"But he—he is the Governor of England," she answered timidly.
"Nay, no longer," returned Oliver Cromwell; "that high office hath he defiled. God hath overturned him—'He shall put down the mighty from their seats and exalt the humble and meek.' The King hath sinned against God, against his people, against the laws of England."
"Alack—it is beyond my understanding," sighed his wife; "but it seems to me he is the King!"
"Be not deceived by high-sounding words," replied the Lieutenant-General. "Charles Stewart is a man and must pay as men pay—for their sins and their follies."
As he spoke the servant entered with a note, which had just been brought, he said, by General Fairfax's man.
Cromwell gazed at the seal—Henry Ireton's arms pressed into wax scarcely cold—a full minute before he opened it, and the blood rushed to his face.
When he opened the letter his fingers shook.
It contained a few words from his son-in-law, the sand yet sticking to the ink.
The King had utterly refused to see Lord Denbigh, and utterly refused to have any dealings either with Parliament or army.
He defied them. Now, driven to the last extremity, he had flung aside all subterfuge and all evasion; he stood by his conscience, and no matter what the consequences, he refused terms which he regarded as a betrayal of God's laws in Church or State.