Chapter 5

SHEATHED SWORDS

"The peaceful cities
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 on 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 fortress of Stirling Castle, where he remained until he went to Perth. Here, on January the first, 1651, 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 was long and severe, Charles and his army could do nothing; but when fine weather came and they understood that Cromwell would march to Perth, the Scotch army went southward, fortifying itself on the famous Torwood Hill, between Stirling and Falkirk.

This long winter had been one of great suffering to General Cromwell. After making himself master of 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 part of his army into Fife, in order to cut off the enemy's victual. This move forced the hand of Charles Stuart. His army was in mutiny 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 fourteen thousand men, had suddenly left Stirling and was marching towards England. Cromwell was neither surprised 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 diligence! 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 reached the borders of Shropshire, summoning every town he passed, but hardly waiting 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 affection. Here he set up his standard on the ill-omened twenty-second of August, the very day nine years previous, 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 Lambert. Such swiftness and precision must have been prearranged, 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 Victory, and as he passed through the towns and villages of England, men would not be restrained. They threw down the sickle and the spade in the field, the hammer in the forge, the plane at the bench, and catching hold of the stirrups of the riders, ran with them to the halting-place. Cromwell had no need to beg Englishmen yet a little longer to stick to him. His form of rugged grandeur, the majesty and fierceness of his face, and his air of invincible strength and purpose, said to all, This is the Pathfinder of your English Freedom! Follow Him! The man was a magnet, and drew men to him; he looked at them, and they fell into his ranks; he rode 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 of the Lord, and for England." This battle call, ringing from men at full spur, was taken up even by the old crones and little children, and their shrill trebles were added to the mighty shouting of strong men, whose heroic hands were already tightly closed upon their sword-hilts. So, with his ten thousand troops augmented to thirty thousand, he reached Warwick, and making his headquarters at the pretty village 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 where the first battle of the Civil War had been fought. Nine years previous the Puritan camp had lain at Keynton with the banner of Charles the First waving in their sight from 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 welcomed Cromwell to rest and comfort.

"All my sons are with General Harrison," she said; "and I have 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 with 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 Cromwell'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 listening 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 all well?" he asked�and reading the answer in the youth's face, added, "I thank God! What then of the city?"

"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. 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; 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 ringing 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'er 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 forsworn 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 world. 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 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 remember 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, it is. If Worcester were ten times as strong, I would not hesitate. God has chosen this 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; for they 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 they had ever 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 aggravated by keen personal interests. To Mrs. Swaffham and Jane the coming battle might mean widowhood and orphanage; sons and brothers might be among those appointed to die for Freedom's sake. To de Wick it might 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 village, 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 whispered word�"To-morrow."

At length there came a day when the unnatural tension grew to its cruel ripeness. The soft gray autumn morning was sensitive through every pulse of Nature, and as the day wore on a strange still gloom hung far and wide over the country. The very breath of calamity was in it. Puritan and Royalist alike went to the open churches to pray; tradesmen left their wares and stood talking and watching the highways; women wandered about their homes weeping 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 instantaneous, penetrating sense of something being "all over." Whatever deed had been done, England would soon ring with it.

On the third afternoon, there came rumours of a great Parliamentary victory, rumours that Charles Stuart had been slain in battle, suppositions and surmises innumerable and contradictory. Jane went as quickly as possible 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 borne, unless some certainty relieved the tension cutting like a tight thong 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 that 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 stairs. She knew his name and his occupation, and her heart stood still with fear. The next moment Delia came forward, and Jane said,

"I am glad to see you back, Delia. Is Lady Matilda well? Is any one ill? O Delia, what is the matter? Why are you crying? And why is Jabez 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 has seen the King since the battle�all is lost�Audrey's Ben is back skin-whole, but he says��"

"Is that you, Jane Swaffham?" cried Matilda, running 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 herself 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 answered, "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 great canopied bed the dying Earl. His last breaths 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 red ruin and sorrow without end. When you rise to-morrow morning, you can tell yourself Matilda de Wick is motherless, fatherless, brotherless, friendless, and homeless; and I dare say you will add piously, 'It is the Lord's doing'; but it is not the Lord's doing, it is Oliver Cromwell's work. I would walk every step of the 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 not a male left to our name. Cromwell and his Parliament may as well take house and lands; they have slain all who can hold them�all, Reginald, Roland, Stephen, my Uncle Robert, my cousins Rufus and Edward! What wonder that Julian Sacy's heart broke, and that my father only waits at the door of Death to say good-bye to Stephen."

"What can I do for you, dear? Oh, what can I do?"

"I will have nothing from you, not even pity, while you endure, yes, even admire, this monster of cruelty, 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 Charles Stuart invade England? What right had he to do so? England is not his private estate. England belongs to Englishmen. No, I will not talk on this subject with you. When you are in reason send for me, and I will do anything, 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 of those who loved me."

With these words Matilda turned sobbing away, and Jane, slowly at first and then hastily, took the road to Swaffham. For after she had decided that it was best not to force her company on her distracted friend, she remembered that the news which had reached de Wick was probably at Swaffham. 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, but 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 Charles Stuart is slain."

"Dr. Verity believes not such a report. He says, however, 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. "The greatest victory that had ever been in England" appeared quite a secondary thing to Mrs. Swaffham in comparison 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 forgetfulness�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 England. We have given of ourselves freely while need was, 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 supper, 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 nowhere else, I had no time. Jane, for God's sake save them; not for my sake, not for pity's sake, but for God's sake save them! They are now outside this door�they 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 of what you ask��"

"I know; I ask life for two poor souls ready to perish. One of them loves you�Jane, speak�why are you waiting?"

"My father�my brothers�and in this room?�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." Then she opened the door, and Matilda brought the two wayworn, blood-stained, fainting fugitives within the sanctuary.

Mrs. Swaffham was not long in answering Matilda's petition. That divine compassion that oversteps every obstacle, 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 will 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; it was nearly dark," she said hysterically.

"Yes, dearie, and Will shall saddle a horse and take you home."

"No, no, no! It would then be known I had come here in the dark; 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-stairs, 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, with 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 prepared 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 Monday 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 of candle-light, left them to eat and rest. Her heart was light, and she had no sense of wrong-doing, although Stephen had warned her that Parliament had issued an order threatening all who sheltered royalists with fine and imprisonment.

"Parliament's orders are well enough," she said to herself as she stepped rapidly and lightly away from the scene of her disobedience, "well enough, but I think far more of the orders of the King of kings, and He tells me if my enemy hunger to feed him and give him drink, and of course shelter and clothing�the oil and the twopence�the oil for his visible wants, and the twopence for the wants not seen. I must not forget the twopence. Thank God, I can spare a few pounds for the poor lads!" And her face was so happy in the thought that she seemed to bring sunshine into the parlour, where she found Dr. Verity eating a beefsteak pudding and talking to Jane, who sat with a white and anxious face trying to smile and answer him.

"Come and rest a little, Martha," he said, "I am not to halve a day."

"But I am, Doctor. I want to see to my boys' wounds."

"Wounds! Pshaw! Scratches! They will be in armour to enter London when Cromwell does. And what think you? Here come a half-a-dozen riders awhile ago, seeking young de Wick. They said also that it was thought Charles Stuart might be with him, and they would have searched Swaffham�high and low�if I had not been here. I vouched my word for no Stuart or de Wick in Swaffham, and told them the whole house was upside down, men and maids in every room, and you and Jane packing for London. And the rascals didn't take my word, but went to the kitchen and asked Tom and Dick and Harry and all the wenches, and so satisfied themselves."

"The impudent varlets," said Mrs. Swaffham, "to set 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;' 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 Swaffham'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 him, for I like well to betray a man 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. "In 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."

"You are making a wicked and impossible suggestion, Martha."

"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 do?"

"You are here, and I would leave you to answer that question for me."

"Well, I wish he would come. There is danger while he is hiding here and there in the country. What good is 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."

"I cannot. If I had as many hands as fingers, I could not. You may keep watch and ward to-morrow and Monday, and it may be well to do so; for to tell the truth, I trust neither men nor maids in the kitchen. For a Parliament half-crown they would hide the devil. When was this great battle of Worcester fought?"

"Last 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;' and the 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 be one more third of September, the greatest victory of all. But where it will be, and over what enemy, only God knows."

"When did the Worcester battle begin?" asked Jane.

"About four in the afternoon. It was a fair 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 stubble before steel when Cromwell's iron men faced them with their stern answering shout of God With Us! It was a stiff business, but indeed God was with us. As for Cromwell, 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 horseback in front of his army. Then you look at the man, and thank God for him."

"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 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 Stuart behaved very gallantly and broke a regiment of militia; and the troops, being mostly volunteers, began to waver. But Cromwell saw this new attack at once, and he and Desborough and Cobbett came rattling over the bridges of boats. No dismay when Cromwell was there! His voice and presence meant victory! The malignants, with their Scotch allies, retreated before him into Worcester 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 full 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. It was a tenfold Drogheda, and ever since, by day and night, Lambert has been following the flying enemy, hunting and slaying them in every highway and hiding-place. Oh, indeed, the faces of our foes have been brought down to earth and their mouths filled with dust; and rightly so. No one will ever know the number slain, and we have ten thousand prisoners."

"Was such cruelty necessary?" asked Mrs. Swaffham.

"War is cruel, Martha; a battle would not be a battle 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."

"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 mind 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 doing, he had lost his senses. Yet David Leslie ought to have been shot�only, I could not shoot him; 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, he 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. And 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!'"

"Truly, I know not what work," said Mrs. Swaffham. "I see 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 liberty 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 been taken from me, and my household left for the battle-field, and I know not what sorrows and trials��"

"Come, come, Martha, you are tired and fretted. If we believe in a great and terrible God, how we are most acceptably 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 death?"

"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 great house near Drury Lane. It has very fine gardens indeed. I believe the Jeverys are under suspicion, 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 Swaffham is fair beyond all other women, and vow their hearts and lives to your keeping. Then, 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 earnestly�'Tell me, oh Thou whom my soul loveth'�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-house, and His banner over me was love.'"

And Jane smiled gratefully, and her eyes were dim with tears 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.