"We have a great loss in Mr. Pym," remarked Colonel Cromwell.
"Sir Harry Vane will take his place."
"Umph! Sir Harry Vane!" muttered the other. "A dreaming man."
"A moderate man," amended my lord.
"I begin," cried Oliver Cromwell, "to detest that word!"
Bridget had lit four plain candles which stood in copper sticks on the mantelpiece, and, kneeling down, put her taper to the twigs under the great logs on the hearth. The small room, which contained neither picture nor ornament, but which was solidly and comfortably furnished, was now fully revealed, as was the figure of the Earl in his buff gallooned with gold, armed with sword and pistol, with his soldier's cloak falling from his shoulders and his beaver in his hand.
Bridget blew out the taper, drew the red curtains over the window, then went to a great sideboard which ran half the length of the room, and was taking out a bell-mouthed glass and a silver tray when my lord interrupted her.
"Not for me, my child," he said, with a smile. "I am lodging in Ely for the night, and am merely here to have a few words with Colonel Cromwell."
At this Bridget curtsied again and withdrew. As the door closed behind her Oliver Cromwell turned suddenly on his guest with such an expressive movement that my lord startled. But Cromwell said nothing.
"Sir," remarked my lord, "since last we met much hath changed. Things show well for the King."