Another thundering knock brought Deborah to open the door; and what was the dismay of the mother and children as there entered six tall men, their buff coats, steeple-crowned hats, plain collars, and thick calf-skin boots, marking them as Parliamentary soldiers. With a shriek of terror the little ones clung round their mother, while he who, by his orange scarf, was evidently the commanding officer, standing in the middle of the hall, with his hat on, announced, in a Puritanical tone, “We are here by order of his Excellency, General Cromwell, to search for and apprehend the body of the desperate malignant Edmund Woodley, last seen in arms against the Most High Court of Parliament. Likewise to arrest the person of Dame Mary Woodley, widow, suspected of harbouring and concealing traitors:” and he advanced to lay his hand upon her. Walter, in an impulse of passion, rushed forward, and aimed a blow at him with the butt-end of the fishing-rod; but it was the work of a moment to seize the boy and tie his hands, while his mother earnestly implored the soldier to have pity on him, and excuse his thoughtless haste to protect her.
The officer sat down in the arm-chair, and without replying to Lady Woodley, ordered a soldier to bring the boy before him, and spoke thus:—“Hear me, son of an ungodly seed. So merciful are the lessons of the light that thou contemnest, that I will even yet overlook and forgive the violence wherewith thou didst threaten my life, so thou wilt turn again, and confess where thou hast hidden the bloody-minded traitor.”
“This house harbours no traitor,” answered Walter, undauntedly.
“If thou art too hardened to confess,” continued the officer, frowning, and speaking slowly and sternly, as he kept his eyes steadily fixed on Walter, “if thou wilt not reveal his hiding-place, I lead thee hence to abide the penalty of attempted murder.”
“I am quite ready,” answered Walter, returning frown for frown, and not betraying how his heart throbbed.
The officer signed to the soldier, who roughly dragged him aside by the cord that tied his hands, cutting them severely, though he disdained to show any sign of pain.
“Young maiden,” continued the rebel, turning to Rose, “what sayest thou? Wilt thou see thy brother led away to death, when the breath of thy mouth might save him?”
Poor Rose turned as pale as death, but her answer was steady: “I will say nothing.”
“Little ones, then,” said the officer, fiercely, “speak, or you shall taste the rod. Do you know where your brother is?”
“No—no,” sobbed Lucy; and her mother added, “They know nothing, sir.”