"Sincere! You and I speak a different language, sir, but I will try to understand you. You mean that the army will do something for me? That you might influence them on my behalf?"
Cromwell rose and moved to the oriel window; an expression of agitation swept into his face.
"Sir," he said, with deep earnestness, "Your Majesty is the only remedy for these present divisions—until a good peace be established, and you be again at Whitehall, the nation is but like a parcel of twigs which, unbound, cannot stand. Sir, I know there are extreme men who think otherwise, but they are of the sort who are always there, and must be never heeded."
A wave of exultation made the blood bound in the King's veins: he was then indispensable to the nation. His swift, secret thought was that he might regain his throne on his own terms, without yielding a jot of his prerogatives, since his arch-enemy admitted what he had admitted.
"The army desires to see Your Majesty in your rightful place," continued Cromwell, "and would and could bring you to London despite the Parliament."
"Well?" asked Charles.
"We must have," said Cromwell, with a certain heaviness, "the things for which we have fought, for which we have poured out our blood."
A bitterly sarcastic smile curved the King's thin lips. Cromwell was coming to his price, he thought; he wondered what he would ask, and what might be promised with safety.
"We must have toleration for God's people," said the Puritan.
The King interrupted.