The time was spent in the performance of a duty, entrusted to him by his friends, Pym and Hampden; with whom, and a few others, he had held secret conference beyond the hours allotted to the more public business of the meeting. It was a duty no less important, than the drawing up of a charge of attainder against Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford.
It was one which Holtspur could perform with all the ardour of a zealous enthusiasm—springing from his natural indignation against this gigantic wrongdoer.
A true hater of kings, he felt triumphant. His republican sentiments, uttered in the assembly just separated—so loudly applauded by those who listened to them—could not fail to find echo in every honest English heart; and the patriot felt that the time was nigh, when such sentiments need be no longer spoken in the conclave of a secret conference, but boldly and openly in the tribune of a nation.
The king had been once more compelled to call his “Commons” together. In a few days the Parliament was to meet—that splendid Parliament afterwards known as the “Long”—and, from the election returns already received, Holtspur knew the character of most of the statesmen who were to compose it. With such men as Pym and Hampden at its head—with Hollis, Hazlerig, Vane, Martin, Cromwell, and a host of other popular patriots, taking part in its councils—it would be strange if something should not be effected, to stem the tide of tyranny, so long flowing over the land—submerging under its infamous waves every landmark of English liberty.
Swayed by thoughts like these, did Henry Holtspur enter upon the task assigned him.
For over an hour had he been occupied in its performance—with scarce a moment’s intermission; and then only, when the soft dream of love, stealing over his spirit, chased from it the sterner thoughts of statecraft and war, which had been the habitual themes of his later life.
He had well-nigh finished his work, when interrupted by the entrance of the Indian.
“Eh, Oriole?” demanded he, in some surprise, as, glancing up from his papers, he remarked the agitated mien of his attendant. “Anything the matter? You look as if something was amiss. I hope that you and Garth have not been quarrelling over your perquisites?”
The Indian made sign of a negative to this imputation—which he knew was only spoken in jest.
“Nothing about him, then? What is it, my brave?”