Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Astbury found himself looking into the black muzzle of a
great horse pistol. Frontispiece] [page 102.]
A LOST LEADER
_A TALE OF RESTORATION DAYS._
BY
DOROTHEA TOWNSHEND.
"And I but think and speak and do
As my dead fathers move me to."
R. L. STEVENSON.
ILLUSTRATED BY HAROLD PIFFARD
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL LITERATURE
COMMITTEE.
LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.;
43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET.
NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG AND CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
Prologue--"Under which King?"
I. Vae Victis!
II. A Noble Enemy
III. The End of a Regicide
IV. The Pleasant Isle of Avès
V. Hidden Worth
VI. An Old Acquaintance
VII. Fate at Work
VIII. The Queen returns to Hunstanton
IX. A Precious Thing discovered late
X. Escape
XI. A Candid Minister
XII. The Ghost of Hunstanton Place
XIII. A Visionary
XIV. Fate's Sequel
Notes
A LOST LEADER.
PROLOGUE.
"UNDER WHICH KING?"
One December evening, in the year 1648, the little town of Farnham
showed unusual signs of life. Troopers were dismounting and leading
their horses away to their stables, or were lounging at the doors of
the houses where they were quartered, and a crowd of curious country
folk and villagers gathered to stare at them, and even to put questions
to the more affable-looking of the steel-coated soldiers.
The press was greatest round the entrance of a house of the better
class that stood back from the street with all the dignity that a
flagged forecourt and a couple of high brick gate-pillars could lend it.
There the sentries, who were stationed at the door, had some ado to
keep back the curious throng, and many a sturdy country farmer
shouldered his way into the house in the wake of his squire to catch a
glimpse of his king, the ill-fated King Charles, who was to rest that
night at Farnham on his last journey from the prison at Hurst Castle to
the scaffold at Whitehall.
"Be there no chance of seeing his blessed Majesty this even, Master
Clarke?" whispered an old woman, clutching the arm of a good-natured
neighbour.
"No, dame, no, he be a-going to his supper, folks say, and they won't
let none into his parlour but gentry, save these here lobsters as go
where they please, and hold themselves as good as gentlefolk, rot 'em!"
These uncomplimentary remarks were not said in a loud enough tone for
the sentry to overhear, but they gave great satisfaction to the old
woman who nodded agreement, and wiped her eyes with her apron.
"Do'e think now they'll let us get a sight on him in the morning?" she
quavered.
"Ay, ay, they can scarce stop it; he must needs pass out this way to
come to his horse. But I reckon they must feel mighty vexed to see how
the folk press to get a sight on him, God bless him."
"God bless him, and bring him safe out of their wicked hands," echoed
the old woman, as she turned to hobble home.
Within the house, the hall and passages were thronged with servants and
visitors, most of whom made no secret of their loyal sorrow at seeing
their king brought among them as a prisoner. The officers who formed
the escort appeared, however, to trouble very little about the
sentiments of the crowd, and from good nature or contempt went about
their own affairs, allowing the country squires and their wives to show
their loyal devotion in any fashion they pleased.
In the panelled dining-parlour the supper-table stood ready, prepared
for one guest only, but the room was as yet only lit by the fading
gleams of the winter sunset and the dancing flames of the fire. The
group of officers and visitors who were gathered round the hearth,
spoke to each other in low tones as they glanced with looks of
curiosity, and even covert amusement, at two gentlemen who stood in the
recessed window, in earnest talk.
But a boy who stood near the door watched all with no amusement in his
face. He stood erect, grave, watching with his serious untroubled
childish eyes the great things that were passing before him. A bright,
eager boy, whose brown hands one would think fitter to hold a top than
to caress the hilt of his new sword; a boy young enough to be proud of
his position, proud of his soldier's dress; to whom life was a very
interesting but a very simple matter. He looked with a child's awe at
the two men in the window, and they were worthy of his gaze. The
slender, slightly bowed figure in the velvet coat and blue ribbon, with
soft curls that flowed from beneath a plumed hat, the sad eyes, the
regular features only marred by a look of weakness and almost
peevishness about the mouth; the boy had seen them all often enough in
pictures, but to-day he stood for the first time in the presence of a
king, of King Charles the First of England.
Before the king stood an equally picturesque personage, although at
first sight you hardly noticed the features or colouring that went to
make up the gallant figure of the man. It was the erect, proud
bearing, the vivid life, the eagerness of a high-strung nature, now
controlled by the courtesy due to his companion. His buff coat and
crimson sash were like those worn by the boy, and the velvet cap he
carried in his hand left uncovered curls as brown; but instead of the
childish calm of the boy's hazel eyes, the older man's glance now
flashed with the fire of an eagle, now glowed with the exalted
enthusiasm of a poet. It was no wonder that the boy watched him with a
look of dog-like adoration that scarcely spared a glance for the king
himself. Young Dick's king stood before him in truth, and his name was
not Charles Stuart but Thomas Harrison.
"Show us thy new sword, Dick," whispered a young cornet, whose laughing
eyes danced in very unpuritanical fashion.
Dick moved forward, and the firelight gleamed on the slender blade as
he held it out.
"By my faith, a rare bit of steel! And how many king's men hast thou
skewered with it?"
"None, sir," answered Dick, seriously. "My uncle hath only let me use
the foils hitherto."
"Wise uncle!" laughed the other. "He would not expose even our
deadliest enemies to the blow of such a paladin. But, hark 'ee, Dick,
dost know the king hath sent for thine uncle to make him a duke?"
"No, no," broke in another young soldier, "'tis not a duke; he is to be
sworn of the king's privy council, and have the Garter."
Dick looked gravely at the laughing speaker.
"It would be good if the king would make Uncle Tom a councillor," he
said.
"Well said, boy," chimed in an older man. "If his Majesty took Major
Harrison's counsel, our cause were won; but the stars will go
withershins ere that come to pass."
The faces of the younger men changed, and one answered soberly enough--
"You say too true, captain."
Their voices were subdued lest they should reach the king's ears; but,
respectful as was the bearing of all the members of the group by the
fire, they clearly split into two halves: on the one hand, the officers
of the escort who were teasing the boy, and on the other, a group of
gentlemen, some wearing the conventional ribbons and laces of a
cavalier, others in the rough cloth of country wear, stained with the
mud of country lanes, while the master and mistress of the house moved
from one guest to another, evidently nervous at the doubtful honour
that such a royal visit had brought to their roof.
The lady turned to one of the king's gentlemen-in-waiting with a
whispered word--
"I scarce hoped, Mr. Herbert, to see his Majesty in such pleasant
spirits, for methinks his condition could scarce be more dolorous."
"Faith, madam," answered Mr. Herbert, "he bears each new change of
fortune with the dignity of a king and the resignation of a saint. But
I make no doubt that the sight of these your loyal neighbours whom you
have called in, and the very blessings of the poor folk in the street,
are somewhat of a balm to his heart, also I cannot deny that those
gentlemen"--looking over at the officers--"have used us very civilly
during the day's ride; methinks his Majesty finds himself more at ease
with them than with those crop-eared parliament men and their
preachers."
"I marvel, nevertheless, to see his Majesty expend his gracious word on
such a rebel as that Major Harrison. We have heard strange and
horrible things concerning him, and that he has even dared to plot
against his Majesty's most sacred life!"
"'Tis for that reason, madam, that the king made an occasion to speak
with him," answered Mr. Herbert. "He was pleased to say, to-day, when
Major Harrison was riding behind him, that his aspect was good, and not
as it had been represented to him, and I am assured that his Majesty
did desire some discussion with him to try what his sentiments may
truly be."
They stood in silence watching the strange interview between the royal
prisoner and his republican guardian; but no word of the conversation
reached their ears, till, in answer to some word of the king's,
Harrison said very vehemently--
"Sir, I abhor the very thought of it."
The king's sad face brightened with a look of surprise and pleasure,
and his manner towards the soldier took on an indescribable air of
gracious dignity. But Harrison's expression did not respond; he
continued to speak with grave, almost severe earnestness, and the
surprise with which the king heard him quickly froze into a look of
offence, and then abruptly his Majesty dismissed Major Harrison with a
slight inclination of his head, and came forward to the supper-table;
while Harrison, with a silent greeting to his friends by the fire,
called Dick, and left the room.
Their horses were in waiting outside, and for a few minutes they rode
in silence through the gathering twilight towards their lodging. Then
Major Harrison spoke.
"Dick! the king even now asked me whether we do intend to murder him."
"To murder him?" echoed the boy, in horror.
"Ay, to murder him. There are some here that have whispered him that
we wait to slay him privily, as we go to London! I told him, Dick, I
did abhor the very thought of it." An indignant sincerity rang in his
voice. "Nevertheless, I told him roundly that the law is equal for
great and small, and justice hath no respect of persons. The blood of
Englishmen hath been poured out like water at the word of this man, it
crieth out against him unto God; the Cause needeth not the aid of any
secret assassin; he shall render his account in public unto the high
court of Parliament."
"But what can the parliament do to the king?" asked the boy, lowering
his voice, as if the very stones in the road might cry out against the
thought he did not venture to speak plainly.
"Do justice," said Harrison, with a sudden fire in his voice that made
the boy's blood leap in response. "Justice in the name of the Lord to
whom kings and peoples are but dust in the balance. The Lord hath
owned us by marvellous victories, and the Cause is His, His day of
reckoning is at hand, and Charles Stuart shall answer unto Him and His
saints for the men he hath slain."
"But can they--dare they--touch the king? He is not as other men,"
hazarded the boy.
"Ay, will they," replied Harrison, sternly. "And if they hang back,
the army will see to it that the work is done. In the face of the sun,
in the eyes of all the world, shall the great deed be accomplished."
"The deed?" whispered the boy, with dilated eyes, "the judgment?"
"The execution," answered Harrison, solemnly, dropping his right hand
on his thigh, and turning in his saddle, till he faced directly towards
his nephew riding beside him. "And, Dick, if it be so ordained, and
the people of England do justice on their king, thou shalt stand by my
side, and share in my service. Thou hast set thine hand to the plough,
boy, and art a partaker in our great work. See thou look not back.
Forget it not, thou art pledged to secure the just liberties of the
people of God to live and to die for it."
"Ay, uncle," answered Dick, earnestly; and the hand of the older man
reached across in the darkness, and the boy laid his in it in the
solemn clasp and pledge of fidelity.
"Nevertheless," went on Major Harrison, his voice rising to deeper
earnestness, "it may so fall out that it may go hardly with the people
of God; we may yet have to suffer hard things; but bear in mind, Dick,
we must be willing to receive hard things from the hands of our Father,
as well as easy things. Shall not the Lord do with His own what
pleaseth Him? Therefore be cheerful in the Lord your God; hold fast
that you have, and be not afraid of suffering, for God will make hard
and bitter things sweet to all those that trust in Him. If I had ten
thousand lives I would freely and cheerfully lay them all down to
witness in this matter. Many a time have I begged of the Lord that if
He had any hard thing, any reproachful task, or contemptible service to
be done by His people, that I should be employed in it, and blessed be
God I have the assurance within me that He will put such a service upon
me. But whether I die or live, do thou go forward, and do valiantly as
the friend of Christ, and may the Almighty Father carry thee in His
very bosom."
He ended as they drew rein before the farmhouse where they were to pass
the night, and the boy, thrilled and awed, had no voice to answer, but
the grasp of his uncle's hand, and the memory of his uncle's words
remained with him, as a consecration of his new life as a soldier, and
moulded his doings and beliefs for all his life after.
CHAPTER I.
VÆ VICTIS!
"'Is there any hope?'
To which an answer peal'd from that high land,
But in a tongue no man could understand;
And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn
God made Himself an awful rose of Dawn."
TENNYSON, _Vision of Sin._
It was October in the year 1660. The bonfires that had welcomed the
Merry Monarch back to his father's throne were scarcely cold, the
clamour of the joy-bells had hardly ceased, and London was still in a
half-frightened, half-rapturous state of excitement. Everything was
new; the better part of the people had never even seen a king, and now
they had the daily sight of a live king, and a couple of royal dukes
besides, walking about the streets and feeding ducks in the parks like
ordinary human beings. The tension in men's minds suddenly gave way.
To the winds with high-flown theories of government and religion, with
ideals, and standards, and rules, and covenants! Let us all be
comfortable, and hang any one who might trouble our holiday!
This popular fear of agitators who might disturb the rule of the Merry
Monarch chimed in very well with the feelings of the old cavaliers, who
felt that heavy amends were due to them for the sorrows and hardships
of the last twenty years, and no doom could be too awful for the
murderers who had laid sacrilegious hands upon the sacred person of the
king. With relentless activity they hunted down the audacious rebels
who had dared to send Charles the First to the scaffold, and few were
so fortunate as to escape the fate decreed for a regicide.
Yet, full as London was of hopes and fears, of mad gaiety and black
despair, the October day was as sweet and still as any day of any
autumn; the late roses blossomed as of old in the gardens of the
Strand, and vine-leaves wreathed the citizens' with their wonted
coronals of ruby and gold.
An upper chamber above a mercer's shop in Watling Street was decked
with all the pride of city housewifery; the pewter dishes on the
sideboard shone like silver, and the marigolds and lavender in a great
beaupot on the window-sill filled all the pleasant chamber with autumn
fragrance. The room was that of wealthy people, and the rich silk gown
and cobweb lawn of a lady who lay huddled up in the corner of a great
settle were such as city matrons loved to wear. She was a plump and
comely woman enough, but her soft brown hair was disordered, and her
dainty cap awry; her eyes were closed, and her face white with the
exhaustion of one who has wept till she can weep no more.
Near her stood the boy who had buckled on his sword eleven years
before, to escort King Charles from Hurst Castle to his doom; a boy no
longer, but a tall and handsome young man, with the bronzed complexion
and alert eyes of one who has seen service.
He hesitated as he looked down at her; had she for an instant forgotten
her sorrows in the sleep of exhaustion? But even as he paused, she
opened her eyes and sprang to her feet, crying--
"What news, nephew--what news?"
"The worst," answered Dick, gloomily. "They are in haste to accomplish
their work; he dies in two days' time."
She stared at him with dilated, half-comprehending eyes; he took her
hands and drew her down gently to sit beside him on the settle. He
paused, trying to steady his voice.
"It did not trouble him," he began; "indeed, General Harrison did seem
to me to be as ready to break forth into thanksgiving as ever I have
seen him on a battlefield when his enemies were put to flight. He bade
me--my uncle bade me--say to you that to-day is as joyful to him as his
marriage-day. He was borne up in a very ecstasy as it seemed to me,
and when the judges railed on him for his share in the death of the
king, he told them his conscience was clear, for in what he did, there
was more from God than men are aware of. And when he said further that
what was done, was done in the name of the parliament, which was the
only lawful authority, for that the generality of the people in
England, Scotland, and Ireland had owned it by obeying it, and foreign
States by sending embassies to it, they were cut to the heart and
desired to silence him."
Dick's voice failed suddenly; what use to torture the unhappy wife of
the regicide with the story of his trial and condemnation? He could
not convey to her the intrepid composure, the exulting pride with which
Harrison justified the deed for which he was arraigned. Mrs. Harrison
asked no question, she did not even answer his words; for a moment she
doubted if she had heard him; but then she spoke: spoke with a calmness
that startled him till he realized that she dreamt even yet that her
husband might escape, and was too completely absorbed in devising
schemes for his deliverance to have time to realize her own misery or
measure her own powerlessness.
"Dick," she exclaimed, putting her hands to her temples, "I cannot
think; I am half mazed without him, who always thought for me.
Consider! I am very sure there are some we can move to help us! Count
over your friends; there must be some one with a heart of flesh left in
all England! General Monck loved you well once, though he wrote so
wickedly counselling Oliver Cromwell to be very severe unto my beloved
one when they threw him into prison at Portland. But what is a prison!
A prison was ever to him the gate of heaven. Move but General Monck to
have him cast once again into prison, and I will pray for him till my
dying day! They say that blasphemer, Harry Marten, will but be
imprisoned; why should my saint have a harder fate? Oh, let him but
live, and though I never set eyes on him more, I shall be a happy
woman!"
"Dearest madam," he said tenderly, "it is, indeed, of no avail to turn
to Monck or to any in power. How can they forget that he of all men
yet alive was most forward in the death of Charles Stuart; and he has
but now justified his share in it. Whomsoever they let escape, they
will never loose their hold on him. Not the new king himself could
help us."
"Not even the king," she repeated dully; "nay, I know not if the king
be merciful; but," she cried, suddenly starting up, "it hath come back
to me; there is one near to the king who may be our advocate--Prince
Rupert!"
Dick stared at her, aghast.
"Nay," she said, with a desperate smile, as she read the doubt in his
face, "I am not distraught. God forgive me, I could well-nigh wish I
were, so I might escape the knowledge of this misery. But, listen to
me," she went on, with sudden self-control. "When Prince Rupert
surrendered Bristol to the Parliament army, your uncle was among the
officers who waited with General Cromwell at the port of the fort for
his coming out, and waited on him to Sir Thomas Fairfax. And the
prince had much discourse with Major Harrison, for so your uncle was
then, and when he bade him farewell he gave him a gallant compliment,
saying he never received such satisfaction in such unhappiness, and
that if ever it were in his power he would repay it."
"But consider, madam, that was long years since. In good truth, 'tis
madness to build any hope on such a compliment."
"Hope!" she shrieked. "I have no hope--no faith! I have nothing left
in my bosom but despair! I am not worthy to be wife to a martyr. When
he was with me I could be courageous with his courage, and catch the
fashion of his heroic patience. Lacking him I lack all! Why did he
not die when he was so sore wounded at Appleby! Cruel woman that I was
to nurse him back to life for this!"
"But, dearest aunt, you saved him for many years of good service, and
many valiant deeds."
"Ah, and I would have saved him yet again if he would but have listened
to me. Do you mind, Dick," she went on, in a calmer tone, as her
memory wandered back to happier days, "do you mind how I foresaw these
evil times were at hand, and how I entreated him to flee? Do you mind,
last spring, when that letter came from New England from excellent
Master Perrient, how I prayed him to hearken to it?"
"Ay," answered Richard, humouring her quieter mood, "I mind well how he
wrote, not knowing but that Richard Cromwell was yet Lord Protector,
and how he said, if my dear uncle found no freedom for his religion in
England, that there was a safe refuge in the Rhode Island Plantation,
and the Lord's people there could serve him as their conscience did
direct."
"And do you mind how Mr. Goffe, being then with us, said, 'He is a good
man, and gives good counsel, and to my mind it were no hardship even to
flee into the woods and dwell among the savage Indians, so we might
have liberty to serve the Lord'!"
"Ay, and some folk say Mr. Goffe is indeed fled thither."
"Alas, alas! and did I not kneel and entreat my dearest husband to heed
the words of those good men if he would not mine? How happy we might
have been, even in a hut among the savages! And you, too, Dick," she
said tenderly, "you would have liked well to follow Master Perrient's
leading; and my dear husband was ready to have you go, seeing all he
and Sir Gyles Perrient had set their minds upon for your happiness."
"Oh, think not of my matters," interrupted Richard, almost sharply.
"How could I have left him? And how could we be urgent to him to fly
when we could not know what extraordinary impulse one of his virtue or
courage may have had on his mind? Forget not how he did answer to your
entreaties, saying that he would not stir a foot, nor turn his back as
though he repented he had been engaged in that great work, or were
ashamed of the service of so glorious and great a God! We could not
seek to change such a resolve."
"Ah, you are content to see him die! You men can satisfy your hearts
with fine words, and so be that you can call it heroic or courageous,
or so forth, you care naught, naught! That all comes of the evil men
you fell among when you went north in the army of false General Monck.
They it was who seduced you from the good old cause in which my dearest
husband reared you up so faithfully. When you went to Scotland first,
you and he were of one mind, one heart, but when you came hither again,
your head was stuffed full of worldly wisdom and time-serving devices,
talking of a Lord Protector instead of the glory of God, and hand and
glove with that cruel Cromwell who did throw my saint into prison!
Your heart was turned from those that reared you, and given to their
enemies! And now you can stand by unmoved and see him you once loved
haled to prison and death!"
"No, no, dearest madam," cried Dick, "you know in your own heart you do
me injustice. What did it matter that in these latter days I did not
share General Harrison's faith in the Fifth Monarchy being presently
established, nor sit with him to hear Mr. Rogers' sermons? never did he
find me backward in the day of battle, and that you, who tended my
wounds, can yourself testify. 'Tis more than ten years back I swore to
him to live and die for the just liberties of the people of England,
and by God's help I have kept the vow. And as in the field, so at
home, you know well, my love and reverence for him came little short of
idolatry."
"Yes, yes," she murmured abstractedly; "who could fail to love him? so
valiant and so goodly to look upon, so tender unto his friends, and to
me his poor wife, and ever was the inward joy in his bosom breaking
forth in praises to God--and yet"--turning wildly on Dick--"yet you
will let him die! You are as hard as the nether millstone! Dick, do
not shake your head, you must go! You must force Prince Rupert to hear
you. He can--he shall be saved! Cruel! you will not refuse me!"--and
she flung herself on her knees in agony.
"Madam, dearest aunt, this passion is indeed needless. I will do all
you desire; but cherish not these wild hopes, they will but plunge you
into deeper sorrow. Think rather that his passage to heaven, though
sharp will be short; arm yourself with that confidence that already
gives him a foretaste of the joys of the blessed."
Richard's eyes were raining tears as he raised the poor lady from the
floor, but no persuasion could change the idea that was fixed in her
mind.
"Go, go!" she cried, "there is no time to lose; inquire out the
prince's lodging and make him hear you. Even the unjust judge was
moved by importunity to pity a widow, and am not I in worse case than
she?"
With a heavy heart Dick left the unhappy lady, and set out on what he
knew was a hopeless errand. But this was not the first, nor the
second, time that his love for his adopted mother had driven him to do
what his feelings and common sense equally rebelled against, for the
kind and rather foolish lady was but an echo of her husband's stronger
nature; and Dick no longer followed General Harrison as his sole leader.
When the boy first left his father's house to become a member of his
uncle's family, Harrison at once became the object of his youthful
adoration. Handsome in person, gracious in manner, point device in
dress, the brilliant officer lived in an ideal world, in which he
believed all his companions were as simple-minded and heroic as
himself. The sturdy independence he inherited from an ancestry of
English tradesfolk and yeomen made him cherish the ideal of an English
republic with religious fervour, while, whether leading a prayer
meeting or heading a cavalry charge, his inspiring enthusiasm carried
away all who were near him. No wonder that the boy saw with his eyes
and heard with his ears and modelled himself as nearly as he could on
the ideals of his hero; and when Colonel Harrison signed the warrant
for the king's execution, the boy was as convinced a regicide as any of
the judges whose names were written beside that of Harrison on the
fatal parchment. Never a doubt nor a scruple entered Richard's mind,
even on that memorable thirtieth of January, when on the scaffold at
Whitehall the King--
"Bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed."
The boy had learned his uncle's lessons too thoroughly to dream of pity
or remorse.
It was a complete change when, with his head full of Utopian dreams,
"more of an antique Roman" than an Englishman, Dick was sent off to
serve under General Monck in the army that was to administer as well as
to garrison Scotland. The boy came out of Plutarch into modern life,
or out of Paradise into common day. His character was naturally more
logical and less high strung than that of his hero; and as the stern
realities of life claimed the attention of the young soldier, the
ecstatic glories of his uncle's visions faded from his mind, his work
absorbed and satisfied him, and he forgot to dream of ideal republics,
or even of the Celestial City, in the practical interest of helping to
conquer and to govern Scotland.
But when he returned home on flying visits, he found to his dismay that
his uncle's visionary hopes were growing instead of fading; and from
desiring a merely republican England, General Harrison had begun to
dream of a theocracy as complete as that of the early Jews, and to look
forward to the immediate inauguration of an earthly Reign of the
Saints, under the sceptre of Christ Himself, as the Fifth and last of
the great monarchies of the world. Although General Harrison's strong
personal fascination and unselfish ardour still commanded his nephew's
affection and even admiration, the young man's irreverent common sense
could not help viewing these new Fifth Monarchy opinions held by his
uncle and his uncle's friends as fitter for Bedlam than for the pulpit
or the parliament house. But when the Restoration brought the king's
men upper-most, and General Harrison was arrested and carried to the
tower, all differences were forgotten, and Dick saw in his uncle the
first martyr to die for his share in defending the liberties of
England. He accompanied Harrison's heart-broken wife up to her
childhood's home in London, and waited with her during the slow months
that crept on to the inevitable end.
He had hoped that the consolations of her minister, or the calm of
despair, might have brought to her some amount of resignation; but now
this wild trust in the power of Prince Rupert had suddenly inspired the
poor lady with a crazy vehemence. Even if he had not known her hopes
were vain, his proud spirit would have rebelled against crying for
mercy to a German soldier of fortune!
"It is worse than folly," he muttered; "it is disgrace to drag General
Harrison's name in the dust with fruitless entreaties. We did the
great deed, and we abide by the consequences. Even could we say we
repented, there yet were no mercy to hope for; but we do not repent!
Were it to do again, we should not flinch. The poor flesh may
shrink----"
He stopped short, with the irrepressible agony of realization. Death
was easy enough to face among the high enthusiasms of the battlefield;
but here, in the city, where the busy world was eating and drinking and
making money among these sordid surroundings, what radiance of a
celestial city could flash from opened gates to support a victim
through a torturing death? Could faith win a victory even here?