This reproach touched Cromwell to the very quick.—“Villain!” he exclaimed; “drag him hence, draw out a party, and—But hold, not now—to prison with him—let him be close watched, and gagged, if he attempts to speak to the sentinels—Nay, hold—I mean, put a bottle of brandy into his cell, and he will gag himself in his own way, I warrant you—When day comes, that men can see the example, he shall be gagged after my fashion.”
During the various breaks in his orders, the General was evidently getting command of his temper; and though he began in fury, he ended with the contemptuous sneer of one who overlooks the abusive language of an inferior. Something remained on his mind notwithstanding, for he continued standing, as if fixed to the same spot in the apartment, his eyes bent on the ground, and with closed hand pressed against his lips, like a man who is musing deeply. Pearson, who was about to speak to him, drew back, and made a sign to those in the room to be silent.
Master Holdenough did not mark, or, at least, did not obey it. Approaching the General, he said, in a respectful but firm tone, “Did I understand it to be your Excellency’s purpose that this poor man shall die next morning?”
“Hah!” exclaimed Cromwell, starting from his reverie, “what say’st thou?”
“I took leave to ask, if it was your will that this unhappy man should die to-morrow?”
“Whom saidst thou?” demanded Cromwell: “Markham Everard—shall he die, saidst thou?”
“God forbid!” replied Holdenough, stepping back—“I asked whether this blinded creature, Wildrake, was to be so suddenly cut off?”
“Ay, marry is he,” said Cromwell, “were the whole General Assembly of Divines at Westminster—the whole Sanhedrim of Presbytery—to offer bail for him.”
“If you will not think better of it, sir,” said Holdenough, “at least give not the poor man the means of destroying his senses—Let me go to him as a divine, to watch with him, in case he may yet be admitted into the vineyard at the latest hour—yet brought into the sheepfold, though he has neglected the call of the pastor till time is wellnigh closed upon him.”
“For God’s sake,” said Everard, who had hitherto kept silence, because he knew Cromwell’s temper on such occasions, “think better of what you do!”