Such a compromise did not please the Lieutenant-General, who was waiting for the indication for swift, prompt action. He wanted an impetus to an irrecoverable decision, not an expedient for avoiding it; nothing in the nature of a shift was ever tolerable to him.
"Until Lord Denbigh return," he broke out, "we can decide on nothing. I know not what the Providence of God may put upon us; but this I know, the King hath one more chance, and if he take it not—there will be no excuse but folly and cowardice to delay our dealings with him."
"And when we have dealt with him—what then?" asked Ireton, and he looked gloomy and apprehensive, like a man oppressed with many heavy thoughts.
Oliver Cromwell rose from the table at which both had been sitting; through his air of weariness the indomitable fire of his inner conviction, his inner faith glowed. Ireton, looking at him, thought that he always, even in his moments of deepest dejection or melancholy, gave that impression of one carrying a flame.
"I have much rested on these words of late," he said: "'They that shine with thee shall perish. They that war against thee shall be as nothing; and as a thing of nought. For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.'"
As he spoke he moved to the window and stood with his back against the dark curtains which hung before it. His clothes were dark too, his white band and his tanned but pale face, his brown hair and clasped hands were all picked out and shone upon by the candlelight; for the rest, his figure was in shadow. Ireton, gazing at him, was impressed by something about him which, hearty and homely as were his manners, seemed to always put him beyond his brother officers: the quality of greatness, Henry Ireton thought it was; but he wondered wherein lay greatness.
Cromwell did not speak again, and Ireton took his leave.
"I am going to Sir Thomas Fairfax," he said, "and if any messenger comes from Windsor to-night, I will send one over to you with the news."
After he had been alone a little while Cromwell went upstairs, still with a thoughtful face, with eyes downcast and a frowning brow.
The room he entered was rendered cheerful by the bright firelight and the glow of the candles in the wall sconces of polished brass, and it formed the setting to a fair and tender picture.