to her, and there were moic surprises to follow it. As soon as Lady Jevery and her niece arrived at the gates of de Wick, they were confronted with a remarkable change in the appearance of he place. The great iron gates had been painted and re- iiungj the stone griffins that ornamented the posts had felt the stone-cutter's chisel in aU their parts, and been restored to their proper shape and position. The wide walks were «7« THE LION'S WHELP h free of weeds, freshly graveled and raked, and the grast of the chase was in perfect order. There were plenty of deer, also, though Matilda knew well all the deer had disappearad long before her father's death. As they came close to the house, they saw the flower garden aglow with spring flowers and in such fine order at would have satisfied even Sir Thomas Jevcry. Anthony Lynn stood at the door to meet them. He looked ill and frail, but hardly like death, and when he witnessed the de- light of the ladies at the changes made in de Wick, his face grew almost young in its pleasure. Eve^ room in the house was a fresh surprise j for though all that was vener- able through age or family association, and all that was valuable and beautiful had been preserved, yet so much of modern splendour and worth had been mingled with the old that the rooms were apparently newly furnished. Magnifi- cent draperies of velvet, chairs covered with Spanish leather sump-d in gold, carpets of richest quality, pictures by tare masters, Venetian mirrors and glassware, aH that a lu;:uriou» and lavish taste could imagine and desire, were gathered with fitting and generous profusion in the ancient rooms of de Wick. Anthony Lynn accompanied the ladies through the house, finding a fresh and continual joy in their excla- mations of delight 5 and Matilda, filled with astonishment at the exquisite daintiness of the suite called the " Lady Matilda's Rooms," said enthusiastically, " Mr. Lynn, no man could better deserve to be Iqcd of de Wick than you. And seeing that the de Wicks had to leave their ancient home, I am glad it has fallen to you— and I am sure my father is glad, also," i Then the old man burst into that thin, cold passion of weeping so significant of age, and so pitiful in its helples*- ness. « It is your father's doing. Lady Matilda," he sobbed. ■ii CHANGES AT DE WICK 179 " It it my dear lord't wisdom. Pardon me now. This even- ing I will tell you all." He went away with these words, and the two women looked at each other in amazement. In the evening he came to them. They were sitting by the fire in the now magnificently furnished great salon, and he asked permission to place his chair between them. Ma- tilda made room for him^ and when he had sat down and pi. ' his terribly thin hand on its arm, she laid her lovely young hand upon his } and he looked into her face with that adoring affection which is often seen in ihe eyes of « favourite mastiff. " When these dreadful wars first began," he said, " Earl de Wick foresaw their ending ; and after Marston Moor he said to me, * I know this man, Oliver Cromwell, and there is none that will stand gainst him. It is my duty to save de Wick ; will you help me ? * And I said to him, ♦ My dear lord, I owe you all I am, and all I have.* Then we had many long talks, and it was agreed that I should join the Puritan party, that I should pretend a disapproval of the Earl and his ways — but a disapproval tempered wi'^H regret— so that men might not suspect my opposition. Tuc King was even then sending to de Wick for money, and I was supposed to supply it on the de Wick silver and valu- ables. In reality, the Earl sent these things to my care, aid he himself gave the gold. For in those years he had uiiich specie, the result of his trading partnership with Sir Thomas Jevery. The silver, the old pictures, the fine tapestries, and Eastern pottery all came to my home in St. Ives. PA)ple said unkind things of me, but my dear lord loved me. Then there came 3 ti»ne when de Wick was bare, and the King still wanted money. And the Earl promised to borrow from me one thousand pounds, in con- sideration of letters royal making the Lady Matilda Coun- 28o THE LION'S WHELP tess de W,ck ,n her own right, if her brother Stephen had no heirs of his body. His Majesty being in great straits, readily granted the request, and the proper papers were made. And I looked well to it that no necessary for- mality was lacking, and the thousand pounds were paid, not by me, but by Earl de Wick. His store was then gone, but he had secured the succession of de Wick in his own blood and name; for you will see, my dear lady, if ever you have to assume this title, when you marry, your hus- band must take the name of de Wick." " But if I never marry any one ? " " Oh, that is an impossible contingency ! You would owe that debt to all the de Wicks that ever lived and died: and you would pay it, whether you li':ed to, or not." " Yes, I should," she answered promptly. "Here are the papers relating to your succession," he continued ; « and here are those relating to my trust in the matter of the de Wick silver and valuables. They are all now in their proper places, and when I go to my old friend, I can tell him so. When he was dying, he said to me Anthony, the next move will be the sale of de Wick house and lands. Stephen is already outcast, but I have given you the money to buy it. Let no one outbid you. Keep It in your own care until my King comes back to his throne, and my children to their home.' i bought de Wick for seven hundred pounds less than the money entrusted to me for Its purchase. The balance is here at your hand. The only contingency not provided for, was my death, and as I know that is speedily certain, I wish your promise that these papers be placed in Sir Thomas Jevery's chanje. I know It IS what my lord would advise." Matilda took the papers silently. Her father's loving thoughtfulness and Anthony's loving fidelity, affected her CHANGES AT DE WICK 281 deeply. Lady Jevcry was weeping, and the old man him- self raised a face wet with tears to Matilda. She stooped and kissed him. She promised all he asked. " But," she added, "you have made no mention of the refurnishing of the house, nor yet of the money that must have been spent on the garden and chase." " That outlay was my own little pleasure," he answered. « It has made the long, lonely months here full of hope, i always thought I knew how to make a great house look like a great house should look ; " and with pardonable pride he added, " I think you both liked it." He found in their hearty admiration all the recompense he wished. "You will let me die here?" he asked, " here, where my old friend died ? you will let me sit in |iis chair, and die in his bed ? It is all I ask, unless you will stay awhile and brighten my last days." The favours asked were affectionately granted, and Ma- tilda virtually became mistress of her old home. Anthony was seldom seen, but Stephen de Wick came and went, and brought with him men whose names were not spoken' and whose business meant much more than the packs of cards which appeared to be all they cared for. In fact, Matilda was soon neck deep in Prince Rupert's plot, and there was no doubt in her mind that the month of May would end the life of Oliver Cromwell, and bring the King to his throne and the de Wicks to their earldom. She was sitting, one afternoon, talking to Stephen about advices he had just received from his confederates in Lon- don, when a servant entered. " My lady," he said, " here - has come a man with a letter, which he will deliver to none but you." Matilda's first thought was, " It is some pri- vate word from Rupert;" and she ordered the messenger to her presence at once. When she saw it was Jane's 282 THE LION'S WHELP writing, she was much annoyed. « I will wager it is som bad news, or it had not come through this gate," she said and she opened the letter with angry reluctance. Hastil she glanced over the lines, until she came to the discover of the plot. "Oh, indeed, here is the burden of Jane Swaffham » ' she cried in a passion. "We are discovered. AH ii known— all has been known from the very first. Stephen you are in instant danger. You mu -: away at once." " I do not believe it." "Fool! How else could Jane have sent this word? She says Cromwell has known it from its beginning. The man has a devil ; who can circumvent him ? You must fly at once. The warrant for your arrest will doubtless come by to-night's mail. My God, are our troubles never to cease ? Is everything not countersigned by Cromwell to be a failure ? It is unendurable ! " " Eveiy thing with which Prince Rupert meddles is un- fortunate," answered Stephen. « He assigns all he touches with failure. I said so from the beginning. He is, and was, the King's evil genius." "You lie! You lie downright, Stephen ! But this is away, and that at I will not run. J will no time for quarreling. You must once." " And, pray, how ? or where ? stand or fall with the rest." "What drivel, what nonsensical bombast arc you talk- ing ? It is ' I,' » I • and still » I ' with you. Have you no consideration for others-for uncle and aunt, and for poor, dying Anthony ? Think of all he has done, and at least let him go in the belief that he has saved de Wick." " It is better to stand together." "It is already— I'll wager that much— every man for CHANGES AT DE WICK 283 himself. You must take the North Road to Hull ; you are sure of a ship there." " And how the devil, sister, am I to reach Hull ? " " Take the sorrel horse ; if any one sees you, you are for Squire Mason's ; " then hastily unlocking a drawer, she brought a little bag of gold and put it in his hand. "There is enough and to spare for your road to Paris." He flung the gold from him, and Matilda clasping her hands frantic- ally, cried " My God,' Stephen, are you not going ? " " Storm your utmost, Matilda. I care not a rap ; I will not budge froi^i this spot." " But you must go ! Stephen, Stephen, for my sake," and she burst into passionate tears and sobs. * Be quiet, Matilda. Women's counsel is always un- lucky, but I will run, if you say so. I feel like an ever- lasting scoundrel to do it." "They will all run— if they can. There is a little time yet in your favour. The mail-rider does not pass here till eight o'clock, or after. You have four or five hours' grace." He rose as she spoke, and she kissed him with passiji.- ate tenderness. When he left the room, she ran to the roof of the house to watch which road he took. If he went northward, he was for Hull, and bent on saving his life j but if he went south, he was for London, and would doubt- less have the fate on Tower Hill he had been warned against. In about a quarter of an hour she saw him riding at great speed northward, and after watching him until he became a speck on the horizon, she went back to her room, and she was weeping bitterly though quite uncon- scious of it. Her first act was to tear Jane's letter into minute pieces. She did it with an inconceivable passion. Every ghred of 284 THE LION'S WHELP ii '■f , m\ the paper fluttered into the fire as if in conscious suffer and when the last particle was consumed, she stood \ her folded Iiand on her mouth, looking at the white s films, and considering what next to do. Her face was and frowning ; she was summoning to her aid, by the y intensity of her feeling, whatever power she possesse. counsel her perplexity. Suddenly her face lightened; she smiled, nodded handsome head with satisfaction, and then in a leisui manner put on her garden hat and walked to the stab She was a daily visitor there, and her appearance caused surprise. She went at once to a young man known to Stephen de Wick's constant attendant whenever he was the neighbourhood. She knew he could be relied on, s as they stood together b^ Matilda's Barbary mare, she s with the critical air of one talking about a favourite anini "Yupon, can you help in a matter for Earl Stephe It is life or death, Yupon, and I know of no one but y to come to— also, there will be a few gold pieces." "With or without gold, my lady, I am your servai What is to be done ? " "You know the three large oak trees, just beyond t boundary of de Wick ? " " I know them well, my lady." "Be under the oaks to-night, at eight o'clock. Ha with you a lanthorn and a coil of strong rope. You w see Earl de Wick there, and when he speaks, join him < the instant. Can he rely on you ? " " By my soul, he can; even to blood-letting." "Be this our bargain then. Eight o'clock— no late And on my honour, J promise, there shall no guilt of Woo. Icttmg stick to your hands." "Let me perish, if I am not there. ' u CHANGES AT DE WICK 285 ir servant. All the man's words had the savour of a strong, faithful spirit, and Matilda went back to her room satisfied. The principal part of her plan for Stephen's safety was accom- plished J she had no doubts now as to its prosperous carry- ing out. So she lay down and tried to compose herself; and as the day darkened and the time for action came, she found a strength and calmness that was sufficient. With- out a sign of anxiety in her heart, she eat her evening meal with her aunt, and then said, " I am going to dismiss Delia, go to bed early, and sleep a headache away." Lady Jevery said she was "in the same mind"; and this circumstance, being much in Ma- tilda's favour, gave her that satisfactory feeling of "having the signs favourable," which we all appreciate when we intend important work. About seven o'clock she went to her brother's room, and brought away a suit of his clothing; and when she had dressed herself in it, and put a pistol and hunting-knife in her belt, and a large plumed hat on her head, she looked in the mirror with the utmost satisfaction. She was her brother's double ; quite his height, and singularly like him in carriage, face and manner. Of this resemblance she had soon a very convincing proof, for as she passed through the hall, her own maid Delia curtsied to her, and said, « My lady is sick to-night, sir, and will not be disturbed." And Matilda bowed and passed on. As for the other serv- ants, in and out of the house, they knew they were to have eyes and sec not ; and ears, and hear not. Therefore, though several met, as they supposed, the young Earl leav- ing the house, there was no further recognition of the fact among themselves, than a lifting of the eyebrows, or some enigmatical remark, only to be understood by those tn rap- port with the circumstances. 286 THE LION'S WhEI,P tltll r* ' '""''>' ^'■^'- She was no, af he .h,ng she was going ,o do, bu, she was af™d toads and snails, and ina.ely with the d^rt^ Fur nearly an hour Ma.i,da^:;kVd /I'd dlTtl' keeping well within call of »,«r ^^ nine o'clock the sound o ah ^""P^"-"' B"t was heard .n7v "^ '^"'"'"g ^' «" ^«y i .nda-s'"e'::Ser:;::-rsh'7" and'tk^r-miTaiir r. 'f •'"" ""« ^- weaJ.h.sbjsiness.LllrbedL;:.™'^'^""'" rhen Matilda, pointing ,he pistol i„ his face said "' tin f '"": r' '"'"^' ^"^ Watson." mL , then to proceed, but Yupon had whispered to TZ] he rode, and the creature took no notice of h j f suasions Tk. ■ i notice of his rider's i uasions. The pistol was dangerously near- V rough order "to tumble" was not L ?' threats, and Watson ,!,„ t • f "naccopupanied he could in™ "^f; "J""' '""''^y ""'"'y. -h curely, Matilda took thT Wh ''°" .'"'.' '"""'' ''™ girdle' the sharp hutit-knTflT'' '""'"^ '''•'""' n.ail-bag, and turned ,Te lilt; ton"' °'"'" "" '=""" small private letter. 1 uj, '^ '" ""'ents. T thtee ominous-lttit ""^ "°''"''' """ *"« « -d these she intnl^rd t:' ""' '"'^' ''' ^"' anciy seized. They were all directed 1, and still more ts not afraid of s afraid of the and dogs that thout molesta- Slads was ai- e lanthorn for - and masked is around him. 3wn the road, But about in easy gallop ■ was at JVIa- advanced to a word, if it ?s drew rein 2 Common- said, « You Miles tried the animj rider's per- » Yupon's ipanied by >tly, where id him se- ; from her le leathern nts. The here were red seals, iirected to "Three ominous-looking papers.' m »•» ' one had a doubt as to the culprit. The mail. nder swore positively that it was Stephen de Wick « He minced and mouthed his words," he said, "but I knew his face and figure, and also the scarlet beaver with the white plumes with which he joys to affront the decent men and women of Ely ; yes, and his doublet, I saw its white slashings and white cord, and tassels. Till I die, I wUl swear it was Stephen de W.cki he, and no other, except Yupon Slade, or 1 am not knowing Slade's way with horses. He whis- pered a word to my beast, and the creature planted his fore- fret like a rock ; no one but Yupon or his gypsy kin can do that. And Slade has been seen often with de Wick- moreover, he ha. work in Anthon-- Lynn's stables-and as' for Anthony Lynn God only knows the colour of his thoughts." It was Delia who, about the noon hour, came flying into her lady s presence with the news that the sheriff wa. in the stables talking to Yupon Slade, and that he had two constables with him. "What do they want, Delia? I suppose I must say tyTJr' ' """' ' ^' " ^'' ^y""' °^ Lady Jeveiy, or ^J^ I^ think it will be Eari de Wick they are after, my " 'Tis most likely. Bid them to come in and find Earl de W.ck. Give me my blue velvet gown, Delia, the one with the silver trimmings." Silently she assumed this splendid g.. nent, and then descended to the main salon of the house. Her great beauty, her majestic presence, her 290 THE LION'S WHELP % royal clothing produced an instant imprettion. Tin shcrifF-hatted before Anthony Lynn-bared his head a she approached. He explained to her his visi^ the robberi committed, the certainty that Stephen de Wick was th< criminal, and the necessity he was under to make a searct « a! T" ^°'' •'''"• ^^"^ ""*^"*^ ^'»»' disdainful apathy. Mr. Lynn," she said, tenderly placing her hand on hii shoulder; "let the men search your house. Let them search even my private rooms. They will find nothing worse than themselves anywhere. As for Earl de Wiclu he is not in England at all." The old man gave a gasp of relief and remained silent It was evident that he was suffering, and Matilda felt « great resentment towards the intruders. " Why do yoa not go about your business?" she asked scornfully. Under the King, an Englishman's house was his castle; but now-now no one is safe whom you choose to accuse, ^o! ^ she said with an imperious movement, " but Mr Lynn s steward must go with you. You may be officeii of the law-who knows ?-and you may be thieves." "Anthony Lynn knows who we be," answered the sheriff angrily. « We be here on our duty-honest men all of us i say so, Anthony." "You say it," replied Lynn feebly. " And the lady must say it." ^^ " Go about your business," interrupted Matilda loftily. myself."""' ^°"' ''"''""' '° ^'■°'^*'"' ^'' ^>'"" *"^ . IV^'V"'' '.?'''''* • ^'"P^"" ^' ^'^^"^ «'» the thief. He robbed the mail at nine o'clock, last night " «EaH°H W- .^°" ^'' talk of what must be done about the funeral. Cymlin promised to send a quick messenger for Sir Thomas, and in many ways made himself so inti- mately necessary to the lonely women that they would not hear of his leaving de Wick, '^or Matilda was charmed by his thoughtfulness, and by the masterful way in which he handled people and events. He enforced every tittle of re- spect due the dead man, and in obedience to Matilda's de- sire had his grave dug in the private burying-place of the de Wicks, close to the grave of the lord he had served so faithfully. As for the accusations the sheriff spread abroad, they died as soon as born ; Cymlin's silt.t contempt with- ered them, for his local influence was so great that the at- tending constables thought it best to have no clear memory of what passed in those last moments of Anthony's life. " Lynn was neither here nor there," said one of them ; " and what he said was j ust like dreaming. Surely no man is to be blamed for words between sleeping and waking much less for words between li\ "ng and dying." But the incident made much comment in the King's favour ; and when Sir Thomas heard of it, he rose to his feet and bared his head, but whether in honour of the King or of Anthony Lynn, he did not say. After Anthony was buried, his will was read. He left everything he possessed to the Lady Matilda de Wick, and no one offered a word of dissent. Sir Thomas seemed un- usually depressed and his lady asked him " if he was in any way dissatisfied ? " "No," he answered; "the will is unbreakable by any law now existing. Lynn has hedged and fenced every tech- nicality with wonderful wisdom and care. It is not anything in connection with his death that troubles me. It is the death of the young Lord Neville that gives me consunt regret. '^f •t. 296 THE LION'S WHELP It is unnatural and most unhappy; and I do blame myself a little. ' "Is he dead? Alas! Alas! Such a happy, handsome youth. It IS incredible," said Lady Jevery. "I thought he had run away to the Americas with your gold and my aunt's jewels," said Matilda. "I wronged him, I wronged him grievously," answered Sir Thomas. « That wretch of a woman at The Hague never paid him a farthing, never even saw him. She in- tended to rob me and slay him for a thousand pounds, but under question of the law she confessed her crime." *» I hope she is hung for it," said Lady Jevery. " She is ruined, and in prison for life-but that brings not back poor Neville." "What do you think has happened to him ? " " I think robbery and murder. Some one has known, or suspected, that he had treasure with him. He has been fol- lowed and assassinated, or he has fought and been killed Somewhere within fifty miles of Paris he lies in a bloody, unknown grave ; and little Jane SwafFham is slowly dying of grief and cruel suspense. She loves him, and they were betrothed." ' There was a short silence, and then Matilda said, "Jane was not kind to poor Stephen. He loved her all his life, and yet she put Lord Neville before him. As for Neville, ^e nobihty of the sword carry their lives in their hands. That IS understood. Many brave young lords have gone out from home and friends these past years, and never come back. Is Neville's life worth more than my brother's life, than thousands of other lives ? I trow not ! " But in the privacy of her room she could not preserve this temper. « I wonder if Rupert slew him," she mut- tered. And anon — CHANGES AT DE WICK 297 " He had money and jewels, and the King and his pov- erty-stricken court cry, * Give, give,' constantly. « He would think it no wrong-only a piece of good luck. " « He would not tell me because of Jane. " He might also be jealous of duny. I spoke often of the youth's beauty-I did that out of simple mischief-but Rupert IS touchy, sometimes cruel-always eager for gold Poor Jane ! " o & Then she put her hand to her breast. The portrait of Pnnce Rupert that had lain there for so many years was not in Its place. She was not astonished; very often lately she had either forgotten it, or intentionally refused to wear u. And Stephen's assertion that failure was written on all Rupert touched had found its echo in her heart. VSHien she dressed herself to secure the warrant, she purposely took ofF Rupert's picture and put it in her jewel box. She went there now to look for it, and the haunting mel- ancholy of the dark face made her shiver. "Stephen told me the very truth," she thought. « He has been my evil genius as well as the King's. While his picture has been on my heart, I have seen all I love vanish away." A kind of terror made her close her eyes; she would not meet Rupert s sorrow-haunted gaze, though it was only painted. u 7;\« '^ to do so was to court misfortune, and though the old love tugged at her very life, she lifted one tray and then another tray of her jewel case, and laid Prince Rupert under them both. CHAPTER XIV \>y,>^ ;.} tj,' Il:- f I A LITTLE FURTHER ON " Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles. But never came to shore." "I could lie down like a tired child. And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear." ^.^ "Pc » most high who humblest at God's feet Lies, loving God and trusting though He smite." The settlement of the affairs of Anthony Lynn oc- cupied Sir Thomas much longer than he expected, and the autumn found the family still at de Wick. For other reasons, this delay in the retirement of the country had seemed advisable. Stephen had escaped, as had also his companion conspirators, Mason and Blythe; and Matilda could not but compliment herself a little on her shar« in securing their safety. But the plot and its consequences had kept London on the alert all summer. Little of this ex- citement reached them. Sir Thomas was busy laying out a garden after a plan of Mr. Evelyn's } Lady Jevery was making perfumes and medicinal waters, washes for the toilet and confections for the table. Matilda was out walk- ing or riding with Cymlin SwafFham, or sitting with him m the shady garden or in the handsome rooms of de Wick. Her uncle had presented her with a fine organ, but her lute suited her best, anc he knew well what a beau- tiful picture she made, singing t^ its tinkling music. 298 A LITTLE FURTHER ON 299 If Cymlin was in the hall, she came down the stairway- flooded with coloured lights from its painted windows- lute in hand, singing— singing of young Adonis or cruel Cupid} her rich garments trailing, her white hands flashing, her face bent to her adorer, her voice filling the space with melody. Or she sat in the window, with the summer scents and sun around her, musically mocking Love, as if he never had or never could touch her. Cymlin knew all her entrancing ways, and followed her in them with wonder- ful prudence. No word of his great afFection passed his lips ; he let his eyes and his actions speak for him i and there had been times when Matilda, provoked by his restraint, had used all her fascinations to compel his confession. But she had to deal with a man of extraordinary patience, one who could bide his time, and he knew his time had not yet come. Towards the middle of September Sir Thomas roused himself from his life among flowers and shrubs, and said he must go back to London. He was expecting some ships with rich cargoes, and the last flowers were beginning to droop, and the rooks were complaining, as they always do when the mornings are cold; the time for the outdoor life was ended; he had a sudden desire for his wharf and his office, and the Lesrded, outlandish men that he would meet there. And as the ladies also wished to return to London, the beautiful home quickly put on an ai: of desertion. Boxes littered the hall; they were only waiting untU the September rain-storm should pass away, and the roads be- come fit for travel. At this unsettled time, and in a driving shower, Cymlin and Doctor Verity were seen galloping up the avenue one evening. Every one was glad at the prospect of news and company, Sir Thomas so much so, that he went to the 300 THE LION'S WHELP door to meet the Doctor. « Nobody could be more wel- come," he said; "and pray, what good fortune brines voi here?" ^ ^ " I come to put my two nephews in Huntingdon Gram- mar school. I want them to sit where Cromwell sat," he answered. Then he drew his chair to the hearth, where the ash logs burned and blazed most cheerfully, and looked round upon the company— the genial Sir Thomas, and his placid, kindly lady, and the beautiful girl, who was really his hostess. Nor was he unmindful of Cymlin at her side, for in the moment that his eyes fell on the young man, he seemed to see, as in letters of light, an old description of Englishmen, and to find in Cymlin its expression — " a strong kind ofpta- ple^ audacious^ bold^ puissant and heroical ; of great magnanim- ity^ valiancy and prowess." As he was thinking these things. Sir Thomas said, "You must make us wise about events. We have had only the outlines of them, and we are going into the midst of we know not what. As to the great plot, was it as black as it was painted ? " " Like all the works of the devil, it grew bla Vcr as it was pulled into the light. It was soon an indisrutable fact, that de Baas, Mazarin's envoy extraordinary in London, was head over heels in the shameful business. I can tcU you, de Baas had a most unpleasant hour with the Protec- tor; under Cromwell's eyes and questions, he wilted away like a snail under salt." " What did Cromwell do to him ? " " Sent him back to King Louis and to Mazarin with a letter. Theyhwc done the punishing, I have no doubt He would better have thrown himself on Cromwell's mercy than face Mazarin with his tale of being found out. Mo» A LITTLE FURTHER ON 301 like than not he is at this hour in the Bastilc. No one will hear any more of M. dc Baas." «Thcn you think Mazarin was really in the plot to assassinate ? " " No doubt of it i de Baas was only his creature. Both of them should be rolled into their graves, with their faces downward." "And King Louis the Foun«enth ? " "He knew all about the affair. Kings and Priests! Kings and Priests ! they would trick the world away, were it not that now and then some brave yeoman were a match for them." " And Prince Rupert ? " "Neck deep. That was fortunate, for he is a luckless blackguard, and dooms all he touches." "If a man is unfortunate, he is not therefore wicked. Doctor. These men were plotting for what they believed a good end," said Matilda with some temper. " Good ends never need assassination, my lady ; if evil IS done, evil will come from it." " I think we ought to pity the men." « Pity them, indeed ! I ot I ! The scaffold and the halter is their just reward." "Forty, I heard, were arrested." « Cromwell had only three brought to trial. Gerard wat beheaded, Vowell hung. Fox threw himself on Cromwell's mercy and was pardoned." " Was not that too much leniency ? " "No. Cromwell poked the fire to let them see he could do It } but he did not want to bum every one. He has made known to England and to Europe, and especially to i-rance, his vigilance. He has escaped the death they in- tended for him. He has proved to the Royalists, by 302 THE LION'S WHELP fU Gerard 8 and Vowell'. execution, that he will not tpar them because they are Englishmen. Beyond this he wil not go. It is enough. Most of the forty were only tool. It 18 not Cromwell's way to snap at the stick, but at th< cowardly hands that hold it." " If he can reach them," muttered Matilda. " Then, Sir Thomas, we have united Scotland to the Commonwealth. Kingship is abolished there; vassalage and slavish feudal institutions are swept away, heritor are freed from militaiy service. Oh, 'tis a grand union for the Scotch common people ! I say nothing of the noble., no reparation has been made them-they don't deserve any, they are always invading England on one pretext or «,- other. But they cannot now force the poor heritors to throw down their spades and flails, and carry spears for them. The men may sow their wheat and barley, and if It will ripen in th.: .Id, bleak country, they can bake and brew It, and eat and drink it in peace." "I do not believe Englishmen like this union. Doctor. I do not— it is all in favour of Scotland. They have noth- «ng to give us, and yet we must share all our glory and aU our gains with them. They do not deserve it. They have dole nothing for their own freedom, and we have made them free. They have no commerce, and we must sham ours with them. And they are a pro-.d, masterful people, they will not be mere buttons on the coat-tails of our rulera. Union, indeed ! It will be a cat and a dog union." " I know. Sir Thomas, that Englishmen feel to Scotch- men very much as a scholar does to Latin-however weU he knows It, it is not his mother tongue. What we like, has nothing to do with the question. It i. England', labour and duty and honour to give freedom to aS over Whom her Red Cross floats, to share her strength and .e-i A LITTLE FURTHER ON 303 curity with the weak and the vassal, and her wine and her oil and her purple raiment with the poverty-stricken. Eng- land must open her hands, and drop blessings upon the de- serving and the undeserving j yt%^ ven where the slave does not know he is a slave, she must make him free." " And get kicked and reviled for it." "To be sure— the rough side of the tongue, and the kick behmd always; but even slavish souls will find out what freedom means, if we give them time." "But, Doctor " " But me no buts. Sir Thomas. Are we not great enough to share our greatness ? I trow we are ! " "I confess, Doctor, that in spite of what you say, my patriotism dwells between the Thames and the Tyne " " Patriotism ! 'Tis a word that gets more honour than It deserves. Half the war. that have desolated this earth have come from race hatreds. Patriotism has been at the bottom of the bloodiest scenes; every now and then it threatens civilisation. If there were no Irish and no Scotch and no French and no Dutch and no Spanish, we might hope for peace. I think the time may come when the world will laugh at what we call our * patriotism ' and our fencing ourselves from the rest of mankind with fortresset and cannon." "That time is not yet, Doctor Verity. When the leopard and the lamb lie down together, perhaps. But all men are not brothers yet, and the English Hag must be kept flying." " The day may come when there will be no flags ; or at least only one emblem for one great Commonwealth." "Then the Millennium will have come. Doctor," said Sir Thomas. "In the meantime we have Oliver Cromwell | " laughed 304 THE LION'S WHELP li! 5? y Matilda, « and pray, Doctor, what state does his Hiehnei keep ? " * " He keeps both in Hamj n Court and Whitehall magnificent state. That it due to his office." "I heard— but it is a preposterous scandal— that th Lady Frances is to marry King Charles the Second," sai Lady Jevery. " A scandal indeed ! Cromwell would not listen to th proposal. He loves his daughter too well to put her in th power of Charles Stuart ; and the negotiation was definitely declined, on the ground of Charles Stuart's abominabli debauchery." " Imagine this thing ! " cried Matilda striking her hand together. "Imagine King Charles refused by Olivei Cromwell's daughter ! " "It was hard for Charles to imagine it," replied th< Doctor. " I hear we have another Parliament," said Sir Thomas, " Yes J a hazardous matter for Cromwell," answered the Doctor. "AH electors were free to vote, who had not borne arms against the Parliament. Most of them are Episcopalians, who hate Cromwell ; and Presbyterians, who hate him still worse ; and Republicans, who are sure he wants to be a King ; and Fifth Monarchy men and Anabap- tists, who think he has fallen from grace. Ludlow, Har- rison, Rich, Carew, even Joyce— once his close friends- have become his enemies since he was lifted so far above them. And they have their revenge. Their desertion has been a great grief to the Protector. ' I have been wounded in the house of my frien..,' he said to me; and he had the saddest face that ever mortal wore. Yet, it is a great Parliament, freely chosen, with thirty members from Scot- land, and thirty from Ireland." A LITTLE FURTHER ON 305 "After Cromweirt experience with the Irish," said Matilda, " I do wonder that he made them equal with Scotland." "I do wonder at it, al.o. John Verity would not have done It, not he ! But the Protector treads his shoes straijrht for friend or foe. He will get no thanks from the Irish for fair dealing ; that Is not enough for them ; what they want ,8 all for themselves, and nothing for any one else j and if they got that, they would !>till crv for more." At this point Matilda rose and went into an adjoininfr parlour, and Cymlin followed her. Lady Jevcry, reclining in her chair, closed her eyes, and the Doctor and Sir Thomas continued their r rversaiion on Cromwell and on political events with unabated spirit until Uv. ; very suddenly bringing herself to attention, said — "AH this is very fine talk, indeed; but if this great Oliver has ambassadors from every countiy seeking hit friendship, ,f he has the wily Mazarin at his disposal, why can he not find out something about that poor Lord Ne. v.Ile ? It was said when we were in Paris that Mazarin kneu every scoundrel in France, and knew also how to use them. Let him find Neville through them. Has Colonel Ayrton returned, or is he also missing ? " " He returned some time ago. He discovered nothine of importance. It is certain that NevUle left the Maxarin palace soon after noon on the seventh of last November; that he went directly to the house in which he had lodged, eat his dmner, paid his bill, and gave the woman a silve^ Commonwealth crown for favour. She showed the piece to Ayrton, and said further that, sc^a after earing, a gentle- man called on Neville, that in her presence Neville gave hjm some letters, and that after this gentleman's departure, Seville waited very impatiently for a hor^e which he had tt^ 3o6 THE LION'S WHELP bought that morning, and which did not arrive on time- that when it did arrive, it was not the animal purchased! but that after some disputing, Neville agreed to uke the exchange. The horse dealer was ^ gypsy, and Ayrton spent some time in finding him, and ^ n in watching him For Ayrton judged— and I am sure rightly— that if the gypsy had followed and slain and robbed Neville, he could not refrain himself from wearing the broidered belt and sap. phire nng of his victim. Besides which, your jewels would have been given to the women of his camp. But no sizn of these things was found-kerchief, or chain or purse, or any trifle that had belonged to the unfortunate young man." ** Was there any trace of him after he left Paris ? " " Yes. Ayrton found out that he stayed half-an-hour at a httle inn fourteen miles beyond Paris to have his horse fed and watered. One of the women at this house dc scnbed him perfectly, and added that as he waited he was singing softly to himself, a thing so likely, and so like Cluny, that it leaves no doubt in my mind of his identity} and that he was really there » between gloaming and moon- shine' on the eleventh of last November. Beyond that all IS blank— a deaf and dumb blank." " How far was it to the next house ? " "Only two or three miles; but no one there remem- bered anything that passed on that night. They said that horsemen in plenty, and very often carriages, were used to pass that way, but that unless they stopped for entertain- ment, no attention was paid to travelers." « Who was the gentleman who visited Cluny and re- ceived his letters ? " " Menzies of Mussclburg, an old friend of NevUfeV^^ A LITTLE FURTHER ON 307 « Then I suppose we shall see no more of Lord Neville I am veiy sorry. He was a good youth, and he loved Jane Swaff ham very honestly. And my jewels, too, are gone, and if It were worth while, I could be sorry for them also- one set was of great value and singular workmanship. But they count for little in comparison with Neville's life and little Jane's sorrow." A week after this evening the Jeverys were in their own house, and Matilda had sent word to Jane SwafFham that she wanted to see her. Why she did this, she hardly knew. Her motives were much mixed, but the kindly ones pre- doramated. At any rate, they did so when the grave little woman entered her presence. For she came to mee- Ma- tilda with outstretched hands and her old sweet smile, and she expressed all her usual interest in whatever concerned Matilda. Had she met her weeping and complaining, Ma- tilda felt she would almost have hated her. But there was nothing about Jane suggestive of the great sorrow through which she was passing. Her eyes alcne told of her soul's travail j the lids drooped, and thertj was that dark shadow in them, which only comes through the incubation of some long, anxious grief in the heart. But her smile was as ready and sweet, her manner as sympathetic, her dress as carefully neat and appropriate as it had always been. Matilda fell readily under the charm of such a kind and self-effacing personality. She opened her heart on various subjects to Jane, more especially on Anthony Lynn's dra- matic life and death, and the money and land he had left her "Of courae," she sJd, "it is only temporary. When the Kmg comes home, Stephen wUl be Earl de Wick, and I shall willingly resign all to him. In the mean- time I mtend to carry out Anthony's plans for the improve- ment of the estate; and for this end, I shall have to live a MHIi 3c8 THE LION'S WHELP W great deal at de Wick. Lynn often said to me, * Some one must own the land, and the person who owns it ought to live on it.' ** When this subject had been talked well over, Jane named cautiously the lover in France. Much to her surprise, Ma- tilda seemed pleased to enlarge on the topic. She spoke herself of Prince Rupert, and of the poverty and sufFering Charles' Court were enduring, and she regretted with many strong expressions Rupert's presence there. " Ail he makes is swallowed up in the bottomless Stuart pit," she said; "even my youth and beauty have gone the same hopeless road." " Not your beauty, Matilda. I never saw you look love- lier than you do to-day." " That I credit to Cymlin," she answered. « He would not let me mope— you know how masterful he is "—and Matilda laughed and put her hands over her ears ; "he made me go riding and walking, made me plant and gather, made me fish and hawk, made me sing and play and read aloud to him. And I have taught him a galliard and a minuet, and we have had a very happy summer— on the whole. Happiness breeds beauty." " Poor Cymlin ! " "There is no need to say *poor Cymlin,' Jane Swaff- ham. I am not going to abuse poor Cymlin. He is to be my neighbour, and I hope my catechism has taught me what my duty to my neighbour is. Is it true that Will and Tonbert have thrown their lives and fortunes into the Massachusetts Colony ? " " Yes," answered Jane ; " and if my parents were wUl- ing, I would like to join them. The letters they send you dream of Paradise. They have bought a dukedom land, father says, hills and vaUeys and streams, ai great sea running up to their garden wall." A LITTLE FURTHER ON 309 «» Garden?" « Yes, they have begun to byild and to plant. There is no whisper of their return, for they are as content as if they had found the Fonunate Islands. Father is much im- pressed with their experience, and I can see he ponders it like one who might perhaps share it. I am sure he would leave England, if the Protector died." " Or the King came back ? " " Yes. He would never live under a Stuart." "The poor luckless Stuarts! They are all luckless, Jane. I have felt it. I have drunk of their cup of disap^ pointments, and really the happiest time of my life has been the past summer, when I put them out of my mem- ory—king and prince, and all that followed them. I .id it not been for your kind note of warning, Stephen also had been a sacrifice to their evU fate. It has to be propitiated with a life now and then, just like some old dragon or devil." "There was a queer story about Stephen robbing the mail, and tearing up the three warrants for the arrest of BI^ the and Mason and himself," said Jane. " Did you believe that, Jane ? " "The mail was robbed. The warrants were never found. Stephen has a daredevil temper at times. I think, 'd risk much to save his friends. When did om him ? " . /ery often now, Jane, for it is the old, old story- money, money. The King is hungry and thirsty i he has no clothes j he cannot pay his washing bUlj he has no shoes to go out in, and his * dear brother,' King Louis of France, is quite oblivious. In fact he has made, or is going to make, an alliance with Cromwell; and the Stuarts, bag and baggage, are to leave French territory. But for all that, I am not going to strip de Wick a second time for too, b you i "I; money. 310 THE LION'S WHELP them J "then drawing Jane close to her, and taking her hand she said with an impulsive tenderness — Jane, dear Jane, I do not wish to open a wound afresh, but I am sorry for you, I am indeed ! How can you bear "I have cast over it the balm of prayer j I have shut it up in my heart, and given my heart to God. I have said to God, * Do as Thou wilt with me.* I am content, and 1 have found a light in sorrow, brighter than all the flaring lights of joy." * " Then you believe him to be dead ? " "1^***1 J ^^*^"' '* "° ^^^^ ^S**"*^ such a conclusion; and yet, Matilda, there comes to me sometimes, such an instan- taneous, penetrating sense of his presence, that I must be- lieve he is not far away," and her confident heart's still fervour, her tremulous smile, her eyes like clear water full of the sky, afFected Matilda with the same apprehending. My soul leans and hearkens after him," she continued j and life is so short and so full of duty, it may be easily, yes, cheerfully, borne a few years. My cup is still full of love-home love, and friends' love; Cluny's love is safe, and we shall meet again, when life is over." " W'U you know ? Will he know ? What if you i.th forget ? What if you cannot find him ? Have you ever thought of what multitudes there will be there ? " " Yes J a great crowd that no man can number— a throne of worids-but love will bring the beloved. Love hi^ everlasting remembrance." " Love is a cruel joy ! a baseless dream ! a great tragedy ! a lingering death I " ^ ^ "No, no no! Love is the secret of life. Love redccmi " us. Love lifts us up. Love is a ransom. The tear, of love are a prayer. I let them fall into my hands, and oftf^ A LITTLE FURTHER ON 3»* them a willing sacrifice to Him who gave me love. For living or dead, Cluny is mine, mine forever." And there was such a haunting sweetness about the chastened girl, that Matilda looked round wonderingly j it was as if there were freshly gathered violets in the room. She remained silent, and Jane, after a few minutes' pause, said, " I must go home, now, and rest a little. To-morrow I am bid to Hampton Court, and I am not as strong as I was a year ago. Little journeys tire me." " And you will come and tell me all about your visit. The world turned upside down is an entertaining spectacle. By my troth, T am glad to see it at second hand ! Ann Clarges the market-woman in one palace, and Elizabeth Cromwell in another " " The Cromwells are my friends, Matilda. And I will assure you that Hampton Court never saw a more worthy queen than Elizabeth Cromwell." "I have a saucy tongue, Jane— do not mind when it backbites j there is no one like you. I love you well ! " These words with clasped hands and kisses between the two girls. * Then Matilda's face became troubled, and she sat down alone, with her brows drawn together and her hands tightly clasped. « What shall I do ? " she asked her- self, and she could not resolve on her answer ; not, at least, while swayed by the gentle, truthful atmosphere with which Jane had sufFused the room. This influence, however, was soon invaded by her own personality, dominant, and not unselfish, and she quickly reasoned away all suggestions but those which guarded her own happiness and comfort. "If I tell about the duel with Rupert/' she thought, "it can do no good to the dead, and it may make scandal and annoyance for the living. Cromwell will take hold of it, and demand not only the jewels and money and papers, but 312 THE LION'S WHELP also the body of Neville. That will make moiv Ul (eelitu to the Stuarts, and it is manifest they arc already v»r un- welcome with the French Court. It will be cxljk fr. further unkindness, and they have enough and more tba^ enough to bear." For a long time she sat musing in this strain, battling down mtrusive doubts, until at last she was forced to give them speech. She did so impatiently, feeling herself com. pelled to rise and walk rapidly up and down the room, be- cause motion gave her a sense of resistance to the thoughts threatenmg to overwhelm her. "Did Rupert kill Neville?" she asked herself. "Oh me, I do fear it. And if so, I am to blame ! I am to' blame ! I told Rupert Neville was going to take chaige of my aunt's jewels. Why was I such a fool ? And Rupert knew that NeviUe had papers Charles Stuart would like to see, and money he would like to have. Oh, the vile, vile ^m ! I do fear the man was slain for it— and by Rupert. He lied to me, thenj of course he liedj but that was no new thing for him to do. He has lied a thousand times to me, and when found out only laughed, or said 'twas for my ' ease and happiness, or that women could not bear rhe truth, or some such trash of words; and so I was kissed and flattered out of my convictions. Faith in God ! but I have been a woman fit for his laughter! What shaU I do? " She went over and over this train of thought, and ended always with the same irresolute, anxious question, "What shall I do ? " It was not the first time she had accused Rupert in her heart She knew him to be an incomparable swordsman i__ she knew he regarded duelling as a mere pastime or = cident of life. The killing of Neville would not give kmm a moment's discomfort,-quite otherwise, for he was at^ A LITTLE FURTHER ON 313 jealous of him in more ways than one; and there wer^ money and information to be gained by the deed. Politic- ally, the man was his enemy, and to kill him was only " satisfaction." The story Rupert told her of the duel had always been an improbable one to her intelligence. She did not believe it at the time, rnd the lapse of time had im- paired whatever of likelihood it possessed. " Yes, yes," she said to herself. " Rupert undoubtedly killed Neville, and gave the jewels and money and papers to Charles Stuart. But how can I tell this thing ? I can- not ! If it would restox-e the man's life-pcrhaps. Oh, that I had never seen him ! How many miserable hours I can mix with his name ! The creature was very unworthy of Jane, and I am glad he is dead. Yes, I am. Thousands of better men are slain, and foi^gotten— let him be forgot- ten also. I will not say a word. Why should I bring Rupert in question? One never knows where such in- quiries set on foot will stop, especially if that wretch Cromwell takes a hand in the catechism." But she was unhappy, Jane's face reproached her; she could not put away from her consciousness and memory its stUlness, its hauntmg pallor and unworldlike far-offness. The next dky Jane went to Hampton Court. The place made no more favourable impression on her than it had done at her first visit. Indeed, its melancholy, monastic atmosphere was even more remarkable. The forest was bare and desolate, the avenues veiled in mist, the battle- niented towers black with rooks, the silence of the great quadrangles only emphasised by the slow tread of the sol- dier on guard. But Mrs. Cromwell had not lived in the Fen country without learning how to shut nature's gloom outside. Jane was cheered the moment she entered the old palace by the blaze and crackle of the enormous wood- 3«4 THE LION'S WHELP fires. Posy bowls, full of Michaelmas daisits, bronzed ferns, and late autumn flowers were on every table; 4t of ivy drooped from the mantel, and the delicious odour of the tiny musk flower permeated every room with its wild, earthy perfume. She was conducted to an apartment in one of the suites formerly occupied by Queen Henrietta Maria. It was gaiJy furnished in the French style, and though years had dimmed the gilding and the fanciful paintings and the rich satin draperies, it was full of a reminiscent charm Jane could not escape. As she dressed herself she thought of the great men and women who had lived and loved, and joyed and sorrowed under this ancient roof of Wolsey's splendid palace. Henry the Eighth and his wives, young Edward, the bloody Queen Mary, and the high-mettled Elizabeth ; the despicable James, and the tyrant Charles with })is handsome favourite, Buckingham, and his ua^ fortunate advisers, StraflFord and Laud. And then OSvtr Cromwell! What retributions there were in that name f It implied, in its very simplicity, changes unqualified and uncompromising, reaching down to the very root of things. * It seemed natural to dress splendidly to thoughts touch* ing so many royalties, and Jane looked with satisfaction tt her toilet. It had progressed without much care, but the result was fitting and beautiful : a long gown of pale blue silk, with white lace sleeves and a lace tippet, and a string of pearls round her throat. Anything more would have been too much for Jane Swaffham, though when the Ladies Mary and Frances came to her, she could not help admiring their bows and bracelets and chains, their hair dressed with gemmed combs and their hands full of freA flowers. She thought they looked like princesses, and th^ were overflowing with good-natured happiness. A LITTLE FURTHER ON 315 Taking Jane by the hand, they led her from room to room, showing her what had been dpne and what had been added, and lingering specially in the magnificent suite which was all their own. It was veiy strange. Jane thought of the litUe chamber with the sloping roof in the house they occupied in Ely, and she wondered for a mo- ment, if she was dreaming. On their way to the parlours they passed the door of a room Jane recollected entering on her previous visit, and she asked what changes had been made in it ? " None," said Mary with a touch of something like annoyance. « None at all," reiterated Frances. »* You know Charles Stuart tried to sleep in it, and he had dreadful dreams, and the night lamp was always put out, and he said the place was full of horror and suffering. // was baunttJ,'* the girl almost whispered. "My father said 'nonsense,' and he slept in it two nights, and then " "Father found it too cold," interrupted Mary im- patiently. "He never said more than that. Listen! Some one is coming at full gallop— some two, I think," and she ran to the window and peered out into the night. " It is the Protector," she said i " and I believe Admiral Blake is with him. Let us go down-stairs." And they took Jane's hands and went together down the great stair- way. Lovelier women had never trod the dark, splendid de- scent } and the soft wax-lights in the candelabra gave to their youthful beauty a strange, dreamlike sense of unreal life and movement. Mary and Frances were talking softly ; Jane was thinking of that closed rtKHn with its evil-proph- esying dreams, and its lights put out by unseen hands, and the mournful, superstitious King in his captivity fear- ing the.placc, and feeling in it as Brutus felt when his evU 3i6 THE LION'S WHELP genius came to him in his tent and said, «* I will meet thee again at Philippi." Then in a moment there flashed acron her mind a woeful dream she had one night about Cluny. It had come to her in the height of her hope and happi- ness, and she had put it resolutely from her. Now she strove with all her soul to recollect it, but Frances would not be still, and the dream slipped back below the thresh- old. She could have cried. She had been on the point of saying, " Oh, do be quiet ! " but the soul's illumination had been too short and too impalpable for her to grasp. The next moment they were in a brilliantly lighted room. Mr. and Mrs. Claypole, and Mr. and Mrs. Richard Cromwell, and Doctor John Owen, and Mr. Milton, and Doctor Verity were grouped around her Highness the Protector's handsome wife. And she was uking their homage as naturally as she had been used to take attention in her simple home in Ely, being more troubled about the proper serving of dinner than about her own dignity. She sat at the Protector's right hand, and Jane Swaff ham sat at his left. "The great men must scatter themselves, Jane," he said ; " my daughter Dorothy Cromwell wants to be near Mr. Milton, and Lady Claypcle will have none but Doctor Owen, and one way or another, you will have to be c: all thr. igh the city, and, as I ' a, 'twas the pleasantest 'i-og, ' any .lortal men could ''s sire." Then Doctor Verity began tc talk of the Amcri-an Colonies, and their wonderful growth. "John Maidstone is here," he said ; " and with him ^hat godly minister, the Rev. Mr. Hooker. We have had much conversation to- day, and surely God made the New World to comfort the woes of the old one." "You have expressed exactly, sir, the prophetic lines of the pagan poet, Horace," answered .v^-. Milton. And Cromwell looked at him and said, " Repeat th n for us, John; I doubt not but they are worthy, if it be so that you remember them." Then Milton, in a clear and stately manner, recited the six lines from Hora s « Patriotic La- ment " 10 which he had referred " * Mcrdful gift of t relenting God, Home of the homeleu, preordained for ju. Last vestige of the age of gold. Last refuge of the good and bold ; From stars malien. trnm nUon* ....^ >..._ ... c. Far 'mid the Western waves, a secret S«ncti»rv '» And as Cromwell listened his face grew Tiinous; le A LITTLE ' URTHER ON 3»9 seemed to look through his cveba!!^, rtther than with them, and wh i Miltor ceased there «vas silence until he spoke. "I sec," he said, "■ gre ' >eop'«, a vast empire, fnm the loins of all nati< ns it shM spring. And there shall be iro king there. But die desire if ail heart shall be to- wards it, and ' shall be a c'vert for the >■ , pressed, anr* biioad ami v. ni and mca? r>r tl ose '^ad? * * pTish." Then s.ghing, h seen) a to * se ttt*- near ai i oie present, and he added, " I w .s but ye«. f;rda \i )te t^ hat good man, the F V. John Ct ton oi' dost^ am truly reai^y to *rve hun ai. and the church s viith him A much to lav, st-nc alk w Mr. I h. e r pose to a him t<> ' my his scrmt - firs ^ b' ;at ^ must tTin^act th not th ugh an church made t us sc erocnt, ht ng a dc tioc. y in / iiaiii told h'm that I f tb >rethren, Ve , I wish jukei-. I h^ a pur- he be so minded, for that I had a soul to save, and ^iness directly with God, and - clergy." And when Cromwel ttle realised that Hooker, foum ■a, and he himself fighting for a free Parli tmcnt ar : a cuMtit tionally limited executive in ngland, were " h then of the same spirit and pur- pose " > and hat tlie . .^rtford ninister and the Huntingdon g< ueaian wr"- prer-ninently the leaders in that great ven?<-nt of the seventeenth century which made the ited i ites, ..nd is now transforming Enp!?nd. Jor'oT crit> oker'8 precise way of thinking," he ^ care not, John Verity," Oliver answered with much wnrmth; "one creed must not trample upon the heels of aer creed j Independents must not despise those under 320 THE LION'S WHELP baptism, and revile them. I will not sufFer it. Even to Quakers, we must wish no more harm than we do our own souls." With these words he rose from the table, and Mr. Mil- ton, the Ladies Mary and Frances Cromwell, and Jane SwafFham went into the great hall, where there was an ex- ceedingly fine oi]gan. In a short time Mr. Milton began to play and to sing, but the girls walked up and down talking to Jane of their admirers, and their new gowns, and of love-letters that had been sent them in baskets of flowers. And what song can equal the one we sing, or talk, about our own afliirs ? Mr. Milton's glorious voice rose and fell to incomparable melodies, but Jane's hand-clasp was so friendlike, and her face and words so sympathetic, that the two girls heard only their own chatter, and knew not that the greatest of English poets was singing with enchanting sweetness the songs of Lodge, and Raleigh, and Drayton. But Cromwell knew it j he came to the entrance fre- quently and listened, and then went back to the group by the hearth, who were smoking and talking of the glorious liberating movements of the century — the Commonwealth in England, and the free commonwealths Englishmen were planting beyond the great seas. If the first should fail, there would still be left to unslavish souls the freedom of the illimitable western wilderness. When the music ceased, the evening was far spent j and Cromwell said as he drew Frances and Jane within his arms, " Bring me the Bible, Mary. Mr. Milton has been giving us English song, now we will have the loftier music of King David." " And we shall get no grander music, sir," said Doctor^ Owen, ** than is to be found in the Bible. Sublimity it He- brew by birth. We must go to the Holy Book for wofd» A LITTLE FURTHER ON 321 beyond our words. Is there a man living who could have written that glorious Hymn, «* Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in aU genera- tions ; "* Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth .nd the world; even from everlasting to everlasting Thou art God ' ? " "The prophets also," said Doctor Verity, "were poets, and of the highest order. Turn to Habakkuk, the third chapter, and consider his description of the Holy One coming from Mount Parem: 'His glory covered the heavens. His brightness was as the light. He stood and measured the earth : He beheld and drove asunder the na- tions : the everlasting mountains were scattered, the per- petual hills did bow.' A.A most striking of aU about this Holy One—' Thou didst cleave the ea th with rivers.' » Cromwell did not»answer; he was turning the leaves of the dear, homely-looking volume which his daughter had laid before him. She hung affectionately over his shoulder, and when he had found what he wanted, he looked up at her, and she smUed and nodded her approbation. Then he said, "Truly, I think no mortal pen but St. John's could have written these lines; and I give not St. John the honour, for the Holy One must have put them into his heart, and the hand of his angel guided his pen." And he began to read, and the words feU like a splendid vision, and a great awe filled the room as they dropped from Cromwell's lips : "*And I saw heaven opened, and beheld a white hone; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. "* Hit eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man luiew but himseir. 322 THE LION'S WHELP "* And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood' and his name is called The Word of God. "'And the armies which were in heaven foUowed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean. « ' And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with It be should smite the nations; and he shall rule them with a rod of iron ; and he treadeth the wine-press of the fierce ness and wrath of Almighty God.' " And when he finished these words he cried out in a trans- port, "Suffer Thy servant, oh. Faithful and True, when his i^are here is accomplished, to be among the armies which are in heaven following the Word of God upon white horses clothed in fine linen white and clean." And then , turning the leaf of the Bible he said with an unconceivable solemnity, « Read now what is written in Revelations, chap- ter 20th, 11-15 verses: "'And I saw a greai ^hite throne, and him that sat on I^ from whose face the earth and the heaven fied awayt and there was found no place for them "'And I saw the dead, smaU and great, sund befoie C»od{ and the books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life : and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, «> cording to their works. «* And death and hell were cast into f.e lake of fire. 1 nis IS the second death.' " And when he ceased there was a silence that could be felt, a silence almost painful, ere Dr. Owen's sUvery voic« penetrated it with the words of the Benediction. Then the Protector and Mr.. Cromwell kissed the girls, and the de^ ©rmen blessed them, and they went to their rooms at fm the very presence of God. But Mrs. CiomweU lingered . long time. She couidMt A LITTLE FURTHER ON 323 rest until she had seen the silver and crystal and fine damask put away in safety : and she thought it no shame to look- as her Lord did— after the fragments of the abundant din- ner. " I will not have them wasted," she said to the stewani, " nor given to those who need them not. The Lady Eliza- beth hath a list of poor families, and it is my will that they, and they only, are served.** Then she went to her daughter Claypole's apartments, and talked with her about her children, and her health ; also about the disorders and thieving of the servants, wrong-doings, which caused her orderly, careful nature much grief and perplexity. Elizabeth was her comforter and councUor, and the good daughter generally managed to infuse into her mother's heart a serene trust, that with all its expense and inefficiencies the household was conducted on as moderate a scale as was consistent with her father's dignity. When they parted it was very latej the palace was dark and still, and Mrs. Cromwell, with careful economies in her mind, and a candle in her hand, went softly along the lonely, gloomy corridors— the very same corridors that a few years before had been the lodging-pUce of the Queen's thirty priests and her seventy-five French ladies and genUemen. Had it been the war-Uke Oliver thus treading in their foot- steps, he would have thought of these things, and seen with spiritual vision the black-robed Jesuits slipping noiselessly along i he woul'f Have seen the painted, curled, beribboned, scented men at nen of that period j and he would also have remembei m insuks offered the Queen and her English attendants by the black and motley crew, ere the King in a rage ordered them all off English soU. And 'tis like enough he would have said to himself, «* If Charlet 324 THE LION'S WHELP Stuart had f r, ,v nenworAf All real power was in his hands: the *». ., and the navy, tl'e hurches and the universities, the reform and administra. tion of the law, the govemmem of Scotknd and of Irt'.nA. Abroad, the war with all its details, the allia .?e with 8w ' a, with France, with m Protestant pil xs of Germany, the Protestant Protectorate extending ait far as Tnnsyl- vania, the « planting " of the West Indies, the setdement of the American Colonies, and their defense against their rivals, the French,— all these subjects were Ciomvrf "s daily car«. He was sespr.mibh for everything, and h;* burden would have been l^htened, if he could have consdentiottaly taken on him the "divinity which doth hedge a king." The En^iah people U>ve wha they know, and they knew 334 THE LION'S WHELP nothing of an armed Protector making lawt by ordinance, and disposing of events by rules not followed by their an- cestors. But Oliver knew that he would cross Destiny if he made himself King, and that this ** crossing" always means crucifixion of some kind. "To be a king is not in my commission," he said to Doctor Verity. " It squares not with my call or my con- science. I will not fadge with the question again j no, not for an hour." The commercial and national glory of England it this time were, however, in a manner incidental to Oliver's great object— the Protection of Protestantism. This ob- ject was the apple of his eye, the profoundest desire of hd soul. He would have put himself at the head of ail the Protestants in Europe, if he could have united tH^L fail- ing in mis effort, he vowed himself to cripple the evil authority of Rome and the bloody hands of Inquisitorial Spain. His sincerity is beyond all doubt; even Lingard, the Roman Catholic historian, says, " Dissem' "ng in re- ligion is contradicted by the uniform tenor of hisrfe." He wrote to Blake that, "The Lord had a controversy with the Romish Babylon, of which Spain is the under-propper; " and he made it his great business to keep guard over Prot- estanu, and to put it out of the power of princes to pene- cute them. It is easy to say such a Protestant league was behind the age. It was not. Had it been secured, the persecutions of the Huguenots would not have taken pbce, and the history of those hapless martyrs— still, after the lapse of two hundred years, read with shuddering indigna- tion— would have been very different. Cromwell knew well what Popery had done to Brandebu.g and Denmarit, and what a wildemew it had made of ProtesUnt Germany, and hit conception of duty as Protector o" all Protestaott FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 335 wa» at least a noble one. Nor was it ineffective. On the very day he should have signed a treaty of alliance with France against Spain, he h^ard of the unspeakably cruel massacre of the Vandois Protestanu. He threw the treaty passionately aside, and refused to negotiate further until Louis and Mazarin put a stop to the bniulities of the Duke of Savoy. As the details were told him, he wept; and all England wept with him. Not since the appalling massacre of Protestants in Ireland, had the country been so moved and so indignant. Cromwell instantly gave two thousand pounds for the sufferers who had escaped, and one hundred and forty thousand pounds was collected in England for the same purpose. It was during the sorrowful excitement of this time that Milton— now blind— wrote his magnificent Sonnet, •« Avenge, O Ixwd, Thy nlanghtered uints, whoK bones lie Ktttered on the Alinne Mountains coH.'* Furthermore, it was in Milton's luminous, majestic Latin prose that Cromwell sent his demands to King Louis for these poor, pious peasants,— demands not disregarded, for all that could be found alive were returned to their deso- lated homes. For the persecuted Jews his efforts were not as success- ful. They had been banished from England in a. d. 1290, but three hundred and sixty-five years of obstinate prejudice had not exhausted Christian bigotry. Cromwell made a noble speedi in favour of their return to England, but the learned divines and lawyers came forward to "plead and conclude" against their admission, and Crom- well, seeing no legal sanction was possible, let the matter drop for a time. Yet his favour towards the Jews was so distinct that a company of Oriental Jewish priesu came to 336 THE LION'S WHELP Ei^land to investigate the Protector't genealogy, hoping to find in him ^the Lion of the tribe of Judah." So these three years were full of glory and romance, and the poorest family in England lived through an epic of such national grandeur as few generations have witnened. Yet, amid it all, the simple domestic lives of men and women went calmly on, and birth, marriage, and death made rich cr barren their homes. Jane SwafFham atuined in their progress to a serene content she had once thought impos- sible. But God has appointed Time to console the great- est afflictions, and she had long been able to think of Cluny— not as lying in a bloody grave, but as one of the Sons of God among the Hosts of Heaven. And this con- solation accepted, she had begun to study Latin and mathe- matics with Doctor Verity, and to give her love and her service to all whom she could pleasure or help. Indeed, she had almost lived with the Ladies Mary and Frances Cromivell, who had passed through much annoyance and suffering concerning their love affairs. But these were now happil y settled. Lady Mary having married Viscount Fan- conburg, and Lady Frances the lover for whom she had so stubbornly held out — Mr. Rich, the grandson of the Earl of Warwick. Matilda's life during this interval had been cramped and saddened by the inheritance from her previous years. Really loving Cymlin, she could not disentangle the many threads binding her to the old unfortunate fMSsion, for, having become wealthy, the Stuarts would not resign their rUim upon licr. Never had they needed money more } and most of their old friends had been denuded, or wwo out with the never-ceasing demands on their affifctimi. Thus she was compelled, often against her will, to be aware of plots for the assassination of CromweU piMl FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 337 which shocked her moral sense, and which generally seemed to her intelligence exceedingly foolish and useless. These things made her restless and unhappy, for she could not but contrast the splendour of the Protector's character and government with the selfishness, meanness and in- capacity of the Stuarts. She loved Cymlin, but she feared to many him She ftared the reproaches of Rupert, who, though he made no effort to consummate their long engagement, was furiously indignant if she spoke of ending it. Then, also, she had fears connected with Cymlin. When very young, he had begun to save money in order to make himself a possiUe suitor for Matilda's hand. His whole career in the army had looked steadily to this end. In the Irish campaign he had been exceedingly fortunate; he had bought and sold estates, and exchanged prisoners for specie, and in other ways so manipulated his chances that in every case they had left behind a golden residuum. This money had been again invr^td in English ventures, and i-* all cases he Jad been signally fortunate. Jane had told Matilda two years previously that Cyrnlin was richer than his father, and slie might have said more than this and been within the truth. But in this rapid accumulation of wealth, Cymlin had developed the love of wealth. He was ever on the alert for financial opportunities, and, though generous wherever Matilda was concerned, not to be trifled with if his interests were in danger. So Matilda knew that if she would carry out her intention of making over de Wick house and land to Stephen, it must be done before she married Cymlin. Yet if she surrendered it to Stephen under present circum- stances, everything would go, in some way or other, to the needy, bcggariy Stuart Court. If Citmiwell were only out of the way I If King Charles were only on the throne f 330 THE HON»S WHELP he would have all England to tax and tithe, and Stephen would not need to give away the hom£ and lands of hit forefathers. She was fretfuUjr thinking over this dilemma in its rela- tion to a new plot against Cromwell's life, when Jane SwafFham visited her one morning in February oi 1658. Jane's smiling serenity aggravated her restlem temper. ** Does nothing on earth ever give you an unhappy thought, Jane ? " she asked. ** You look as if you dwelt in Para- dise." ** Indeed, I am very unhappy diis morning, Matilda. Mr. Rich is thought to be dying." ** And, pray heaven, wb» it Mr. Rich ? " "You know who Mr. Rich is, perfectly. Why do you ask such a foolish question i Lady Frances is broken- hearted. I am going now to Whitehall. The Cromwells are in the greatest distress." " On my word, they have kept others in tne greatest distress for many years I I am not sorry for them." *" I only called to tell you there is another plot." " I have nothing to do with it." **■ Some one you know may be in danger." ** Stephen is at Cologne. If you are thinkii^ of Stef^ira, thank you. I will write and tell him to kee|.> good hope Ji his heart, that Jane SwafFham remembers him." " Dear Matilda, do not make a mock of my kindness. The Protector's pMience is worn out with this foolish ani- mosity. He is generous and merciful to no purpose. I myself think it is high time he ceased to warn, and begin to punish. And poor Lady Rich ! It would grieve you to the heart to see her despair. She has only been thretf months married, and it was such a true love match." " Ind«»d it was a very * good ' match, love match or not FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 339 Frances Cromwell to be Countess of Warwick. Faith, 'tis most easy to fall in love with that sute ! ** " She might have chosen far greater state } you know it, Matilda. She was sought by Charles Stuart, and by the Duke Enghien, and the Duke of Buckingham, and hf the Protector's ward, William Dutton, the richest young man in England ; but for love of Mr. Rich, and in spite of her father's long opposition, she would nuny no one else." ** Mr. Rich was good enough for her, surely ! " *^ Her father did not think so. There were reports of his drinking and gaming." ^ And the Puritan Dove mutt not, of course, many a man who threw dice or drained a glass. Those are the works of the profane and . wicked malignants. However was the marriage made at all ? " " You know all about it, Matilda. What is the use of pretending ignorance ? " ** My dear sweet Jane, do you think I keep the Crom- well girls and their affairs in my memory ? They ai€ in their kingdom now ; I do not pretend to keep foot with them — and I have troubles of my own ; pray God they be not too many for me ! " It was evident Matilda was not in an amiable mood, and Jane having said the few words that brought her to Jevery House that morning, kft her friend. She went away with a troubled look, and Matilda watched the chai^ and smiled to herself at it. *' I am quite content to have her made a little unhappy," she thought; "her conttant air of satisfiiction is insufferable. And if my Lady Rich loses her husband, Jane can assure her that such griefs do not kill. On my honour! Jane looks youi^er and prettier than when Neville was alive and worrying her. Ixjvers dk and 340 THE LION^ WHELP husbands die, and 'tis a common calamity ; and better peo- ple than either Jane or Frances have endured it. I wiU go now to my aunt's parlour; 1 dare say she will have some visitor chock full of the new plot — and I may hear some- thing worth while." These thoughts filled her mind as she went to Lady Jevery's parlour. She found there an acquaintance whom they had known in Paris, the Countess Gervais. " I have but now sent a messenger for you, Matilda,*' said Lady Jevery; "the Countess desired greatly to see you." Then the conversation became reminiscent, and the new plot was not named, and Matilda hegui to be bored. Suddenly, however, her interest was roused to the highest pitch, for the Countess, touching a bracelet which Lady Jevery wore, said, " I must tell you a strange thing. I was lately at a din- ner where the niece of his Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin, sar at my side. And she wore a necklace and brooch and mu bracelet precisely like the bracelet you are now wearing. I cannot help noticing the circumstance, because the jewelry is so exceedingly singular and beautiful." "Yes," replied Lady Jevery. "And what you say is also very curious, for I once possessed a necklace, brooch and tw» bracelets like the one I am now wekring. All the pieces were lost excepting this bracelet." " But how ?— let me inquire j where were they lost ? " "Somewhere near Paris. I had intrusted them to a friend who has never since been heard of." " But the bracelet you arc wearif^ ? — this is so singuhv — ^you wUl please pardon " "This bracelet," said Laid Jevery, "was more fortunate. Some of the gems were loose, and I sent it to my jeweler for repair, just before we left for Paris. He was to fofw ■HMMMtMiiilliMu FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 341 ward it to me if be found a safe messei^r) luckily he kept it until I returned to London." ** But this it most strange — most strange ** *^ Most strange and most suspicious," said Matilda in- dignantly. ** I should say it was evidence that Lord Neville was murdered, and that his Eminence bought jewelry for Hortense Mancini in some irregular way. If I were Lady Jevery, I would insist on knowing from whom." "■ Oh, you do make one great mistake, I do assure you ! Mademoiselle Mancini is impeccable. You must rest con- tent that the jewels came into her possession in the moat correct manner." Barely listening to these words, Matilda curtsied and abruptly left the room. She was in the greatest distress, and forced to conclusions it drove her distracted to enter- tain. All now seemed plain to her intelligence. Rupert had lied to her. He had slain and robbed Neville, and the jewels had been sold to Mazarin. The Cardinal's passion for rare jewels was w<;ll known, and these opals and rubies in their settings of fretted gold work were unique and pre- cious enough, even for the extravi^;ant tast^ of Hortense Mancini. A sudden passion of pity for the handsome young lord came over her. " It was too mean, too savagely cruel for anything ! " she almost sobbed. **■ Men who can do such things are not fit to be loved by women. They are brutes. I will write to Rupert at once. I must know the truth of this matter. If such a crime has been committed, tha« is no king or prince or priest on earth to absolve it, and I wiU wash my hands forever of the Stuarts." She did not wait for any second or more prudent thoughts. She wrote Rupert that hour a letter, every word of which was fladae and tears. When it was finished, she sent a man 34a THE LION'S WHELP with it on the initant to catch the Dover mail packet) and all this was accomplished before she had any opportunity to talk over the afl^r with her uncle. When she did so, he regretted her precipitancy, and refused to move in the mat- ter at all. " It would be the height of imprudence," he said. ** The young man is dead a;id gone, and we cannot bring him back, though England went to war with France on that quarrel. The Protector is ill, worn out with sor- row and anxiety, and if one of his old attacks should seize him at this time, it would have the masteiy. I count not his life worth a year's purchase. Last week I talked a few minutes with him, and there is the shadow of death on his face. He said to me, * I am weary. Oh, that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest I ' And when Cromwell dies, there is no question of what will happen. The nation will give Charles the Second a trial. Then Matilda, when Charles comes back. Prince Rupert comes with him. They have been one in adversity, they will be one in the hour of triumph. We may need the friendship of Prince Rupert to save ourselves. No one can tell how this reputedly good-natured Charles will act, when his hands are able to serve his will. I will not then make aii enemy of so powerful a man as Prince Rupert is like to be. If he slew Neville, he must answer to God for the deed. As for the jewels, I will not be inquisitive after them. And I pray you keep your influence over Prince Rupert. I am not used to forecast evil, but I do think within one year we shall see the worid turn round again. It may also be suggested that Neville himself returned to Paris and sold the jewels. Who can prove diflPerent ? You see how the case lies." It was rarely Sir Thomas spoke with such decision, and Matilda was much impressed by his words. They made FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 343 her hesitate still more about her nuurriage with Cymlin. She did not believe Rupert could now induce her to bresk with Cymlin ; and she doubted very much whether Rupert would be permitted to marry her, even though her tttle to de Wick was confirmed. But Rupert's ill-will wouki be dangerous } and the result of thought in every dtrectioa waa the wisdom of delay. During the first hours of her discovery, MadMa bad wondered if she ought to tell Jane what proof of Cluny's death had come to them } for in her heart she scdiied at the idea of Cluny returning to Paris to sell the jeweb. But Jane dkl not visit her for some time, and she was daily expecting an answer from Prince Rupert. This letter might be of great importance, one way or another, and she resolved to wait for it. It came more rapidly than shf had anticipated, and iu contents temporarily fanned to a feebk flame her dying illusions concerning her first lover. In this letter Rupert "on his honour" reiterated his first state- ment. He declared that he left Neville in health and safety, having at the last moment uiged upon him his own swift Barb, which oflfisr Neville refused. He said he should seek mademoiselle's pretence until he saw her wearing the jewels, and then make question concerning them } and if not satisfied, go at once to her Uncle Mazarin. He was sure it was iiow only a few weeks ere the truth would be discovered. These promises were blended with his usual protestations of undyii^ devotion, and Matilda was pleased, though she was not satisfied. For to Rupert's letter there was a. postscript, and in this postscript one word, which sent the bk)od to her heart, cold with terror — " P. S. It may be the BastiU^ and not the grave, which holds the Neville secret." Tb* Bastik/ She bad heard enough in Parb of that 344 THE LION'S WHET p •tonr hell to make her 'rcmblc at the word. An! now it kept upon her heart a persiatcnt iteration that was like blow upon blow. All night she endured it, but in the morning •he was resolved to throw the intolerable burden on some one more able to bear it. But on whom ? Sir Thomas would not have the subject named in his piesencc. Cymlin did not like Neville, and would probably *» talk down " all her fears and efforts. It would be cruel to teU Jane,— but there was Cromwell. There was the Protector. It was his business to look after Englishmen, else what was the use of a Protector ? And if any man had power to ques- tion the Bastile, CromweU had it. Mazarin was just at this time seeking his aid against the Spaniards, who were on French soil, and Cromwell was about to send his own famous troop of Ironsides to help the Fiench. Besides which, Cromwell loved Neville. Taking all these things together, Matilda easily satisfied herself that interference was CromweU's bounden duty, and that all which could be asked of her was to make Cromwell awaie of this duty. She could not tell how much or how little Cromwell knew of her meddling in a variety of plots against his life and government, but she expected her father's name would secure her an audience, and she had such confidence in her- Mlf as to believe that an "opportunity" to inHuence the Protector was all she needed. Her first request, however, was met with a prompt refusal. She was not to be daunted. If her own name was not sufficient, she had others more potent. So she wrote on a card these words: " I^ady Ma- tUda de Wick has important information regarding Lord Cluny Neville; and for Mistress Jane Swaff ham's saU, she asks an interview." This messiige was instantly effective. While Tvia-ilda was tellu.g herself that "she would not do the le^t «om- FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 34s age to the Usurper," the door opened hastily, and he en- tered her pretence. In the twinkling of an eye all her reiolvct vanished. His grave, sorrowful ftce, his majestic manner, and the sad, reproachf'il tenderness of the gaxe that questioned her were omnipotent ^nst all her preju- dices. She fell at his feet, and taking his hand kissed it, whether in homage or in entreaty, she knew noc ** My lord," she said, and then she began to sob. *« My lord, I crave of you so many pardons— so much forbear- ance — I will never offend again/' He raised her with an imperious movement, and leading her to a chair, remained standing at her side. *« We will forget— the past is to be foigot— for your dear Ather's take. Quickly tell me what you know, I am in a neat hurry." •^ Without one unnecessary word she related all, and then put into his hands Prince Rupert's letter, with her finger directing his attention to the terrifying postscript. And she saw with fear the rising passion in his countenance, and for a moment trembled when he looked into her eyes with such piercing inquiry that she could not resist nor misundersund their question. "Sir," she cried, with a childlike abandon, *»in this matter I am single-hearted as I can be. I wish only to put a great wrong right." "You tell me the truth, I believe you," he answered} " and T will uke upon me to ut that it it dmt. Say not a ^ord to Jane Swaffham until there be a surety in the natter." Then she rose, and looking with eyes full of tears into -Sis face, said, « Sir, I remember the day you pulled down rlie h-izelnuts for me in de Wick park. My father walked with ; ou, arm in arm, and I had your hand until you MICROCOTY MSOIUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No, 2) 1.0 1*5 tarn yi IM^^ 16.3 l£ m u 1^ Ui 16 U Ih M^ 1.8 A /APPLIED IN/MGE Inc ^F 1653 Eost Main Street «5= Rochester. New York U609 USA (716) +82 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fo« I 1 I 346 THE LION'S WHELP lifted me at the gates and kissed me. Sir, I entreat you, forget all that has come and gone since that hour, and dis- miss me now, as then," — and she lifted her lovely face, wet with the tears of contrition, and Cromwell took it between his broad, strong hands, and kissed it, even as he had kissed it in her childhood. " Go home, my dear," he said softly. " All that can be done I will do, and without delay. You believe in the God of your fathers, and you pray to Him ? " "Yes, sir." "Then pray for Cluny Neville. I may speak, but it is God that setteth the prisoner free. His blessing be on you. I am glad to have seen your face, I am truly. A good-day to you ! " Matilda curtsied and went out. Her cheeks burned, her heart was flooded with a thousand feelings. She marveled most at herself; all her scorn had turned into respect, all her hatred into something very like affection. Yet mingling with these new-born emotions was an intense contempt for herself. " A nice Royalist you are, Matilda dc Wick ! " she muttered angrily. " You went on your knees to the Regicide ! You gave him your cheek to kiss ! You shed tears ! You asked his pardon ! You contempti- ble woman, I am ashamed of you ! The man is a wizard — he has a charm from the devil — why did I go into his presence ? I hope I may be able to keep the secret of my own fall. I vow it is as deep as Eve's! I am morti- fied beyond words,— and if Cymlin knew, what volumes there would be in his eyes and his mouth, and— his si- lence !" And yet there was in her heart a strong belief that this time Cromwell's inquiries would be as effective as they were sure to be prompt. Indeed the first thing the FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 347 Protector did, was to dictate the following letter to Ma- zarin: *^To His Eminence Cardinal Mazarin, '* Sir : — In a manner most providential it has been made known to me that Lord Neville is at this present moment in the Bastile prison. I know nc t why my friends should be treated as enemies, seeing that I have been faith- ful to you in all difficulties. Truly my business is now to speak things that I will have understood. The danger is great, if you will be sensible of it, unless Lord Neville be put at once in chai^ge of those by whom I send this message. For if any harm come to him, I will make inquisition for his life — for every hair of his head that falls wrongfully to the ground. And in regard to sending more troops to Boul(^ne against the Spaniards, look not for them, unless, by the grace of God and your orders, Lord Neville is presently, and without hinderance, in England. Then, I will stand with you, and I do hope that neither the cruelty, nor malice of any man will be able to make void our agreement concerning the Spaniard } for as to the young man's return, it is the first count in it, and I shall — ^I must — see that he is restored to that freedom of which he has been unjustly deprived. It cannot be believed that your Eminency has had anything to do with this deed of sheer wickedness, yet I must make mention of the jewels which disappeared with Lord Neville, and the money, and the papers. As for the two last items I make no demand, see- ing that particular persons may have spent the one and de- stroyed the other} but I have certain knowledge that the jewels are in the possession of mademoiselle your Emi- nency's niece. I have some reluctance to write further about them, believing that you will look more particularly 34« THE LION'S WHELP than I can direct, into this matter. By the hand of my personal friend, General SwafFham, I send this } and in all requisites he will stand for "Sir, " Your Eminency's " Most Humble Servant, "Oliver P." When this letter was sealed, he sent for Israel, and tell- ing him all that he had heard, bade him take twelve of their own troop, go to Paris, and bring back Cluny with them. Israel was very willing. He had always believed Mazarin had, at least, guilty knowledge of Cluny's murder; and all he asked was, that his daughter might be kept in ignorance until hope became a certainty, either of life or death. Cromwell's summons affected Mazarin like thunder out of a clear sky. He had forgotten Lord Neville. It was necessary to bring to him the papers relating to the mission on which he had come, and even then he was confused, or else cleverly simulated confusion. But he had to do with a man, in many respects, more inflexible than Crom- well. " I will make inquiries," he said to Israel. " In two or three days— or a week " " I must be on my way back to London, sir, in two or three days." " I cannot be hurried,— I have much other business." " I have only this business in Paris, sir ; but it is a busi- ness of great haste. This very hour, if it please your Eminence, I would make inquiries at (he Bastile." " It does not please me. You must wait." " Waiting is not in my commission, sir. I am to work, or to return to London without an hour's delay. Loid FATi. .. b LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 349 Neville is particularly dear to his Highness ; and if my in- quiries meet not with attention, — on the moment, — I am instructed to waste no time. We must then conclude the envoy of the Commonwealth of England \s been robbed and slain, and it will be the duty of England to take re- dress at once." ** You talk beyond your commission." « Within it, sir." " Retire to the anteroom. They will serve you with bread and wine while I make some mquiries." " It is beyond my commission to eat or drink until I have had speech with Lord Neville. I will wait in this presence, the authority of your Eminence," and Israel let his sword drop and leaned upon it, gazing steadfastly the while into the face of the Cardinal. The twelve troopers with him, followed as one man, his attitude, and even Mazarin's carefully tutored composure could not long en- dure this silent battery of determined hearts and fixed eyes. He gave the necessary order for the release of Lord Cluny Neville, — " if such a prisoner was really in the Bastile," — and sending a body of his own Musketeers with it, directed Israel to accompany them. "These i'solent, domineering English!" he muttered) " and this Cromwell, by grace of the devil, their Protector ! If I get not the better of them yet, my name is not Maza- rin. As for the young man, I meant not this long punish- ment ; I wanted only his papers. As for the jewels, I was not told they came out of his bag, — I did suspect, but what then ? I am too mudi given to suspicions, and the jewels were rare and cheap, and Hortense became them well. I will not give up the jewels — the man may go, but the jew- els f I fear they must go, also, or Spain will have her way. Cromwell wamts an excuse to withdr&w, I will not give him -■■'•? 350 THE LION'S WHELP '/■i it. And by Mary! I am sorry for the young man. I meant not such injury to him j I must make some atonement to the saints for it." This sorrow, though brief and passing, was genuine; cru- elty was perhaps the one vice unnatural to Mazarin, and he was relieved in what he called his conscience, when he heard that Lord Neville still lived, — if such bare breathing could be called life. For the Bastile seemed to be the Land of Forgetfulness. The Governor had so foi^otten Cluny, that his name called up no recollection. He did not know whether he was in the pri .on or not. He did not know whether he was alive or dead. The head gaoler also had forgotten. Men lost their identity within those walls. The very books of the prison had forgotten Cluny. Their keeper grew cross, and positive of Neville's non-entering, as volume after volume refused to give up his name. But Israel and his men, standing there so determined and so si- lent, forced him to go back and back, until he came to that fateful day when, before the dawning, the young man had been driven within those terrible gates. "On whose orHer?" asked Israel, speaking with sharp authority. " On the order of his Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin," was the answer. " I thought so ; ** then turning to the head gaoler he added, " you have the order for release. We are in haste." " Time is not counted here. We know not haste," was the answer. "Then," said Israel, flaming into passion, "you must learn how to hasten. I give you ten minutes to produce Lord Neville. After that time, I shall return to his Emi- nence and report your refusal to obey him." The gaoler had never before been accosted in such Uui- FATE OF LORD CLUNY NEVILLE 351 guage. As word by word was translated to his intelligence, he manifested an unspeakable terror. It was Impossible for him to conceive the manner of tnan and che strange au- thority that dared so to address the head gaoler of the Bas- tile. He left the chamber ai once, and within the time named there were sounds heard which made all hrarts stand still, — the slow movement of feet hardly able to walk, — che dismal clangor of iron, and anon the mournful sound of a human voice. But nothing could have prepared Cluny's comrades for the sight of their old companion. His tall form was attenuated to the last point ; his eyes, unaccus- tomed to much light, would i.nt at on^e respond, they looked as if they had lost vision ; his hair straggled unkempt over his shoulders, and the awful pallor of the prison on his face and neck and h.:nds was more ghastly than the pallor ct death. His clothmg had decayed; it hung in shreds about his limbs ; but there was a glimmer of his old self in the pitiful effort he made, as soon as conscious of human presence, to lift up his *• ad and carry himself without fear. An irrepressible movement of arms, z low wail of pity, met him as he entered the room, and he looked before him, anxious, intent, but not yet seeing anything distinctly. " Clutiy/ Cluny ! Cluny!" cried Israel ; and then Cluny distinguished the buff anci steel uniforms, and knew who it was that called him A long, sharp cry of agony, wonder, joy, answered the call, and he fell senseless into Israel's arms. They brought him wine, they lifted him to the open window, they laid bare the skeleton form of his chest, they called him by name in voices so full of love and pity that his soul perforce answered their entreaties. Then the Gov- ernor ofFered him some clothing, but Israel put it passion- ately away. They were worse than Babylonish garments 35* THE LION'S WHELP I't in his sight ; he would not touch them He asked only for a public litter, and when it was procured, they laid Cluny in it, and his comrades bore him through the streets of Paris to their lodging on the outskirts of the city. When they left the gates of the prison there was a large gathering of men, and it increased as they proceeded, — a pitiful crowd, whose very silence was the highest eloquence. For they understood. Cluny lay prone and oblivious to their vision. They had seen him come from the Bastile. He was dead, or dying, and these angry, weeping soldiers were his comrades. They began to mutter, to exclaim, to oice their sympathy more and more intelligibly. Women, praying and weeping audibly, joined the procession, and Israel foresaw the possibility of trouble. He felt that in some vvay order must be restored, and inspired by the wis- dom within, he raised his hands and in a loud, ringing voice, began the favourite hymn of his troopers; and to the words they had been used to sing in moments of triumphal help or dt'iverance they carried Cluny, with the solemn or- der of a "<»ligious service, safely into their camp. For when the h; -.r . i, the crowd followed quietly, or dropped away, „ ,;ern men trod in military step to their majestic antiphony : " lift up your heads, O ye gates. And the King of glory shall come in." " Who is the King of glory ? " " The Lord strong and mighty ; the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates. And the King of glory shall come in." " Who is this King of glory ? " «* The Lord of hosts ; the Lord mighty io battle. He is the King of glory ! '* w f. -^ w KS o •< m .O E iim- CHAi JR XVI OUVEE THE CONQUEROR ** O Heart heroic, Englmd'i noblest ton ! At what a perfect height thy soaring spirit bums Star-lilie ! and floods us yet with quickning fire." " Cromwell is dead : a low-laid Hean of Oak." ♦ ♦ « « « * ** There the wicked cease Srom troubling, there the weary are at rest." *^ Chbbr up, Jane ! You and Lord Neville will yet ar- rive at the height of your wishes. This is my ju(%ment, and if it be not true, you may burn me in the ear for a rogue." And you will marry Cy mlin ? " Perhaps ^ shall, perimps I shall not j ny one man, and the burden was made still more heavy by !.is family afflictions. His beloved mother had left him, gone the way of all the earth, saying with her last breath, " I leave my heart with thee, dear son ! a good-night ! " His son-in-law. Rich, the three months' bridegroom of his " little Frankie," was out a few weeks dead, and the Earl of Warwick, his firmest friend amc ng the nobility, was dying. His favourite daughter, Elizabeth, was very ill, and he himself was feeling unmistakable premonitions of his dissolution. For, day by day, his soul was freeing itself from the ligaments of the body, rising into a finer air, seeing right and wrong with the eyes of immortality. But he would do his duty to the last tittle of strength,^— fall battling for the right, — and as to what should come after, God would care for that. The fifteenth of May had been set for his assassination. On that day, risings were to take place in Yorkshire and Sussex ; London was to be set on fire, the Protector seizrd and murdered, and Charles Stu?rt land on the southern coast. Cromwell knew all the secret plans of this con- spiracy of '' The Sealed Knot " ; knew every member oi it ; and on the afternoon when Jane SwafFham saw him pass- ing up London streets, so stern and scornful, he had just ordered the arrest of one hundred of them. From these he selected fifteen for trial. They were all Royalists; he would not lay his hand on his old friends, or on ing to leave it as the sad dwellers therein were willing to be left. Tbey vere not unkind,but they could bear no more; their own burden was too heavy. Jane would have re- gretted her visit altogether, had it not been for the change- less tenderness of the Protector. His face during these quick gathering trials had become intensely human. It was easy to read in it endless difficulties and griefs, sur- mounted by endless labours and importunate prayers. With strange, mystical eyes he walked continuously the long rooms and corridors, ever seeking the realisation of his heart's constant cry, " Oh, that I knew where I might find Thee ! " He talked to Jane of Cluny and of their pros- pects } made her kneel at his side during the family service, kept her hand in his, and prayed for her and Cluny by name. And at the last moment he gave her the blessing she hoped for — ^' God which dwelleth in heaven prosper your journey ; and the angel of God keep you company." * The strain had been great; the very atmosphere of the place was too heavy with grief to breathe ; she was glad to feel the sunshine and the fresh wind. She had intended to call on Matilda as she passed through the city, but she could not throw off the lassitude of hopeless foreboding that had invaded her mind. It bred fears for Cluny, and she hastened home, resolving to see Matilda on the follow- ing day. But when she reached Sandy's House, Mrs. ^ Tobit, Chap. 5, v. 16. OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 365 , SwafFhaui met her with a letter in her hand — ^**Lady Jevcry asks you to come to Matilda, who is in great trou- ble," she said. ** Cluny is asleep } if you are not too tired, you would better go at once, foi if the wind keep fair. Cap- tain Jonson thinks to lift anchor to-'^iorrow night." So Jane went to her friend. With her, also, she found the grief Death brings. *^ Stephen is slain ! " were her first words. She could hardly utter them. But Jane knew how to comfort Matilda; she could talk to her as she could not to the ladies of Cromwell's household. She could take her in her arms and say all kinds of loving words, blending them with promises and hopes that had Divinity as their surt.y. And she could encourage her to talk away her trouble. ** How was Stephen slain ? " she asked, *' in a duel ? " *^ No, thank God ! He fell, as he himself could have wished, fighting the enemies of his King. He was with Conde and the Dukes of York and Gloucester before Dun- kirk, and was killed while meeting the rush of those ter- rible Ironsides. He died shouting * For God and King ! ' and Camby — one of their officers who comes from Ely — knew Stephen, and he carried him aside, and gave him water, but he died in five minutes. Camby wrote me that he said * Mother ! ' joyfully, with his last breath." " Poor Stephen ! " " Oh, indeed 'tis very well to cry, * poor Stephen,' when be is beyond your pity. You might have pitied him when he was alive, that would have been something to the pur- pose. All his short, unhappy life has been one constant battle with Puritans and poverty. Oh, how I hate those Stuarts ! I am thankful to see you can weep for him, Jane. I think you ought. God knows he loved you well, and most thanklessly. And he is the last, the last de Wick. 366 THE LION'S WHELP jS" Root and branch, the de Wick tree has perished. I wish I could die also." " And Cynilin, Matilda ? " " I s' all marry Cymlin, — at the proper time." " You may have ^ons and daughters." " I hope not. I pray not. I have had sorrow enough. My father and his three sons are a good ending for the house. It was built with the sword, and it has been de- stroyed by the sword. I want no de Wick like the men of to-day — traders and gold seekers. And if they were warriors, the old cares and fears and anxieties would be to live over again. No, Jane, the line of de Wick is finished.' Cymlin and I will be the last Earl and Countess de Wick. We shall go to Court, and bow to the Stuart, and be very great people, no doubt." "And Prince Rupert?" ** Is a dream from which I have awakened." " But he may still be dreaming." " Rupert has many faults, but he is a man of honour. My marriage to Cymlin will be a barrier sacred to both of us. Our friendship can hold itself above endearments. You need not fear for Cymlin; Matilda de Wick will honour her husband, whether she obeys him or not. Cym- lin is formed for power and splendour, and he will stand near the throne." "If there be a throne." " Of that, who now doubts ? Cromwell is falling sick, 1 Matilda's desire was granted her. She died childless, and the lands of de Wick reverted to the Crown. As for Swaff ham, Cymlin, at bit death, left it to the eldest son of his brother Tonbert ; but the young man longed for America, and soon sold it. During the eighteenth century it changed hands often ; but in the early years of the nineteenth century the old house was replaced by a modem structure, less storied but of extensive proportions and very handsome design. OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 367 and you may feel * God save the King* in the air. If ou had married Stephen, he would have been alive to joi > in the cry. I could weep at your obstinacy, Jane." "Let it pass, dear. I was suckled on Puriun mt\k. Stephen and I never could have been one. My fate v as to go to the New World. When I was a little child I dreamed of it, saw it in visions before I knew that it ex- isted. Stephen has escaped this sorrowful world and " "Oh, then, I would he were here! T' '^ 'orrowfui world with Stephen in it was a better world : out him. Jane, Jane, how he loved you ! " " And I loved him, as a companion, friend, will. When you lay his body in de Wick, a flower on his coffin for me. God give hin At length their " farewell " came. Jane was sure Matilda would wear emotion to haustion. But it was not so. She wep solemnly silent ; and the last words betweei and whispered, and only those sad, lovin which are more eloquent than the most fe. id prrrttstitksRs. And so they parted, forever in this lif- -and ■ sfe were all, Death would indeed be the Coiiqueror a it it> not all } even through the death struggle, the ^ high her cup of Love, unspilled. The next afternoon Jane and Cluny rode thit don streets for the last time. They were full happy people, and mingling with them all the bravciy and splendid show of the great company of courtiers that were in the train of Mazarin's two nephews, the Duke of Crequin and Monsieur Mancini; Ambassadors from the King of France to congratulate Cromwell — " the most invin- cible of sovereigns, the greatest and happiest of princes — on the surrender of Dunkirk. ded -ds a aem w is with r, if vou tear ^nd . I" she ex- was sof iiiono8\ liirt>les >n- iusy, M ! I 1| 368 THE LION'S WHELP And Jane on the previous day had heard this ** most in- vincible of sovereigns, the greatest and happiest of princes," declare that ** he was weak and weary i that all the waves and billows of a sea of troubles had gone over him," and with tears and outstretched hands entreat his God to " give him rest from his sorrow and from his fear, and from the har i bondage wherein he h-xd been called to serve." C the ship they found Jane's father. Doctor Verity and Sir Thomas Jevery. There were no tears at this parting, nor any signs of sorrow ; every one seemed resolved to re- gard it as a happy and hopeful event. For, though not spoken of, there was a firm belief and promise of a meet- ing again in the future not very far off. Israel held his little daughter to his heart, and then laid her hand in Cluny's without a word } the chaige was understood. The young husband kissed the hand, and clasped it within his own, and his eyes answered the loving father in a language beyond deception. When the last few minutes came, and the men were trooping to the anchor. Doctor Verity raised his hands, and the three or four in the dim, small cabin knelt around him i and so their farewell was a prayer, a u their parting a blessing. Israel and Doctor Verity walked away t<^ether, and for a mile neither of them spoke a word. There is a time for speech and a time to refrain from speech, and both men were in the House of Silence for strength, each finding it in his own individual way. As they came near to Sandy's, however, Israel said, " It is a short farewell, John. It will be my turn next." " I shall go when you go." "To the Massachusetts Colony ? " *• Yes. I am ready to go when the time comes." " It is not far off." OLIVER TH^ CONQUEROR 3^ " A few months at the longest." " He U very ill ? " " The foundations of his life are shaken, for he lives not in his power or his fame, or even in the work set him to do. No, no, Oliver lives in his feelings. They are at the bottom of his nature } all else is superstructure. And they have been rent and torn and shaken till the man, strong as he is, trembles in every limb. And Fairfax, as well as Lambert and others, think they can fill great Oliver's place ! — no man can." "For that very -01, when he deptrts, I will away from England. ' ^ no heart for another civil war. I will draw swor-. uer no less a general than Oliver." " As I said, ^ ^o with you. I have some land, and a little home there already ; and Mistress Adair has promised to marry me. She is a good woman, and not without some comeliness of person." " She is a very handsome woman, and I think surely she will make you a good wife. You have done well. Did you tell Jane this r " « Yes, I told her." " My heart is heavy for England." " She knows not the day of her visitation any better than Jerusalem did." " She will bring back the Stuarts ? " " That is what Monk, and others with him, are after. They have been at the ears of the army, din, din, din, until their lies against Oliver have been sucked in. They have a rancorous jealousy that never sleeps, ano no one can please them i - ( "^ *hove them, whether it be Prince, Pro- tector or G x). Er V (;a5 pursued Oliver hke a bird of prey. Its t?ms, at last> 3; ; in his heart." "Good-r.;ii: ;^ij»w" wm ^i r 370 THE LION'S WHELP m ,1 ! I l! " Good-night, Israel. Have you told Martha ? " " Not yet. She will fret every day till the change comes. Why should we have a hundred frets, when a dozen may do ? " But when Israel went into Martha's presence something made him change his mind. The mother had been weep- ing, and began to weep afresh when she saw her husband. He anticipated her sorrowful questions, and with an assump- tion of cheerfulness, told her what a good, brave man the captain of the ship was, and how happy and hopeful Jane and Cluny seemed to be. '^ It did not feel like a paning at all, Martha," he said i " and indeed there was no need for any such feeling. We are going ourselves very soon. now. The words were spoken and could not be recalled ; and he stood, in a moment, ready to face the storm they might raise. He had not intended them, but what we say and what we do beyond our intention, is often more fateful and important than all our carefully prepared words or well laid plans. Martha looked at her husband with speechless wonder and distress, and he was more moved by this atti- tude than by her usual ganulous anger. He sat down by her side and took her hand, saying, " My dear Martha, I did not think of telling you this just yet, and especially to-day, but the words were at my lips, and then they were out, without my leave or license. Now there is nothing for it, but letting you know, plump and plain, that you and I, in our gathering years, must up and out of England. Oliver Cromwell is dying ; when he is in the grave, what ? Either Stuart, or civil war. If it is the Stuart, my head will be wanted; and as for fight- ing for Lambert, or even Fairfax or Sir Harry Vane, I will not do it — verily, I will not ! I have fought under Crom- OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 371 well ; I will fight under no less a general, and in no less a quarrel than he led in. That is settled. You said Martha, * for better, or for worse.' " She did not answer, and he dropped her hand and con- tinued, " I will never force thee, Martha, not one step. If thou lovest England better than me " " I don't ! I don't, Israel ! I love nothing, I love nobody better than Israel SwafFham. I was thinking of Swaff- ham." " I shall sign the sale of it to Cymlin as soon as Crom- well dies. The deed is already drawn out, and waiting for our names. If the Stuart comes back — and I believe he will —I should lose SwafFham, as well as my life ; but Cymlin will marry Matilda, and make obeisance to Charles Stuart, and the old home will be in the family and keep its own name. I and thou can build another SwafFham j thou art but fifty, and my years are some short of sixty. We are in the prime of life yet." " I am forty-eight,— not quite that,— Israel ; and SwafF- ham was very up and down, and scarce a cupboard in it. I do miss my boys j and how I can bear life without Jane, I don't know. Wherever you go, Israel, I will go; your God is my God, and your country shall be mine." »* I was sure of that, Martha. God love you, dearest ! And any country where your home is built, and your chil- dren dwell, is a good country ; besides which, this New World is really a land of milk and honey and sunshine. Tonbert and Will could not be bought back here with an earldom. There is another thing, Martha, both of them are going to be married." " Married ! I never heard of such a thing," "I thought I wouldn't tell thee, till needs bcj but 'tis so, sure enough." HI 372 THE LION'S WHELP [■ "And to what kind of women, Israel ? " " Good, fair women, they tell me j sisters, orphan daugh- ters of the Rev. John Wilmot. Thou secst, then, Martha, there may soon be three families coming up, and not a grandmother among them to look after the children, or give advice to the young mothers. I don't see what Tonbert's wife, or Will's wife, or thy own daughter Jane can do with- out thee." She shook her head slightly, but looked pleased and im- portant. The wife and mother was now completely satis- fied. And M-Ttha SwafFham was blessed with imagination. She could dream of her new home, and new ties, and give herself, even in London streets, a Paradise in the unknown New World. And, at any rate, in the building of the American SwafFham she would take care that there were plenty of cupboards. Indeed, her plans and purposes were so many, and so much to her liking, that Israel was rather hampered by her expansive hopes and ideas ; and though he did not damp her enthusiasm by telling her " she was reck- oning without her host," he himself was quite sure there would be many trials and difficulties to tithe her anticip.. tions. " But it is bad business going into anticipation," he said to himself. " I'll let Martha build and arrange matters in her mind as she wants them j things will be all the likelier to happen so ; I have noticed that time and time again. It will be a great water between us, and the sins and sorrows of six thousand years ; and if there be a Paradise on earth, it will be where man hasn't ^ad time to turn it into a — something worse." So the summer days went on, and England had never been so serene and so secure in her strength and prosperity. Throughout the land the farmer was busy in his meadows OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 373 making hay, and watching the green wheat blow yellow in the warm winds and sunshine. The shepherds were on the fells counting the ewes and their lambs j the traders busy in their shops ; the ports full of entering and departing ves- sels, and the whole nation yet in a mood of triumph over the acquisition of Dunkirk. Cromwell was working fever- ishly, and sufFcring acutely. His favourite child, the Lady Elizabeth Claypole was still very ill j he had premonitions and visions of calamity that filled his heart with apprehen- sion, and kept his soul always on the alert, watching, wttch- ing for its coming. It might be that he alone could meet it and ward it away from those he loved. It is certain also that he knew the time for his own de- parture was at hand. He said to Doctor Verity, " I have one more fight, John. Dunbar was a great victory; Wc-cestcr was a greater one; but my next fight will give me the greatest victory of all— 'the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.* Do you understand?" And the Doctor made a movement of affirmation; he could not speak. Wonderful was the kbour the Protector now performed. He directed and settled the English affairs in France ; he arranged the government of the new English plantations in Jamaica and the West Indies; and he paid particular atten- tion to the needs and condition of the New England Colo- nies, being indeed their protector, and the only English pro- tector they ever had. He took time to enunciate to France, more strongly than ever before, the rights of all the Protes- tants in Europe ; and he made all preparations for calling another Parliament to consider, and settle more firmly, the business of the English Commonwealth. His work was a stupendous one, and through it all he showed constantly the feverish haste of a man who has a great task to perform and 374 THE LION'S WHELP h sees the sun dropping to the western horizon. But his heart bore the heaviest share of the heavy burden. It was as if Death knew that this man's soul could only be de- livered from the flesh by attacking the citadels of feeling. In every domestic and social relation — son, husband, father, friend — the tenderness of his nature made him suffer; and when on the twenty-third of July Lady Claypole's illntss showed fatal symptoms, he dropped all business, and for fourteen days and nights hardly left her presence. And her death on the sixth of August was a crushing and insupport- able blow. Lady Heneage, who was one of her attendants in these i-^t terrible days, was removed in a fainting condition, when all was over, and taken to her old friend Martha SwafFham, for care and consolation. The two women had drifted apart during the past four years, but there was only love between them, and they reverted at once to their old affectionate familiarity. And such sorrow as that affecting Lady Heneage, is soon soothed by kind comp^ionship and sympathetic conversation. She had much to tell that Martha SwafFham was eager to listen to, though the mat- ter of all was suffering and death. " The Lord Protector was really her nurse," she said. " When her mother fainted, and her husband and sisters could not look on her sufferings, her father held her in his arms, bore every pang with her and prayed, as I hope, Martha, I may never hear any one pray again. It was as if he clung to the very feet of God, entreating that he, and he alone, might bear the agony j that the cup of pain might pass from his child to him — and this for fourteen d:iy9y Martha. I know not how he — how we — endured it. Wc were all at the last point, when suddenly, a wonderful peace filled the chamber, and the poor Lady Elizabeth lay at case. 1 OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 375 smiling at her father as he wiped the death sweat from her brow and whispered in her ear words which none but the dying heard. At the last moment, she tried to say, '-Father* but only managed one-half the word j the other half she took into heaven with her. It is now tht sixth of August, is it not, Martha ? " " Yes." " The Protector will not live long, I think. I heard him tell her they would not be parted a space worth counting." " He would say that much for her comfort. He meant it not in respect of his own days ; no life is a space worth counting—* of few days and full of trouble, Alice.' How is her Highness, Elizabeth Cromwell ? " "Very quiet and resigned. Blow upon blow has be- numbed her. She looks as if she had seen something not to be spoken of. Lady Mary Fanconberg says the family ought to leave Hampton Court; there is a feeling about the place both unhappy and unnatural. I felt it. Every one felt it, even the soldiers on guard." After the dea:th of his beloved dau^jhter Elizabeth, the life of Cromwell was like the ending of one of those terrible Nor"^ Sagas with the additional element of a great spiritual coi Jict. He was aware of his own apparition at his side ; the air was full of omens; he felt the menace of some shadowy adversary in the dark; he saw visions; he dreamed beyond nature ; he had, at times, the wild spirits of a hy man, and again was almost beside himself with unspeakable grief. Israel Swaffham was constantly with him. The two men were friends closer than brothers. They had loved each other when boys, and their love had never known a shadow. " But I am in great trouble about him," said Israel to his wife. "It cannot last. Since Lady Claypolc s death he 376 THE LION'S WHELP cats not, drinks not, sleeps not ; his strong, masculine hand- writing, the very mirror of his courageous spirit, has be- come weak and trembling. He lives much alone, keeps from his family as if he feared they might be in danger from his danger. And he thinks and thinks, hour after hour; and 'tis thinking that is killing him. I can tell you one thing, Martha, a thinking soul is always sorrowful enough, but when it is a great soul like Oliver's, and it is wretched for any cause, then every thought draws blood." " For such dismal thought and feeling there is the Holy Scriptures.'* " Yes, yes, Oliver knows the Comforter, and sometimes there is a message for him. Last night he made Harvey read him the fourth of Philippians, and he said when he had listened to it, * This Scripture did once save my life when my eldest son died, which went as a dagger to my heart, in- deed it did i ' then, with a great joy he repeated the words, ' I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me ; ' adding, * He that was Paul's Christ, is my Christ too ! • " ^ Cromwell had hoped that his great afflictions would bring his friends back to his side; but envy, hatred and greedy ambition are not to be conciliated. Even at this time, Ludlow, Lambert, Vane, Harrison, Marten,— all the men whom he had trusted, and who had trusted him, stood aloof from his sorrow ; and their sullen indifference wounded him to the quick. He had a burning fever both of the body and soul, but in two weeks he gathered a little strength and left Hampton Court for Whitehall. His unfinished work drove at him like a taskmaster. He must make ereat haste. for he knew that the night was coming. " I am glad he is back in Whitehall,' husband, when she heard of the change. said ! great Martha to her remember u OLIVER THE CONQUEROR '^^j^ something that Jane said about that old, gloomy Court; he will get better in London." " I know not, Martha," answered Israel sadly ; " Fairfax was with him to^ay, and be might as well have drawn his sword on his old friend,— better and kinder had he done so." " Fairfax is proud as Lucifer. What did hr want ? " " The Duke of Buckingham has been sent to the Tower —where he ought to have been sent long ago; but he is married to the daughter of Fairfax, and the haughty Lord General went to see Cromwell about the matter. He met him in the gallery at Whitehall and asked that the order for Buckingham's arrest should be retracted. And Cromwell told him that if the offense were only against his own life, the Duke could go free that hour, but that he could not pardon plotters against the Commonwealth. It grieved him to the heart to say these words, and Fairfax saw how ill and how troubled he looked. But he had not one word of courtesy; he turned abruptly and cocked his bat, and threw his cloak under his arm in that insolent way he was ever used to when in his tempers. And Oliver looked at me like a man that has been struck in the face by a friend Then he went to his desk and worked faithfully, inexor- ably, all day ; — but— but -, " " But what, Israel ? " " It is near — the end." Indeed, this interview with Fairfax seemed to be the last heart-weight he could carry. That night, the man who had been used to shelter his dove-like wife from every trouble in his strong heart, laid his head upon her shoulder and said pitifully, « O Elizabeth, I am the wretchedest creature ! Speak some words of hope and peace to me." Then she soothed and comforted him from the deep wells nn 378 THE LION'S WHELP of her tenderness, and never once put into words the fearful thought which lay deep in her heart — ** What will become of me when he is gone ? " But Oliver had this same anxious boding, and he managed that night to tell his wife that if God, in mercy, called him on the sudden, Israel SwafFham had his last words and advices for her, — words that would then be from Oliver in heaven to Elizabeth on earth. They spoke of their old, free, happy life ; of their sons and daughters both here and there, and mingled for the last time their tears and prayers together. " Let us trust yet in God, dear Oliver," she said, as they rose from their knees ; " is He not sufficient ? " " Trust in God ! " he cried. " Who else is there in the heaven above, or in the earth beneath ? And as our John Milton says — " ' . . . if this truth fidl. The pillared firmament ii rottenoeu. And earth's base built on stubble.' Trust in God ! Indeed I do ! God has not yet spoken His last word to Elizabeth and Oliver Cromwell." Then he drew her close to his heart, kissed her fondly, and said, almost with sobs, ** My dearest, if I go the way of all the earth first, thou wilt never forget me ? " "How could I forget thee? How could I? Not in my life days ! Not in my eternal days ! Heart of my heart! My good, brave, true husband, Elizabeth will never foi^et thee, never cease to love thee and honour thee, while the Everlasting One is thy God and my God." The next day he went to his desk and began to write, but speedily and urgently called for Israel SwafFham. When he answered the call, Oliver was in great physical agony, but he took some papers from a drawer and said, " When I am no longer here, Israel, give these to my wife. OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 379 li Thurloe has the key to all State questions } he knows my intents and my judgments on them. And there is one more charge for you : when all is over, speak to the army for me. Tell the men to remember me while they live. Truly, I think they will. Tell them I will take love and boldness to myself, and plead for them when I am nearer to God than I am now. It may be we shall serve together again — among the hosts of the Most High. Say to them my tears hinder my last words, as indeed they do. Now let me lean on you, Israel. I am going to my Ust hard fight." When he reached his room, he stood a moment and looked wistfully round it. It was but a narrow chamber, but large enough for the awfully close, near conflict, that he had to fight in it, — a conflict which was to put uunder flesh and spirit, and within its few feet, with strange, strong pains deliver the Eternal out of Time, and set free his Im- mortal Self from the carnal prison-house of many woes in which he had suffered for more than fifty-nine years. For ten terrible days and nights the anguish of this struggle went on unceasingly, sometimes the gi -rat Combatant being ^ all here" and full of faith and courage, sometimes far down the shoal of life and reason, and wandering uneasily through bygone days of battle and distress and darkness. Then Israel held his burning hands, and listened, while in a voice very far off, he ejaculated such passages as had then been familiar to him : — ^* The shield of His mighty men is made red, the valiant men are in scarlet. The chariots shall rage in the streets — ^thcy shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings." ^ And once at «^He midnight when all was still he cried, ** If the Lord had su.. .red it, then I had died on the battle-field as His Man of War, with tumult, with shouting and with the sound of the trumpet." ' 'Naluuaa:^. •Amos2:a. 38o THE LION'S WHELP He had turned to face hit last enemy on the twenty- fourth of August, and on thirtieth there was such a tempest as had never before been seen in England. Whole forests were laid on the ground } traffic was swept from the roads and the streets, and the ships from the stormy seas i and the tide at Deptford, to the dismay of the superstitious, threw up the carcass of a monstrous whale. The cham- bers of Whitehall were filled with the roar of the great winds. The guards leaned on their arms, praying or talk- ing solemnly together on the prodigy of the storm. ^* Michael and the devil had a dispute about the body of Moses," said one old grizzled trooper to his companion. " Are they fighting about our Cromwell, think ye, Abel ? " " Who knows ? " was the answer. " The Prince of the Powers of the Air has His battalions out this night, but Michael and his host will be sufficient. You'll see, Jabez, when the storm is over, our Cromwe" will go } " and he drew his hand across his eyes and added, ^* He'll have company, Jabez, a great bodyguard of ministering angels } and sure a soul needs them most of all between here and there. Evil ones no doubt, to be watched and warded, but the Guard sent is always sufficient." Israel sat near the men, and heard something of what they said, but he was too inert with grief and weariness to answer them. Presently, however. Doctor Verity joined him. They said a few words about the storm, their words being emphasised by the falling and crashing of trees out- side the windows, and by thunder and lightning and driven torrents of rain ; and then Doctor Verity said in a low voice, " He knows nothing of this — he is still as death; he barely breathes : he is unconscious ; where is he^ Israel f " " Not quite gone — not quite here Is he watching the battle of elements in the middle darkness ? " Then he OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 3«i told the Doctor what Abel and Jabez had Midland for tJine minutes only the pealing thunder and the hvwling mr.it made answer. But John Verity was thinking, and as soon as there was a moment's lull in the uproar, he said, " Oliver is no stranger to the Immortals, Israel. They have heard of his fame. In their way, they have seen and helped him already. Oliver has fought the devil all his life long. While his body lies yonder, without sense or motion, where is his spirit ? Is it now having its last fight with its great enemy ? Israel, I was thinking of what Isaiah says, about hell being moved to meet Lucifer ut his coming." " I remember." " May not heaven also be moved to meet a good man ? May not the chief ones of the earth arise, each from his throne, to welcome a royal brother, and narrowly to con- sider him, and ask of the attending angels, * Is this he who moved nations, and set free his fellows, and brought forth for his M: ^ter one hundredfold ? ' " " Yet how he has been reviled ', and what is to come will be worse." »» He has already foigiven it. I heard him praying ere he t went somewhere' that God would ^paidon such as de- sire to trample upon die dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people too;' and then he added, just as a little child might, * and give us a good-night.* And somehow, Israel, I do think he is having a good-night. I do surely think so." "But oh, John, John Verity, all this great life is to be a failure. All our travail and toil and suffering to be a fiulure!" " No, indticd ! There is no failure. No, no, nodiing of the kind ! We have ushered in a new era of Freedom. We have made a breakwater against tyranny. Kings will 3^1 THE LION'S WHELP remember forevermore that they have a joint in their neckt. Oliver hat done, to the last tittle, the work he wu tent to do. It it Oliver the Conqueror ! not Oliver the Failure. But I could weep my eyet out for the crueltiet hit tender heart hat had to bear. There are tome men I could with a tenfold retribution to, and I think they will get it. Bax- ter hat whined and whined againtt Cromwell, but he will have plenty of opportunitiet yet to with Cromwell back. And there it Vane ! he will not find Charlet Stuart at for- bearing to his fine myttical unreatonablenett at Cromwell hat been ; he may lay hit head on the block before long. As for Lambert and Fairfax and the rett, the tubtle Monk will be too much for them. Let them alone, their tint will find them out i and we will tail wettward in good hope. Remember, Israel, it is not incumbent on ut to finith the work ; we can leave it in God't handt. And though we have to leave it behind ut incomplete, God will ute it tome way and somewhere, and the newt will find ut, even in heaven, and sweeten our happy labours there. I believe this, I do with all my soul." On Thursday night, the second of September, being the ninth day of his hard fight, he bade his wife and children ** a good-bye " ; but into this tacred tcene not even the ten- derest imagination may intrude. Afterward he appeared to withdraw himself entirely within the shadow of the Al- mighty, waiting the signal for hit release in a peaceful, even a happy, mood, and saying in a more and more laboured voice, " Truly God is good — indeed He is — He will not — leave. My work is done — but God will be — with His peo- ple." Some one offered him a drink to ease his rettlett- nest and give him sleep, but he refused it. ^ It it not my detign to drink or to sleep," he said} **my design it to make what haste I can to be gone." The last extremi^ OLIVER THE CONQUEROR 383 indwd ! but one full of that longing desire of the great Apostle "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." The next morning, the third of Septembei, his Fortunate Day, " the day of Dunbar Field and Worcester's laureate wreath," he became speechless as the sun rose, and so he lay quiet until between three and four in the afternoon, when he was heard to give a deep sigh. The physician in attendance said softly, « Ht is gone ! " And some knelt to pray, and all wept, but unmindful of his tears, Israel Swaff- ham cried in a tone of triumph — "Thou good Soldier of God, Farewell I Thou hast fought a good fight, thou hast kept the faith, and there is laid up for thee a crown greater than England's crown, a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous jud . shall give thee." But Doctor Verity went slowly to the beloved Dead ; he put tenderly back his long gray hair, damp with the dew of death, and dosed the eyelids ove. his darkened eyes, and kissed him on his brow, and on his lips % and as he turned sorrowfully away forever, whispered only two words • " FaU CromwcU I " (t-