"Why not?" returned Pym steadily. "The death of Thomas Wentworth lieth not at my door. I opposed his impeachment. I wished his punishment, not his blood."
"Thou and thou only brought him to the block!" cried Charles.
"Nor I, nor any could have done it if his master had chosen to save him," said John Pym.
"This is too much!" cried Charles, his lips quivering, his eyes reddened and flashing. "By my soul, it is too much! Against my will was this meeting!"
"I also thought it was too late," replied Pym; "but I stand here, ready to serve Your Majesty if Your Majesty will deal sincerely with your people."
Charles' natural duplicity came to his aid and supplied the place of patience; he mastered the wrath and horror caused in him ever by the mention of Strafford, and answered with sudden and unnatural quietness—
"Mr. Pym," he said, looking not at him but at his own square-toed shoes and the white silk roses on them, "I do desire concord and plain dealing, nor do I wish to provoke further strife."
"Your Majesty," replied Pym, "then, should stop this great gathering of ruffling Cavaliers who rally to the palace, and this armed guard who insult the passing crowd."
"What of the Roundhead rabble?" said Charles fiercely, "who tear my bishops' robes from their backs when they endeavour to make their way across Palace Yard—who insult my Queen because she is Romanist?"