But if the spiritual eyes of these men had been suddenly opened, as were those of Elisha, they might have seen that 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 him, 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 bless thee, Oliver, and keep thee.
The Lord make His face to shine upon thee,
And be gracious unto thee.
The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace."
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 been "ministered unto." And if the envious doubters at Sir Thomas Jevery's had seen him at that moment, they must have instantly 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 knowledge that even
"Envy's harsh berries, and the chocking pool,
Of the world's scorn and hatred, are the right mother milk
To the true, tough hearts that pioneer their kind."
BOOK III
Oliver The Conqueror
CHAPTER XI
OLIVER PROTECTOR