"Things go too far and too fast for me, and though men speak of the progress we make, to me it seemeth more like a progress into calamities unspeakable."

The young man who spoke leant against the dark-blue and gold diapered wall of the antechamber to the House of Commons, in Westminster Hall; members and their friends were passing to and fro; in a few days the memorable and triumphant session would adjourn. The King was in Scotland, employed, as the Parliament well knew, in one of his innumerable intrigues, this time an endeavour to bring a Northern army into London. The Scots, since the imperfect peace he had patched with them, remained his chief hope. Mr. Hampden was in Edinburgh watching him, but Mr. Pym remained in London, the mainspring of the popular party.

It was late August of the year my Lord Strafford ("putting off my doublet as cheerfully now as I ever did when I went to my bed," he had said), had walked to his death on Tower Hill. Archbishop Laud was a prisoner, and the King had given his consent to a series of Acts which swept away those grievances which the people had complained of, and, most momentous of all, he had passed a law by which it was impossible for him to dissolve Parliament without its own consent.

Therefore it might seem that affairs had never been so bright and hopeful for the leaders of the reforming party, and yet this young gentleman, leaning against the wall and staring at the pool of sunlight the Gothic window cast at his feet, spoke in a tone of melancholy and foreboding.

He had always been a close follower and friend of Pym and Hampden, and always ardent for the public good—one of the keen, swift spirits whose direct courage had helped the House to triumph, but now he stood dejected and rather in the attitude of one who has suffered defeat.

His companion, who was but a few years older, regarded him with a thoughtful air, then glanced dubiously at the crowds which filled the chamber and from which they, in the corner by the window, stood a little apart.

"I take your meaning," he replied, after a considerable pause. "I see a bigger cleavage between King and people than I, for one, ever meant there to be, and prospects of a division in this nation which will be a long while healing."

He bent his gaze on the other side of the chamber where Mr. Pym and Mr. Cromwell were talking loudly and at great length together.

If any casual observer had looked in at this assembly, assuredly it would have been this man by the window at whom they would have glanced longest and oftenest.

His appearance would have been noticeable in any gathering, for it was one of the most unusual beauty and charm.

He was no more than thirty years of age, and the delicate smoothness of his countenance was such as belongs to even earlier years, and gave him, indeed, an air of almost feminine refinement and gentleness; his long love-locks were pale brown, his heavy-lidded eyes of a soft and changeable grey, and the expression of his lips, set firmly under the slight shade of the fashionable moustaches, was one of great sweetness.

The whole expression of his face was a tenderness and purity seldom seen in masculine traits; yet in no way did he appear weak, and his bearing showed energy and resolution.

His dress, of an olive green, was carefully enriched with rough gold embroidery, and his linen, laces, and other appointments were of a finer quality than those worn by the other gentlemen there.

Such was Lucius Carey, my Lord Viscount Falkland, one of the noblest, in degree and soul, of those who had combined to curb and confine the tyranny of the King.

His companion was Mr. Edward Hyde, an ordinary looking blonde gentleman, inclined to stoutness, and a prominent member of the more moderate section of the dominant Commons.

He followed the direction of the Viscount's gaze and remarked, in a low tone—

"Those two are getting matters very much into their own hands, and Mr. Cromwell, at least, is too extreme."

"What more do they want?" asked my Lord Falkland. "The King hath redressed the grievances we laboured under. They strained the very utmost of the law (nay, more than the law) on the Earl of Strafford, and to push matters further smacks of disloyalty to His Majesty."

"My Lord," answered Mr. Hyde firmly, "reformers are ever apt to run a headlong course, and some excesses must be excused those who have so laboured at the general good——"

"Excesses?" answered my lord, flushing a little. "I am still an Anglican, by the grace of God, and when I see altars dragged from their places, rood screens smashed, all pictures, images, and carvings destroyed in our churches until God's houses look as if they were the poor remnants of a besieged city,—when I know that this is by order of Parliament, then methinks it seemeth as if violence had taken the place of zeal."

"Neither do these things please me," answered Mr. Hyde, "but the dams are broken and there are swift tides running in all directions. And who is to stem them?"

"Or who," asked my lord sadly, "to guide them into proper channels? Not your 'root and branch men,' who would sweep every bishop and every prayer book out of the land. Not by such intolerance or bigotry, Mr. Hyde, are we to gain peace and liberty."

"Moderate counsels," returned the other, "own but a weak voice in these bitter savoured times. It is such as this Oliver Cromwell, with their loud rude speech, who are hearkened to."

"I only half like this noisy Mr. Cromwell," said my lord. "He hath sprung very suddenly into notice, and seemeth to have, on an instant, gained much authority with Mr. Pym and Mr. Hampden."

At this moment the object of their speech turned his head and looked at them as if he had heard his own name. Lord Falkland smiled at him and made a little gesture of beckoning.

Mr. Cromwell instantly left his friends and came over to the window, where he stood in the gold flush of sunshine and looked keenly at the two young aristocrats.

"More plots, eh," he asked pleasantly.

"More talk only, sir," smiled the Viscount.

Mr. Cromwell laid his heavy muscular hand on my lord's arm.

"Thou art worthy," he remarked; "but what shall I say of thee?" his narrowed grey eyes rested on Mr. Hyde's florid face. "Thou art he who bloweth neither hot nor cold."

"I am like to blow hot enough, I think," returned Mr. Hyde, "unless thou blow more cold."

"Wherein have I vexed thee?" asked Oliver Cromwell, with a pleasantness that might have covered contempt.

"Your party is too extreme, sir," said the Viscount earnestly. "You press too hard upon the weakness of His Majesty. What we set out to gain hath been gained and safeguarded by law. You should now go moderately, and, from what I know of your councils, you do not propose moderation."

Mr. Cromwell's face hardened into heavy, almost lowering, lines.

"So you, too, slacken!" he exclaimed. "You would join those who rise up against us! Fie, my lord, I had better hopes."

"Mr. Cromwell," returned the Viscount, "we have been long together on the same road; but if your mind is what I do think it to be, then here we come to a parting, and many Christian gentlemen will follow my way."

Oliver Cromwell regarded him with intense keenness.

"What do you think my mind to be?" he demanded.

"I think you rush forward to utterly destroy the Anglican Church and to so limit the King's authority that he is no more than a show piece in the realm."

"Maybe that and maybe more than that," returned Mr. Cromwell. "Even as the Lord directeth: 'He shall send down from on high to fetch me and shall take me out of many waters.' I stand here, a poor instrument, waiting His will."

This answer bore the fervent and ambiguous character that Lord Falkland had noticed in this gentleman's speeches, and which might be due either to enthusiasm or guile, and which was, at least, difficult to answer.

"You run too much against the King," said Mr. Hyde, "and against the Church of England. Our aim was to clear her of abuses, not to destroy her."

"Our aim, Mr. Hyde?" interrupted the Member for Cambridge keenly. "Were our aims ever the same, from the very first? I saw one thing, you another; but trouble me not now with this vain discourse," he added, with a note of great strength in his hoarse voice, "when I know you are in communication with His Majesty and but seek an opportunity to leave us."

Edward Hyde flushed, but answered at once and with pride.

"I make no secret of it that, if the Parliament forget all duty to the King, I shall not."

"Are you afraid?" asked Mr. Cromwell, with more sadness than contempt. "Or do you look for promotion and honours from His Majesty? There is no satisfaction in such glory, 'but hope thou in the Lord and He shall promote thee, that thou shall possess the land; when the ungodly shall perish, thou shalt see it.'"

"You do us wrong!" exclaimed Lord Falkland. "We hold to loyalty; we think of that and not of base rewards."

"Loyalty!" exclaimed Mr. Cromwell vehemently. "We own loyalty to One higher than the King, yet what saith St. Paul: 'See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, because the days are evil. Wherefore be ye not unwise but understanding what the will of the Lord is.' Therefore we go not definitely against His Majesty, but rather wait, hoping still for peaceable issues and fair days, yet abating nothing of our just demands nor of our high hopes."

"Go your ways as you see them set clear before you," returned the Viscount; "but as for me, all is confusion and I have begun to ponder many things."

"'A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways,'" said the Puritan firmly, "and such can be of no use to us. Go serve the King and take ten thousand with you, and still we stand the stronger."

Mr. Hyde's personal dislike of the speaker, as well as his loyalty and conservative principles, spurred him into a hot answer.

"Do you then admit you do not serve the King?" he asked. "Are we to hear open rebellion?"

"God knoweth what we shall hear and what we shall see," said Mr. Cromwell grimly. "There will be more wonders abroad than thy wits will be able to cope with, methinks, Mr. Hyde."

"My wits stand firm," smiled that gentleman, "and my faith is uncorrupt and my sword is practised."

"The sword!" repeated Oliver Cromwell, putting his hand slowly on the plain little weapon by his side. "Speak not of the sword! Englishmen have not, sir, come to that, and will not, unless they be forced."

"Yet," said Lord Falkland quietly, "do you not perceive that by your actions you provoke the possibilities of bloodshed? Already the Lords have fallen away from you—the King hath many friends even among the Commons, and they are not less resolute, less courageous, less convinced of the justice of their desires than you yourself—how then are these divided parties to be brought together unless a temperate action and a mild counsel be employed? The King hath held his hand—sir, hold yours."

With these words, which he uttered in a stately fashion and almost in the tone of a warning, the young lord, taking Mr. Hyde by the arm, was turning away, but Oliver Cromwell, with an earnest gesture, caught his hand.

"Lucius Carey, stay thou with us," he said.

Lord Falkland let his slight hand remain in the Puritan's powerful grasp, and turned his serene, mournful eyes on to the older man's stern, eloquent face.

"Mr. Cromwell," he replied, "believe me honest as yourself. You left plenty and comfort for this toilsome business of Parliament, and I also put some ease by that I might do a little service here. My cause is your cause, the cause of liberty. I despise the courtier and hate the tyrant, but I believe in the old creeds, too, Mr. Cromwell, and that the King is as like to save us as any other gentleman. Therefore, if henceforth you see little of me, believe that I obey my conscience as you do follow yours."

Mr. Cromwell released his hand and said no other word.

"A good night," smiled Lord Falkland, and, raising his beaver, left Westminster Hall with Edward Hyde.

Lord Essex came up to the window, and to him Oliver Cromwell turned sharply.

"There go two who will join the King's party," he said bluntly, pointing after the two Cavaliers.

"They have long been of that mind," replied Lord Essex dryly. "Mr. Hyde goeth to seek advancement and my lord because he is tender towards the clergy."

"I would have kept my lord," remarked Mr. Cromwell, with a touch of wistfulness in his tone. "He is a goodly youth and a brave, and hath too fair a soul to join with idolators and Papists."

Meanwhile Lord Falkland, having parted from Mr. Hyde, was walking along the river-bank, where an uneven row of houses edged the gardens of Northumberland House, Whitehall, and the estates of the Buckingham family.

The intense disquiet that agitated the country did not show itself here: barges and sailing vessels went peacefully past on the brown tide, urchins played in the mud, boatmen clustered round the steps and clamoured for fares, at some house near by a concert of music was being performed, and outside on the cobbles the barefoot children danced.

One or two gallants escorting ladies masked from the weather strolled by, and over all was the peaceful glow of the summer sunset hour.

The scene was thrice familiar to Lord Falkland, but his sensitive soul and quick eye were alive to every detail of the street, the people, and the river.

He loved England, he loved London and the crooked river, built over with crooked houses, from which rose the churches with the Gothic towers or lead cupolas; but to-night this love made him feel melancholy. He had a premonition that terror and discord would descend on the beloved city, on the beloved land, and that he would be able to avail nothing against those relentless forces of which Mr. Cromwell was typical, and which seemed to be sweeping him on to tumult and strife.

He had left all the delights of his wealthy retirement—his dear family, his dear friends, and his dear literature—that he might help his country in the pass to which she had come.

And now he had himself arrived at a pass and must decide whether he would remain with the party by which he had so far stood, or remain loyal to the ancient Church and the ancient constitution which his fathers had served and defended.

He paused in his walk when he reached Whitehall stairs, and turned to look at the splendid new palace as it rose above the gardens and the houses.

It was a very gorgeous sunset: gold and tawny, scarlet and crimson were flung out across the purple west like great banners unfolded; in each window-glass a blot of gold glittered amazingly; gold lay in every little wrinkle in the surface of the river and on the patched canvas of the ships; from the sea a wind was blowing, and in the breath of it the heat of the summer day died.

My Lord Falkland lifted his eyes from the palace to the magnificence of the heavens and his sadness increased upon him; when presently he looked to earth again he was aware of a small child crying on a doorstep over some tremendous woe.

He took some dried plums and a sixpence from his pocket (he usually had sweetmeats about him, having many children of his acquaintance) and gave them to the boy. Then he took a small brown volume of Virgil from his pocket, but perceiving it to be too dark to read, he called a pair of oars and was rowed to Chelsea Reaches to gain the sweeter air of the country and to have leisure on the bosom of the river and under the flaming sky to deal with the perplexing thoughts that vexed his noble mind.