He had his sword in his hand—a French rapier—water-waved in gold—and he wore a buff coat embroidered in silk and silver, and Spanish breeches with a fringe, and soft boots, but no manner of armour. He was bareheaded; his hair, carefully trained into curls after the manner of the Court, framed a face white as a wall; one lock fell, in the fashion so abhorred by the Puritans, longer than the rest over his breast, and was tied with a small gold ribbon.
"Truly," said Major Harrison exultingly, "the Lord of Israel hath given strength and power to His people! 'As for the transgressors, they shall perish together; and the end of the ungodly is, they shall be rooted out at the last!'"
Then Lieutenant Cromwell demanded my lord's sword.
"The King did give me this blade, and to him alone will I return it," replied the Marquess.
"Proud man!" cried Cromwell. "Dost thou still vaunt thyself when God hath delivered thee, by His great mercy, into our hands?"
He turned to the soldiers.
"Take this malignant prisoner and cast down these idolatrous shows and images—for what told I ye this morning? 'They that make them are like unto them, so is every one who trusteth in them'—the which saying is now accomplished."
When the Marquess saw the soldiers advancing upon him, he broke his light, small sword across his knee and cast it down beside the dead priest.
"Though my faith and my sword lie low," he said, "yet in a better day they will arise."
"Cherish not vain hopes, Papist," cried Harrison, "but recant thine errors that have led thee to this disaster."