CHAPTER XIX.
WILSTROP WOOD.
At four of the next morning Lady Ingilby's vigil was ended. There came a Parliament man to the gate of Ripley, asking urgently for General Cromwell. When he was admitted to the dining-chamber, he saw Cromwell with his head still prone upon the table—saw, too, the grim figure of a lady, who turned to level a pistol at his head.
"Your errand?" asked Lady Ingilby.
"With General Cromwell. He is needed at Long Marston."
"They are welcome to him. He's not needed here."
Cromwell shook himself out of sleep. "Who asks for me?" he said, getting to his feet.
For the moment he thought he was tenting in the open, with only one eye and ear closed in sleep before the next day's march began. Then he glanced round the parlour, saw Lady Ingilby's grim, contemptuous face. When the Parliament man had whispered his message, word for word, Cromwell, with grim irony, thanked his hostess for the night's hospitality, and asked if he were free to take the road.
"None more free. On the road, sir, you will meet the democracy whom you befriend—will meet your equals."
Humour had some hiding place in Cromwell's soul, after all. As they passed out, the messenger and he, he laughed quietly. "She's of Rupert's breed. They'd make good Parliament men, the two of them, if we could persuade them to our side of the battle."