"Sir," said the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, who had been called hotly from that country to counsel the imperative needs of the King. "I am come to give you advice, and I tell you first, and plainly, never man came to so lost a business."

As he spoke they stood looking at each other, master and servant, King and minister, in a little cabinet of Whitehall, that glittered with richness and flash of deep colour, like a casket of jewels.

Beyond the deep square window lay the gardens, the houses, the straight reach of river, and London, beneath a quivering August haze; no discord of sight nor sound disturbed the peaceful harmony of this scene, and in the palace gardens the trees rustled and the flowers gave forth their strength in sweet odours unvexed by human noise or hustle; yet my lord, gazing out on this sunshine, knew well enough that the city, whose towers rose beyond the sleepy river, was nursing forces that might soon gather sufficient deadly power to sweep him, and all he stood for, into nothingness. He bore himself erect, and the courage that was his strongest quality showed in his haughty pose, in the expression of his dark, disdainful face, in the quiet smile with which he spoke his gloomy pronouncement.

He received no immediate answer, and in the pause of silence he glanced attentively at the master whom he had served so whole-heartedly and believed in so intensely—for such as he must always believe intensely in the principle for which they fight.

Charles was leaning against the mullions; melancholy and levity were strangely mingled in his mien. In stature and make he was slight, in dress extravagant, his dove-grey silk was embroidered with seed pearls and gold, and a deep collar of exquisite lace was fastened by two gold tassels at the lacing of his doublet.

Every Englishman, first seeing him, noted how foreign he was in appearance. Though brought up as one of the nation whom he was to rule, blood was here stronger than breeding, the powerful French-Scotch strain of his famous name, the influence of his gay, foreign mother, showed in his elegance, his refinement, his somewhat sad dignity, which gave him an air as if he were too great to be proud outwardly, but was beyond measure proud inwardly.

His hair, of the renowned Stewart auburn colour, fell full and soft round a face that was slightly worn and troubled, but handsome and composed still—a face that was too charming to be the index of a mind, or more than a mere seductive disguise for whatever manner of man lay beneath.

My lord had served him long and known him as intimately as any man save my late murdered Duke of Buckingham, but even my lord, now it was coming to the issue of their joint policies, could not be quite sure what the King would do,—where he would be adamant and where give way, where he would fail, and where he would stand firm.

"A lost business," Charles repeated at last. He had a blood-red cameo on the little finger of his fair left hand, and turned it about as he spoke; it was the only jewel he wore save a long pearl in his right ear.

"Sir, I call it no better than lost. The army unexercised and unprovided, great disloyalty abroad, the Scots in a rebellion which is daily more successful, the people mightily disaffected, and all in a clamour for a Parliament—and I would to God, sire, that you had not dismissed the last one, for it was better than any you are like to have called together at this turn."

"I will," said Charles, "call none at all." He knew secretly that his minister was right, and he already regretted the moment of spleen in which, after a three weeks' sitting, he had dismissed the first Parliament he had called for eleven years—had called in desperation for aid against the Scots—for he saw that what Strafford said was true, and that in the present temper of the nation he was unlikely to get men so loyal in their temper as even the Members of the so-called Little Parliament had been.

"Yea, call none at all," returned the Earl, "and where are we for money? Is there any king or country to whom we can turn? Have we not asked in vain even at Rome—even from the merchants of Genoa?"

"The money must be raised in England," said the King. He would not put it into words, but to himself he was forced to admit that no foreign power nor personage would lend money without security—and security Charles was quite unable to give; for in the eyes of Europe a King of England, acting without his Parliament, was a person by no means to be seriously regarded.

"Then," returned Strafford, in the tone of a man who courageously accepts defeat, "Your Majesty must call another Parliament."

Charles moved from the window and seated himself before a small bureau of dark wood, inlaid with mother-o'-pearl; he rested his delicate face in his delicate hand and gazed mournfully, almost reproachfully, at his minister.

"You accuse me of failure," said the Earl, answering the look in his master's eyes. "Well, I have failed."

Certainly he had; his famous policy, which he had proudly called "Thorough," had fallen to pieces before the first demonstration of the popular anger, and his attempt to establish the English monarchy as the monarchies of Spain and France were established, had come to nothing. He was not the man to shirk blame or responsibility, and he did not reflect, as he might have reflected, that had Charles whole-heartedly trusted Strafford as Strafford had whole-heartedly served Charles, the endeavour to force the policies of Richelieu on the English people might have approached nearer accomplishment, or at least have avoided a failure so disastrous.

The King did not speak; he was not in a mood to be generous with his servant, for his own humiliation was very bitter and would be bitterer still if he were forced to call another Parliament. The rebellious Scots, resisting his attempt to thrust Episcopalian bishops upon them, had advanced as far as Durham, and the English, far from flying to arms to resist the invader, were showing obviously enough that they considered the Scottish cause as theirs, and would indeed soon follow their northern neighbour's example and call a Parliament of their own did Charles not call one for them.

So much the daily petitions, and the demeanour of John Pym, the ringleader of the malcontents, and those country gentlemen who had rallied round him in the Little Parliament, by refusing supplies for the Scottish war unless the country's grievances were first redressed, attested.

Strafford took his eyes from his master and looked across the garden to the shimmering river. He was a more resolute, a more brilliant, a bolder man than the King. He saw more clearly and gauged more accurately than His Majesty the strength of the opposition now growing in England against the royal prerogative and the pretensions of the Anglican clergy, and he saw also that in the ensuing struggle he stood in the forefront of the battle and was marked out by Pym and his followers as the first and principal victim. Once he had been of Pym's party, and when he had seceded to the King, Pym had told him, "You may leave us, but we shall not leave you while your head is on your shoulders."

He had only been Thomas Wentworth then, and now he was Earl of Strafford, and, under the King, the greatest man in the three realms, but the threat recurred to him now as his eyes rested on the dazzle of the river flowing swiftly towards the Tower.

He knew he had come to England to play a desperate game with John Pym, and that the stakes were, "Thy head or my head."

The King startled him from his sombre thoughts by a light blow with clenched hand on the bureau, and by rising abruptly.

"Is there no one to defend me against these rebellious Commons?" he cried, as if his reflections had become desperate and were no longer to be borne in silence.

"I have," said Strafford, "done my utmost. I am the best-hated man in England, sire, for what I have done to enforce your authority. But if none of my expedients avail your Majesty, if the people will not take a debased coinage, if the train-bands refuse to arm—if all the support of my Archbishop but end in his fleeing his palace, pursued by the people——"

"The people!" broke in Charles, "always the people!"

"Ay," said Strafford, "always—the people."

"And what, my lord," asked the King, "is your advice now?"

"Advice?" echoed the Earl; the sun now fell full over his fine face and showed it to be near as colourless as the rich lace collar he wore. "There is no advice to be given but this—Your Majesty must call a Parliament."

The King's mobile mouth curved scornfully.

"And what will be the first action of this new assembly?" he demanded. "To present a petition against my Lord Strafford as once a petition was presented against my Lord Buckingham. Do you not know how the nation deals with my friends?"

"Sire," replied the minister, with a great sweetness of manner that came with endearing charm from one of his stern and bold demeanour, "if Your Majesty calls me friend, it is enough. What shall I fear when the King stands by me?"

"Yes, yes," replied Charles, in sudden agitation; "they should not have had Buckingham, and they shall not have you—rest assured, my lord. Guard only from another Felton, and I will protect you from these baying hounds that hate us so."

He held out his hand and Strafford clasped and kissed it with sincere reverence. Not only was the King his beloved master, but the symbol of that sacred and Divine authority which he believed to be the finest form of government, and which his strong genius had so devotedly and strenuously served.

The King, who seemed shaken with some sudden emotion, turned away, pressing his handkerchief to his lips, and at that moment the door opened, the leathern hanging that concealed it was lifted, and a lady entered the cabinet—a lady frail and flowerlike to the eye, attired in a gown of white silk with knots of pink; a lady with a radiant face of the most delicate hues and shadings, whose fine black ringlets were adorned with a braid of pearls worked in the likeness of the fleur-de-lis on a pink ribbon.

Her countenance wore a look of fatigue and anxiety under the animation of her expression, but, though she had lost the dewy loveliness of her girlhood, she still appeared fragrant and youthful, an exquisite, royal creature whose Bourbon blood showed in the quick, impetuous pride of her carriage, while she had the great black eyes of her Medici mother, and something, too, of the Italian in her gay liveliness.

At her entrance the King turned towards her with instant eagerness. He had at this time three counsellors—Strafford, Laud, and the Queen—and any one who looked upon him now as he took his wife's hand and led her to the deep-cushioned window-seat, would not have doubted which had the most influence of the three. Henriette Marie was now, as she had ever been, the most powerful influence in her husband's life.

She looked now from the King to the Earl and said quickly, with a pronounced French accent—

"What advice does my lord give in this perverse issue?"

"He saith there is nothing for it, Mary, but to call another Parliament."

The Queen stamped her white-shod foot.

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, with her eyes afire and a heat as of fire in her voice also. "Are we to stretch our necks out for the canaille to put their feet thereon?"

She spoke with the boundless pride of the daughter of Henri Quatre, of one whose father, brother, and husband were kings; she spoke also with the intolerance of a Papist for heretics, and with a woman's ignorance of the worth and value of the great movements and upheavals of the world.

All this Strafford saw; he saw also that she was a bad counsellor for the King, but, though he was not the kind of man to relish sharing confidences with a woman, he had long since recognized the fact that Henriette Marie ruled England fully as much as the King.

Therefore he answered quietly—

"It is the only expedient, Madame, to raise money."

"I would rather," returned the Queen impetuously, "sell every jewel I possess!"

The Earl smiled sadly.

"All your jewels twice over, Madame, would not serve our need now."

The Queen turned and caught her husband's sleeve.

"Is there no alternative—none?" she demanded. "Where are the soldiers? Believe me, I would sooner see the heads of these men on London Bridge than conferring together in Westminster Hall."

"Nay," replied Charles tenderly, "hold up thy heart, dearest. I cannot think I shall again be confronted by such unruly miscreants as last time, and truly there are divers things of much inconvenience that I do fear cannot be settled save by this same calling of a Parliament."

The Queen returned his look of deep affection with a flashing glance.

"Truly, I am ashamed and scandalized that Your Majesty is come to this pass! Where are your lords and your soldiers?"

"We have barely enough to hold the Scots off London," replied Charles, "and those are unpaid and disaffected—as thou knowest."

The Queen's great eyes sparkled with the ready tears of provoked passion.

"My Lord Archbishop was not safe at Lambeth," said Strafford slowly. "The mobile followed him even to the gates of Whitehall."

"And is there no one to fire on them—to cut them down with the sword?" asked the Queen. "Oh, Strafford, my Lord Strafford, I fear you have very greatly failed of your high promises!"

"The depth of my failure is measured by the depth of my humiliation," returned the Earl. "I have not spared myself, Madame, in the endeavour to make this kingdom great in the councils of Europe, and His Majesty first among the crowned heads thereof, but the breath of the populace is a wind that will blow any barque on to the rocks."

The King put his hand on Strafford's great shoulder.

"My friend," he said warmly, "no king ever had a truer. Do not blame my lord, Mary, for this pass we are in, for he, if any man can, will serve us and help us to a better issue."

"In France we have other ways to deal with treason and rebellion," said the Queen with sudden weariness; "but do what thou wilt! Call thy Parliament, and God grant it avail thee to ease thy needs!"

She moved, with a whisper of silk, from the two men, and, taking up a vellum-bound book from the little bureau where the King had sat, fluttered over the painted leaves.

Strafford picked up his great plumed hat; he was bound that evening for the headquarters of the English army at York, where he was to take up the chief command.

The King walked with him to the door, holding his arm.

"Fear thou nought," he said earnestly. "I will protect thee."

The Queen put down the book and came forward.

"Take no heed of my passions," she said sweetly. "You have served us well and we love you; good fortune, my lord. Farewell, and a fair journey to York."

The Earl went on one knee to kiss her perfumed, pale hand, and she looked at him with a certain tenderness, a certain regret, a certain scorn curious to behold.

"I am too much your servant to avow myself afresh your creature," said Strafford, lifting his ardent eyes, not to the lady, but to his master. "You have all of me. I pray God deliver Your Majesty from these present pressures, and grant me power to work you some service."

The sun was pouring broad beams full through the window and illumining all the rich treasures that filled the cabinet, the gold-threaded tapestry, the Italian pictures, the finely-wrought furniture, the carpets of Persia, and the two graceful figures so delicately apt to this gorgeous setting. The sunlight fell also on my lord, a figure more soldierlike and not so attuned to a scene of luxury.

So he took his leave and came glooming into the courtyard, and mounted amid his escort, and rode down Whitehall.

The streets were empty, by reason of the heat; only the vendors of oranges and a few idlers were abroad, but when my lord reached Westminster Hall, he saw by the corner-posts of the road two men standing, and his bright, quick glance knew them at once for two enemies of his—one his chief enemy, Mr. Pym, and the other one of his followers who had sat for Cambridge in the Little Parliament, and been marked unfavourably by my lord—a certain Oliver Cromwell.

My lord was too great a man to be discourteous, he touched his beaver to the gentlemen and rode on with his guard, serene and aloof.

John Pym looked after the little cavalcade flashing in the dust and sunlight.

"There goeth the chief enemy of these realms," he said. "Marked you his haughty eye when he did salute us?"

"He cometh from Whitehall," returned Mr. Cromwell. "Hath he advised the King to call a Parliament, think you, Mr. Pym?"

John Pym pointed to Westminster Hall behind them.

"There you and I will sit before the summer be burnt out," he answered, "whether the King issue the writs or no."

They both stood silent, looking after my lord, who presently turned in his saddle and gazed back at the Parliament House.

"My head or thy head," he thought, as he rode through the sunlight.

Strafford did not want to die.