Major-General Harrison, in grim retirement, sternly rejected the Lord-Protector's half-wistful attempts to win him, and even refused to come to Whitehall as a friend and dine or sup with the Cromwell family.

His Highness, however piqued or hurt he might be in secret, refused to allow any persecution of his old comrade-in-arms, though Harrison was becoming daily more involved with the Anabaptists and that peculiar section of enthusiasts who were styled Fifth-Monarchy Men, because they believed that the four kingdoms foretold by St. John had come to pass, and that the kingdom now approaching was the fifth, that of Christ.

His Highness was lenient with them as with other fanatics: it was in his nature to be tolerant and to prefer any form of enthusiasm to lukewarmness. He was gentle with the Quakers, and listened patiently to George Fox's mystic denunciations of him. "I am sure that thou and I should be good friends did we but know each other," had been his parting words. He interceded, though vainly, for the poor, half-crazed Naylor, who had allowed his followers to salute him as the Messiah and had been sentenced by Parliament to brandings, whippings, and pillories that meant a hideous death.

But though the Lord-Protector was merciful he was also strong, as had been abundantly proved.

When fanaticism became insubordination and the cause of religious liberty cloaked mutiny and revolt, when, in brief, things mystic and intangible interfered with things very practical and tangible, His Highness struck, once and for ever.

He raised no objection to men finding in the pages of the Revelations a doctrine comfortable to themselves; but if they used such doctrines as a pretext for rebellion, he knew how to hold them down with a firm hand.

Therefore, though he argued sweetly and meekly with Thomas Harrison, he had that redoubtable saint closely under his observation, as he also watched Harry Vane and Bradshaw and Haselrig and other of his one-time friends.

His Highness was busy in these days, full of high business with France and Spain and the Netherlands as well as with this business of keeping order at home; for Oliver Cromwell, who had always been a great man, was now a great Prince, and England had become of more importance in Europe than she had been since the royal Elisabeth or the royal Harry V.

It was the Lord's doing, said His Highness, the Lord who had elected the English as His chosen people. A league of the Protestant nations in one alliance was foremost of the Lord-Protector's deeply cherished schemes; at present it seemed far from consummation: more practical matters occupied His Highness. With Blake on the seas and himself at home, England was powerful and vigorous; outwardly she was serene as she was glorious, but none knew better than Cromwell himself how beneath this serenity raged faction, discontent, and confusion, and how uncertain the tenure of this glory was—merely the tenure of his own life.

Soon after a certain complicated and perilous plot against that life had been discovered and crushed, Cromwell received, among other news equally disturbing (for troubles did not lack in England this turbulent spring), an account, well attested, of Major-General Harrison's treasonous dealings with the Fifth-Monarchy Men and of a widespread plot to seduce the army from its allegiance.

An Anabaptist preacher had held forth boldly. "Wilt thou have Christ or Cromwell?" he had asked. In daring and in defiance these enthusiasts were getting beyond all common prudence.

His Highness sent for Major-General Harrison, not in the terms of friendship now, but as a Prince summoning a subject.

Major-General Harrison came, grimly but serenely, and was ushered through all the state the Protector kept, for, though simple with his family and friends, to the outer world he held as much show as any monarch, into the presence of His Highness, who waited him in a very rich chamber that still contained some of the late King's pictures and hangings and carpets.

The Lord-Protector was standing facing the door. He looked less than his years, and his expression and pose were both of extraordinary vigour; he wore brown velvet gallooned with gold and a great falling collar of lace; his hair was now as grey as Charles' when he was brought prisoner to Hampton Court; but his mournful, resolute face showed no sign of age or feebleness.

Thomas Harrison was unbooted, for he had come by water; his attire was the very extreme of severe simplicity, and his dark countenance was pale and stern.

He took off his high-crowned hat as he came into the Protector's presence and flung it, with his cloak, across a chair; he made no reverence and eyed His Highness with calm hostility.

This cold look from one who had been his ancient friend, who had shared with him so many hopes, enthusiasms, toils, and victories, smote the Protector to the heart. He had been prepared for this enmity; but now that he was actually in the presence of his former companion-at-arms, the sight of the figure he had so often seen foremost in the field of battle, fighting for the Lord, and the face which he had seen so often fired by an exaltation kindred to his own, overwhelmed him with a tender sadness and the tears sprang into his eyes.

"Thomas Harrison," he cried, "I did not think that we should meet thus!"

"Nor I," replied the other sombrely. "Sir, have your say with me and let me go—for I have nobler work to do than a vain waiting on men in palaces."

His Highness slightly flushed.

"I see what rankles in thy mind," he replied. "Yet I did think that, whatever the general might say, a man such as thou wouldst have believed the best, not the worst. Nay," he added more warmly, "why shouldst thou think so meanly of me? Looking into thy own heart, thou knowest thy motives and principles pure—hast thou not the generosity to credit that I might look into my heart and say the same?"

Major-General Harrison gazed at him unmoved.

"Wherefore this defence?" he asked. "I have accused you of nothing."

"Not in words," replied the Lord-Protector, "but by thy whole conduct and manner."

"Neither need trouble thee," said the soldier calmly, speaking with more mildness and adopting the form of speech both more respectful and more affectionate, "since thou needst not see me save by thy own wish."

"It was needful that I should see thee," returned His Highness, "it was very needful. Hard things are said of thee—yea, difficult and curious things."

He walked about the room, looking at the floor, his arms folded behind him, then stopped before Harrison, who remained a few paces from the door standing by the chair on which were his hat and cloak.

"Thou hast meddled with Anabaptists and these mistaken people called Fifth-Monarchy Men," he said abruptly.

A grim smile flashed over Harrison's face.

"Art thou become a persecutor and a watcher over men's consciences and a spy on their actions?" he asked.

"Nay," replied His Highness, grimly too, "thou knowest well enough if I am tolerant or no, Thomas Harrison; thou knowest me very well, even to the roots of my heart. But now I am Governor of England, and over England I shall watch."

"Thou art," said the undaunted Republican, "a tyrant."

"I am a ruler by charter of God and the People," said Cromwell. "It is well known in this nation and in all the world"—he lifted his head with great dignity—"whether I am a tyrant or no. But I will admit this much, I have as much power and authority as many a bad king. Take that along with thee."

"I take along with me," returned Harrison, "that thou art a tyrant; and though it hath pleased God, in His mysterious decrees, to place thee where thou art, I know that He hath done it to bring a further rebuke and chastening upon us before the coming of His kingdom and for thy destruction. There is a wind abroad over the land, but one which neither purifies nor cools—the presence of God is not with thee nor with those under thee."

"This is hardly said," answered the Lord-Protector sadly. "Ah, thou hast gone so far with me—canst thou not go a little further? Together we fought, together we judged that wicked man, Charles Stewart——"

Harrison interrupted.

"Then thou wast acting as God directed—but lately thou hast acted as if a bad angel possessed thee. The true saints who fought with thee then could not fight with thee now, Lord Cromwell. A poor few we are—nay, a pitiful remnant, but we believe that before long it will be made known from Heaven that we are right, although it hath seemed good to Him to suffer this turn to come upon us—so that we are a forsaken few."

"Nay, not forsaken!" cried His Highness, much agitated. "Is it not for thee, and such as thee, that this Government exists?"

"I know not," replied Harrison coldly. "Methought that it existed for itself, as all governments do."

"Truly" cried the Lord-Protector, with rising anger, "they who call thee hard have reason—nay, thou art more, thou art unjust."

"Unjust!" repeated Harrison, with more emotion than he had so far shown. "Is thy memory so feeble or thy heart so false as not to recall the old days, the bright morning of our hopes and triumphs?"

He came a step nearer, holding out his hands and speaking vehemently.

"We rejoiced in slaying the enemies of the Lord; with many tears and prayers and strivings we sought assurance of the Lord's will and brought the tyrant to judgment. Thou and I put our names to his death-warrant; thou and I will answer together for that deed before the Heavenly Throne, and I can say before Him who searcheth all hearts, I did this thing thinking His hand was in it, and that the land could only be cleansed from blood by the blood of him who first shed blood. But thou, what canst thou say?—I slew this man that I might climb into his place, succeed to his power, sleep in his rich bed, have carnal honours for my children, and a high name for myself! Oh, Oliver, thou canst say nothing else!"

"Before Him who made me a Joshua over this Israel I need no defence," answered His Highness simply. "He knoweth my poor heart and what He put therein—and how this miserable flesh, with many stumbles, tried to do His will. I am not afraid of my God. Leave Him to judge me and return to thy ancient faithfulness to me."

"Thou wert," said Harrison, "as the apple of mine eye, but now I loathe thee. Thou hast turned aside, and thou shalt not tempt me to follow thee, even if thou flatterest me, saying, 'Come and sit on my right hand and share my power.'"

The Lord-Protector took a sharp turn about the room.

"Thou art deluded, I plainly see," he said; "but it cannot be allowed that thou shouldst run into these excursions, though I have given thee a great latitude—I say that it cannot be allowed. I have with a great deal of patience suffered thee to sally out, but I perceive thou art misled, yea, and rebellious—surely we will have no rebellion."

"Do what you will with me," said Harrison calmly. "I will give my little poor testimony to the truth as I know it. Maybe I am a little mistaken, but I act according to my understanding, desiring to make the revealed Word of God in His Holy Scriptures my guide."

"Thou art mistaken," replied Cromwell gloomily. "Beware of a hard heart and an obdurate spirit. And beware of these Fifth-Monarchy Men. They plot against the Commonwealth—they plot against my life."

"You believe that of me?" asked Harrison sharply.

"Why not?" returned His Highness scornfully. "Thou hast put thy hand to the removal of one tyrant and may willingly desire to remove another."

"What I did against Charles Stewart was not done in a corner," said the Republican calmly, "nor should I act in a hidden way against you or against anyone."

"Nay," said Cromwell impulsively, "I believe it. Forgive me. But thou art in these Fifth-Monarchy plots."

"We do not plot," returned Harrison, "nor intrigue, whatever may be noised of us."

"Thou mayst put what name thou wilt to it, Major-General Harrison," said His Highness; "but it is a known fact that thou seekest to disturb the Government and seduce the army."

"I neither own the Government nor molest it. But wherefore these words? I do not seek to fly or in any way to save myself. Sir, I am in your power, both I and those poor hearts, those few redcoats who still hold the pure doctrine."

"Thou knowest," replied the Lord-Protector hastily, and with evident emotion, "that I wish to be at peace with all men—even with the malignants."

"Yea!" cried Thomas Harrison, with a flame of anger in his dark eyes, "you have been very ready to make peace with Bael—to this has your tolerance led you!"

"I would that thou hadst a little more tolerance," was the mild reply.

"These are vain words," said the soldier impatiently. "You and I have parted company long since. Our ways lie differently now. Tell me what you will of me and let this end."

Oliver Cromwell looked at him fully and mournfully, then sighed.

"If thou wilt recognise the Government thou mayst live in peace for me."

Thomas Harrison replied in a tone serene and unmoved—

"I will not; come what may, I will not."

The Lord-Protector straightened his figure (which drooped a little in the shoulders of late), and then the blood slowly overspread his face.

"I shall not take this lightly," he said; "for my own dignity I may not take it lightly—I am the Governor of England. I have some authority."

"The brief carnal power of a thing of clay," replied Harrison, with an exalted smile. "Wherefore should I seek to please thee, who in a few years will be gone from this scene, leaving behind thy power and thy splendour? I listen to the voice of Him before whom thou and all the nations of the earth are less than a drop of water in the bucket; my thoughts are fixed, not on this dusty sojourn here, but on those azure eternities which God giveth to His servants. Therefore I will not obey thee in this matter, for my conscience is against it."

The Lord-Protector was silent a moment, then he spoke in a tone from which all friendliness and pleading had gone.

"Then if you will not recognize the Government, you must cease to serve it. I shall ask for your commission."

Major-General Harrison gently unfastened his sword thread and laid the plain weapon and the plain belt on a little table which stood near the Protector.

"There is my sword," he said, "which hath done some poor little service. Take it and let it rust."

Cromwell remembered Marston Moor, Naseby, Basing, Oxford, many warm acts of friendship, many mutual prayers—all the old laborious, hopeful, triumphant days which they had shared.

He said nothing; his hand went out as if yearningly and lovingly towards the weapon which he had so often seen red with the newly smitten blood of God's enemies.

He still did not speak, and his silence was stern.

Thomas Harrison took up his hat and cloak, and with a courteous but cold salute turned to take his leave.

His Highness turned to watch him and suddenly spoke, even as the other had his hand on the door.

"Thomas Harrison, it is very fitting that I make some defence to you. You have known me very well, and you believe hard, diabolic things of me. I would make some answer to this. I may bear the unkind thoughts of mine enemies, but I would be relieved of the ill-opinion of those who were once my friends."

Harrison paused, and then turned with his back to the door, still unmoved and hostile, but attentive, as if compelled to that amount of respect by the rough, impassioned voice and fervent tones of the man for whom he would have given his life a few years ago. As he listened to his one-time beloved General, something of the old affection touched him, though faintly; he waited.

"You accuse me of base ambition," said His Highness, lifting his head—his face had a look of a lion, mournful and infinitely strong—"but that failing I never had. You accuse me of grasping at the King's power, but that I never wanted. A man was needed—England, I say, had need of a man—but none came. Any of you could have come forward to take this place I hold—this place of no peace, little sleep, and endless labour—any of you! But you were not called, or you did not heed the call, you stepped aside—and England waited. I know not if you lacked courage, or if your conscience called you different ways—but none offered. And I, on in years and something broken by the wars, besought the Lord not to put this upon me—yet He did. And I did not shirk it. I obeyed Him as I did when I left London to form a troop in Cambridge that time the King did raise his standard against the people. Each time the Lord's breath was through me, as wind is through a hollow reed, and by Him I could do a little. That is my only merit. And England is something now—the home of His chosen. You were nice, you hesitated, you made punctilios—but I heard the call and saw the light, as oft in the battalion, and I obeyed. I have tried many ways of government, each as it comes to my hand. What my position truly is I know not—I am a parish constable set to keep the peace. Yet here I be, by God's will, and here I do my work. You may judge me with charity, Thomas Harrison, as one upon whom a very heavy burden hath been laid."

He paused, and his head drooped.

"There is no more to say," he added, and his rough voice had fallen lower. "Farewell—'God watch between me and thee when we are absent from one and another.'"

"Amen," said Thomas Harrison.

And so they parted.

The Lord-Protector stood lonely in the rich chamber, which had been furnished by the dead King and the banished Queen.

He went to the window and looked on the spring fairness of the garden, on the warm glitter of the river and the sails going down to the sea.

His greatness oppressed him in that moment, and he was home-sick for the past and the uneventful days of his youth.