"Even so?" said Cromwell, and gazed upon him absently.
"Shall I not," asked Colonel Parsons, "have the young malignant shot before the sun is up?"
The Lieutenant-General roused himself from deep thought with an effort.
"Nay, let him go," he said; "we want no more corpses nor prisoners."
Parsons, with the freedom the Independent officers took, remonstrated.
"He is a Socinian, a Prelatist, an Erastian—even as a soldier of Pekah or Jeroboam!"
"Let him go," repeated Cromwell, with his usual mildness, "it is now a matter of days. Spare all the blood you can, Colonel Parsons."
The dark red flushed the royalist's cheek.
"I want no mercy nor quarter from rebels," he said haughtily.
"Silly boy," smiled Cromwell, "take thy vaunts elsewhere," and Sir Charles, whether he would or no, was hustled out of the tent.