"And to-morrow there will be a battle," said the Queen. She rose suddenly, clasping the sleeping child to her heart; her ruined eyes regained, by the sparkle of tears, for one moment their lost brilliancy.
"Oh, Madame," cried Margaret Lucas passionately, "surely God will not permit His Majesty to be defeated!"
Rupert's dark countenance flashed into a smile as he glanced at her pale fervency.
"That cursed Cromwell is on his way to join Fairfax," he remarked. "Pray, Mrs. Lucas, that he doth not arrive in time."
"Is he so terrible a man?" asked the Queen scornfully: she could not endure to give even the compliment of fear to these rebels.
"A half-crazed fanatic or a very cunning hypocrite," returned the Prince; "but an able fighter, on my soul, Madame!"
"His army consisteth of poor ignorant men," cried Henriette Marie. "Surely, surely gentlemen can prevail against them."
"We will make the trial to-morrow, Madame," said Rupert, with a flush in his swarthy face for the memory of Naseby. "At least, we do not lack in loyalty—in endeavour—Your Majesty believeth that?"
"Yes, yes," said the Queen hurriedly. "Loyalty is common enough; but where shall we get good counsels? Are we wise to fight the rebels to-morrow? By all accounts they are double our number—and if this Cromwell cometh up with reinforcements——"
The King, who had hitherto stood silent, fingering the dark foliage on one of the lower sweeping branches of the cedar tree, now spoke with authority.