"Dr. John, at Marston Moor Leslie fought with Cromwell, 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 dominant 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 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, and answered, "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 even 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. Swaffham.
"No, Martha. I mean to stay here until the General's messenger joins me. He sent a letter to London by the young Lord Cluny Neville, and he 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 so God wills, to Edinburgh. 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 captive 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 sword. The two men looked at each other steadily for a full minute, 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 Cromwell, 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 Edinburgh. He sent you words full of love and comfort; so did your sons; what would you have, woman?"
"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 man. 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."
"But 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 ships constantly ravaging our coasts, and who is every day issuing commissions to raise armies in the very heart of England to fight Englishmen. Treachery like this concerns 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 thousand 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 it 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 put her hand on the Doctor's arm to stay him, and she asked, "Do you remember the flag the women of Huntingdon and Ely gave to General Cromwell just before Naseby?"
"I do. It was a great lion—the lion of England guarding the Cross of England. And your Israel made the speech. I am not likely to forget it."
"Then you also remember that as Israel was speaking, the east wind rose, and stretched wide-out the silk folds, so that the big tawny lion watching the red cross was blown straight above the General's bare head. And there was a 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 Jane; "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