"The Duke of Buckingham——"
Mr. Pym broke the sentence.
"Ay—the Duke of Buckingham—would the King have saved him? Felton's knife spared the answer."
"This makes His Majesty without honour," said Mr. Cromwell. "I cannot imagine that he ever could or would abandon one whom he hath twined so closely in his affections."
"The Earl must go and all he standeth for," returned John Pym.
"Ay, all he standeth for—the Star Chamber, the ship money, the Court of High Commission, the power of the bishops—but the man thou canst not touch, and thou mayst well leave his life when thou hast destroyed his life work."
"Surely thou art always too compassionate," replied Mr. Pym.
"I have no natural hatred against the Earl of Strafford," smiled Mr. Cromwell, "and it seemeth to me a hopeless task you do attempt, for the King can never surrender him."
"I may fail," said John Pym. "I know that I play a desperate game, but I feel the Lord is with me and that for His ends and His people I work. Only a little while we have, the bravest and best of us, and how much there is to do! How much!"
Mr. Cromwell leant further out of the window; there was a pot of geranium slips on the sill, and their perfume was strengthening with the fall of evening, and filling the quiet air with richness.