"Excesses?" answered my lord, flushing a little. "I am still an Anglican, by the grace of God, and when I see altars dragged from their places, rood screens smashed, all pictures, images, and carvings destroyed in our churches until God's houses look as if they were the poor remnants of a besieged city,—when I know that this is by order of Parliament, then methinks it seemeth as if violence had taken the place of zeal."
"Neither do these things please me," answered Mr. Hyde, "but the dams are broken and there are swift tides running in all directions. And who is to stem them?"
"Or who," asked my lord sadly, "to guide them into proper channels? Not your 'root and branch men,' who would sweep every bishop and every prayer book out of the land. Not by such intolerance or bigotry, Mr. Hyde, are we to gain peace and liberty."
"Moderate counsels," returned the other, "own but a weak voice in these bitter savoured times. It is such as this Oliver Cromwell, with their loud rude speech, who are hearkened to."
"I only half like this noisy Mr. Cromwell," said my lord. "He hath sprung very suddenly into notice, and seemeth to have, on an instant, gained much authority with Mr. Pym and Mr. Hampden."
At this moment the object of their speech turned his head and looked at them as if he had heard his own name. Lord Falkland smiled at him and made a little gesture of beckoning.
Mr. Cromwell instantly left his friends and came over to the window, where he stood in the gold flush of sunshine and looked keenly at the two young aristocrats.
"More plots, eh," he asked pleasantly.
"More talk only, sir," smiled the Viscount.
Mr. Cromwell laid his heavy muscular hand on my lord's arm.