"Oh, Oliver, I have been sorry about the King," she said simply.
"The King!" He dropped her hands.
Elisabeth Cromwell lifted her large, clear grey eyes.
"What is to be the fate of the King?" she asked, trembling.
"That hangs in the balance," he replied briefly. "Bring not these questions on to my own hearth, Bess."
Thus rebuked, she moved away, trembling more.
Her husband looked at her kindly.
"It is not for me or thee," he said gently, "to discuss the fate of the King, but for God in His good time to disclose it. Maybe He will harden His heart as He hardened the heart of Pharaoh, and maybe He will turn it to peace."
"These are terrible times," replied Elisabeth Cromwell rapidly. "I cannot but think of how terrible—being a woman I cannot but tremble—fearful things are said now about the King—about—bringing him to trial."
"Why not?" asked her husband sternly. "Hath he not been the author of two civil wars, and would he not have brought about a third save that God struck his forces at Preston Battle?"