He felt no greatness in himself, he was even doubtful of his own capacity. Though he was already much hearkened to, principally, he thought, by reason of his connexion with Hampden and the vast number of relations he had in the House, still, on the few occasions when he had spoken in public, as when he had taken up the cause of the Fen people in the late question of the drainage scheme, his ardour and impetuosity had gone far to spoil his cause, and he was well behind, in political weight and party influence, such men as Pym and Hampden and even Falkland and Hyde, Holles and Haselrig, Culpeper and Strode.
Yet with trumpet rhythm there beat on his brain—"Something to do and I to do it! Work to be done and I to accomplish it! Something to be gained and I to gain it! The Lord's battles to be fought and I to fight them!"
He moved from the window; the room was cold and the candles burnt with a tranquil frosty light. Mr. Cromwell went to the great book lying between the two plain brass sticks, the only book he ever read, the book in which, to him, was comprised the whole of life and all we know of the earth, of hell, of heaven.
He opened the Bible at random; the thick leaves fell back at the psalms, and his passionate grey eyes fell on a sentence that he read aloud with a deep note of triumph in his heavy masculine voice—
"O help us against the enemy; for vain is the help of man. Through God we shall do great acts: and it is he that shall tread down our enemies."
"Through ... God" repeated Mr. Cromwell, "we ... shall do ... great acts."
He put his hand to the plain little sword at his side, that had hitherto been of no use save to give evidence of his gentility on market days at Huntingdon and Ely.... "Great acts," he repeated again.
As he stood so, his right hand crossed to his sword, his left resting on the open Bible, his chin sunk on to his breast and his whole face softened and veiled with thought, he was not conscious of the humble room, the patter of the rain, the two coarse candles poorly dispelling the darkness. He was only aware of a sudden access of power, a revival of the burning sensation that had come to him in the old barn perfumed with hay at St. Ives.
His doubts and confusions, misgivings and fears, vanished, this inner conviction and power seemed sufficient to combat all the foes concealed in the quiet city—all, even to the King himself....