“And tell General Cromwell,” said Gabriel, “that if I recover, I more than ever desire to serve the wounded.”
With many last directions, the physician at length tore himself away, well knowing that it was doubtful whether he should ever again look on his son.
The Vicar went to see him mount, glad that he should leave Bosbury before the village was astir, and as they quitted the tower Gabriel turned to Hilary with a look that made her heart bound.
“Now do you repay a hundredfold all the suffering of these years,” he said. “Living or dying, I am content.”
She bent down and kissed him tenderly. And long before the Vicar rejoined them he had sunk into a dreamless sleep.
Cheering himself with the old family motto, Dr. Harford rode with all speed to Windsor, where he was able to deliver the despatches to Sir Thomas Fairfax and to give him an account of Prince Rupert’s doings in Herefordshire. He found, however, that Cromwell had quitted Windsor, and, after taking Blechington House, was sweeping round Oxford, taking possession of all the draught horses in the neighbourhood, and thus disorganising the King’s plan of campaign by preventing Prince Maurice from removing the heavy guns from Oxford. It was not until the night of the 28th April that the physician was able to overtake him near Farringdon, as he was on his way to rejoin Fairfax, after defeating Sir Henry Vaughan at Bampton.
The troops had halted for a couple of hours beside the Lambourn, and the physician on asking to be taken to Cromwell, was conducted by a burly corporal to a pollard willow beside the stream. Here, with his armour removed, and a little gilt-edged volume in his hand, rested the tired leader, his back against the tree trunk, the expression of his face more that of a prophet than a soldier. Clearly what Massey would have termed the “Enoch” side of his character was now uppermost, and the “David” side no longer visible.
As the corporal mentioned the name of the physician, he promptly slipped the little volume into his pocket, and with a brief and not particularly ceremonious greeting, received from Dr. Harford’s hands the blood-stained despatches.
“Pray be seated, sir,” he said, resuming his place under the tree, with the fatigued air of one who has for many days known scant rest. Then without comment he broke the seal and hastily read Massey’s communication.
“You have done me a greater service than you know by bearing this,” he said, glancing up from the closely-written sheet.