Thomas Harrison was unbooted, for he had come by water; his attire was the very extreme of severe simplicity, and his dark countenance was pale and stern.
He took off his high-crowned hat as he came into the Protector's presence and flung it, with his cloak, across a chair; he made no reverence and eyed His Highness with calm hostility.
This cold look from one who had been his ancient friend, who had shared with him so many hopes, enthusiasms, toils, and victories, smote the Protector to the heart. He had been prepared for this enmity; but now that he was actually in the presence of his former companion-at-arms, the sight of the figure he had so often seen foremost in the field of battle, fighting for the Lord, and the face which he had seen so often fired by an exaltation kindred to his own, overwhelmed him with a tender sadness and the tears sprang into his eyes.
"Thomas Harrison," he cried, "I did not think that we should meet thus!"
"Nor I," replied the other sombrely. "Sir, have your say with me and let me go—for I have nobler work to do than a vain waiting on men in palaces."
His Highness slightly flushed.
"I see what rankles in thy mind," he replied. "Yet I did think that, whatever the general might say, a man such as thou wouldst have believed the best, not the worst. Nay," he added more warmly, "why shouldst thou think so meanly of me? Looking into thy own heart, thou knowest thy motives and principles pure—hast thou not the generosity to credit that I might look into my heart and say the same?"
Major-General Harrison gazed at him unmoved.
"Wherefore this defence?" he asked. "I have accused you of nothing."
"Not in words," replied the Lord-Protector, "but by thy whole conduct and manner."