"Tell me—as quick as may be—tell me this grievous thing."
"The full news has not come to hand yet—only a couple of desperate messengers and this afternoon three more expresses confirming it."
He paused, for his voice was fast breaking under the strain of what he had to utter.
"The lamp is smoking," he said, to steady himself.
Mr. Cromwell slowly turned down the wick, then Mr. Pym resumed in a controlled and normal voice.
"There has been a most bloody rising in Ireland. The popish Irish have risen against the English in Ulster—one of them, O'Neil, hath declared he holdeth a commission from the King. Mr. Cromwell, the fearful stories are beyond belief—thousands have been massacred, and the whole Island is in a welter of barbarous confusion."
A groan of passionate horror and fury broke from Oliver Cromwell; all the hatred of the Englishman for the Irish, of the Puritan for the Papist, of the champion of freedom for the King and tyrant stirred in his heart.
"This is the Queen's doing!" he exclaimed as half London had exclaimed in the same rage and anguish.
"That is the popular cry," said Mr. Pym; "but we must be above the popular cries and reason out this thing ourselves. Maybe this Phelim O'Neil lieth, maybe the Queen hath no hand in this slaying of the Protestants."