Cromwell stepped with authority to the front; the first flutter of the candlelight over the scene revealed to him that the man was desperately wounded and that the woman was wild with fear and anger, yet, by some fierce effort, keeping her composure. The look on her face reminded him of that he had seen on Lady Strafford's face when her coach was stopped by the mob in Whitehall.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Sir," replied one of the troopers, "this is none other than one of those calves of Bethel who did so levant and flourish to-day."
The lady now let go the reins and stepped forward, interrupting the soldier, and addressing herself directly to Cromwell, whom she perceived by his scarf and equipments to be an officer of some rank.
"Sir," she said, with a dignity greater than her sorrow, and a pride stronger than her grief, "this is my husband's brother's house."
"Thy brother hath doubtless fled with the King," returned Cromwell, "and his house is now the property of the Parliament."
"This is my husband," said the lady; "he was in the battalia to-day—and I went down to the field and found him, and one helped me set him on a horse and so we came here—to my brother's house."
Cromwell listened tenderly.
"Alas!" he said, "thou art over young for such scenes."
He gave the candlestick to one of the soldiers, and stepped into the garden.