“Any news, Pearson?” said the General to his aide-de-camp, who came instantly to report to his superior.
He received for answer, “None.”
Cromwell led his officer forward just opposite to the door of the Lodge, and there paused betwixt the circles of guards, so that their conversation could not be overheard.
He then pursued his enquiry, demanding, “Were there any lights—any appearances of stirring—any attempt at sally—any preparation for defence?”
“All as silent as the valley of the shadow of death—Even as the vale of Jehosaphat.”
“Pshaw! tell me not of Jehosaphat, Pearson,” said Cromwell. “These words are good for others, but not for thee. Speak plainly, and like a blunt soldier as thou art. Each man hath his own mode of speech; and bluntness, not sanctity, is thine.”
“Well then, nothing has been stirring,” said Pearson.—“Yet peradventure”—
“Peradventure not me,” said Cromwell, “or thou wilt tempt me to knock thy teeth out. I ever distrust a man when he speaks after another fashion from his own.”
“Zounds! let me speak to an end,” answered Pearson, “and I will speak in what language your Excellency will.”
“Thy zounds, friend,” said Oliver, “showeth little of grace, but much of sincerity. Go to then—thou knowest I love and trust thee. Hast thou kept close watch? It behoves us to know that, before giving the alarm.”