He walked rapidly through the silent, darkened rooms, and opening the door of his own chamber very softly, saw his wife sitting by the fire. There was no light but its fitful blaze, and the room was large and sombre with dark furniture and draperies, the only white spots in it being the linen of the huge bedstead, and the lace coverings of Mrs. Cromwell's head and bosom. Yet apart from these objects there was light, living light, in the woman's calm, uplifted face, and even in her hands which were lying stilly upon her black velvet gown. She stood up as her husband advanced, and waited until he drew her to his heart and kissed her face. "You are late, Oliver," she said with quiet assertion, "and I have been a little anxious—your life is so precious, and there are many that seek it."
"Why do you fret yourself so unwisely? Of a surety you know that I have a work to do, and I shall not see death until it be finished. Yet I am greatly troubled for England; I tell you plainly, Elizabeth, that we are, for all good purposes, without a government."
"There is the Parliament, Oliver."
"I look for no good from it—a noisy, self-opinionated old Parliament. We want a new one. Vane, and others, think wisdom was born with them; yea, and that it will die with them. They fritter time away about trifles, when an Act of Amnesty ought to be passed without delay. It is the first necessity; they must pass it; they must turn to—or turn out."
"Therein you are right, as you always are."
"Truly, the whole country is like the prophets' roll, written within and without with mourning and wrong and woe. As for the Royalists, they are harried to death; they hold everything on sufferance. The time for this strictness has gone by. England now wants peace, justice for all, Amnesty, and above all, a new Parliament. If these things don't come to pass, worse things will—I say this to you; it is the plain truth; I profess it is!"
"Then tell them what to do, Oliver. And if they will not obey, make them. Are they not as much at your disposal as the shoes on your feet?"
"The time is not fully ripe; a little longer they must trample upon law and justice and mercy, and do such bare-faced things as will make men wonder—a little longer we must suffer them, then——"
"Then, Oliver?"
"I will thunder at the door for inquisition, and it will be with no runaway knock. I am sorry, and I could be sorry to death, for the needs-be, but it will come, it will come. God knows I wish it otherwise. I do, indeed!"