ON THE TIDE TOP
"Cromwell! Why that's the name of Victory."
"The shouting cries
Of the pleased people, rend the vaulted skies."
"Let there be music. Let the Master touch
The solemn organ, and soft breathing flute."
"Rupert! Oh there's music in the name,
Repeated as a charm to ease my grief.
I, that loved name did as some god invoke;
And printed kisses on it as 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.
And in the midst of this joyful turbulence she had caught sight of her father and brothers and lover; her father's face sternly 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 Independent minister who had preached often in the little chapel attached to Oliver Cromwell's house in Huntingdon; 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 Neville 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 seemed 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?" she asked irritably one morning; "you look as if you had lost everything in the world instead of being, 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; he might have called, I think."
"Does he know where we are?"