“Is it for thee to teach me?” replied Cromwell; “think thou of thine own matters, and believe me it will require all thy wit.—And for you, reverend sir, I will have no father-confessors attend my prisoners—no tales out of school. If the fellow thirsts after ghostly comfort, as he is much more like to thirst after a quartern of brandy, there is Corporal Humgudgeon, who commands the corps de garde, will preach and pray as well as the best of ye.—But this delay is intolerable—Comes not this fellow yet?”
“No, sir,” replied Pearson. “Had we not better go down to the Lodge? The news of our coming hither may else get there before us.”
“True,” said Cromwell, speaking aside to his officer, “but you know Tomkins warned us against doing so, alleging there were so many postern-doors, and sallyports, and concealed entrances in the old house, that it was like a rabbit-warren, and that an escape might be easily made under our very noses, unless he were with us, to point out all the ports which should be guarded. He hinted, too, that he might be delayed a few minutes after his time of appointment—but we have now waited half-an-hour.”
“Does your Excellency think Tomkins is certainly to be depended upon?” said Pearson.
“As far as his interest goes, unquestionably,” replied the General. “He has ever been the pump by which I have sucked the marrow out of many a plot, in special those of the conceited fool Rochecliffe, who is goose enough to believe that such a fellow as Tomkins would value any thing beyond the offer of the best bidder. And yet it groweth late—I fear we must to the Lodge without him—Yet, all things well considered, I will tarry here till midnight.—Ah! Everard, thou mightest put this gear to rights if thou wilt! Shall some foolish principle of fantastic punctilio have more weight with thee, man, than have the pacification and welfare of England; the keeping of faith to thy friend and benefactor, and who will be yet more so, and the fortune and security of thy relations? Are these, I say, lighter in the balance than the cause of a worthless boy, who, with his father and his father’s house, have troubled Israel for fifty years?”
“I do not understand your Excellency, nor at what service you point, which I can honestly render,” replied Everard. “That which is dishonest I should be loth that you proposed.”
“Then this at least might suit your honesty, or scrupulous humour, call it which thou wilt,” said Cromwell. “Thou knowest, surely, all the passages about Jezebel’s palace down yonder?—Let me know how they may be guarded against the escape of any from within.”
“I cannot pretend to aid you in this matter,” said Everard; “I know not all the entrances and posterns about Woodstock, and if I did, I am not free in conscience to communicate with you on this occasion.”
“We shall do without you, sir,” replied Cromwell, haughtily; “and if aught is found which may criminate you, remember you have lost right to my protection.”
“I shall be sorry,” said Everard, “to have lost your friendship, General; but I trust my quality as an Englishman may dispense with the necessity of protection from any man. I know no law which obliges me to be spy or informer, even if I were in the way of having opportunity to do service in either honourable capacity.”