"And I am here, and cannot face them," cried the wounded man, in a tone of anguish.
"Be patient," said Charles.
"I cannot be patient, sire, when I think what might be done. Were I able to move, I would attack Cromwell in his head-quarters this very night, and either slay him, or sell my life in the attempt. But I cannot do it—I cannot do it," he added, sinking back with a groan.
"A night attack might be made upon Lilburn—or upon an outpost," observed Charles.
"That is not enough, sire," rejoined Massey, raising himself, and speaking with such earnestness that for the moment he forgot his wounds; "Cromwell himself must be reached. I would give twenty lives, if I had them, to win you the crown."
"I feel your devotion," said Charles. "The attempt might be successful, but it is so desperate that none but yourself would make it."
"Yes, sire, there are others—many others—who would not shrink from the task, but the bravest, the most determined, the most trustworthy of your generals, is Middleton. Let him take my place."
"Will he take it, think you?"
"Joyfully, sire. I will answer for him as I would for myself. He will need fifteen hundred of the best horse and foot. Let him take with him Sir William Keith and Colonel Legge. Both can be relied on. Let the word be 'Death to the Regicide!' But they must not return until their work is accomplished."
"I will summon a council forthwith, and lay the matter before them," said Charles.