The Lion's Whelp

Not unto us, not unto us, O Lord,Thine was the Word, and Thine the mighty sword,Thine be the glory.We heard Thy call to arms, and understood:But Thine the hand that wrought in flame and blood,The splendid story.Not for ourselves, or for this day, we fought,But for all lands and for all times we wroughtStormy Salvation:Thine was the battle, both by land and sea,Thine was our valour and our victory,Thine our oblation."

So far, Cluny Neville led the singers, but it was Cromwell's strenuous, adoring tones that mostly influenced the stirring chorus —

"Not unto us triumphant lauds and lays,To 'Him whose name is Wonderful' be praise!Be thanks! Be glory!"

The exultant song ceased, but their hearts were yet full of thanksgiving, and Cromwell walked about the room – with Frances and Jane at his side – humming the majestic melody, or breaking out into some line of audible song, until he finally said,

"I came here for John Milton, whose pen I need, and I have stayed to sing; and that is well, for the soul has wings as well as hands – and indeed our souls have had a good flight heavenward." Then addressing John Milton, he said,

"We have sundry letters to write, and the plain truth is, I could wish they were more heavenly. Here is a man to answer who is playing fast and loose with us, – and I will not have it. He is laying too much weight on my patience; let him take care that he break it not."

Speaking thus, he walked towards the door, and Jane marveled at the man. His countenance was changed: all its wistful tenderness and exaltation had given place to a stern, steadfast severity; his voice was sharp, his words struck like caustic, and the homelike, country gentleman was suddenly clothed with a great and majestic deportment. He put on his hat as he left the room. And there was the glint of a gold band round it, and in Jane's mind it gave to the rugged, broad-hatted grandeur of the man a kind of mythical authority, for she instantly remembered a picture of St. George of Cappadocia in de Wick hall which had the same gold band around the helmet. And ever afterwards she associated in her memory the patron Saint of England and the great Pathfinder of her people.

Neville left soon after the Lord General, and the girls had a game of battledore and shuttlecock in the long gallery; then sewing, reading aloud, the evening meal, and the evening exercise closed the day. The days that followed were little different; when the weather permitted there was a ride in the park, or shopping in Jermyn Street, or a visit to St. Paul's to hear Dr. Owen, or the great tolerant Mr. Jeremy Taylor. But Jane thought Dr. Verity need hardly have given her special counsel against the vanities of such a life as the Cromwells led. On the whole, she was not very sorry when her visit was over and she was free to return home. In spite of the frankest kindness, she felt out of her element. The Cromwells had outgrown their old friends, and not all their familiarities could dispel the atmosphere of superiority which surrounded them; it was unavoidable and unequivocal, though they were not themselves conscious of it.

But every happy family takes its tone from the head of the household, and this conqueror of three Kingdoms, stepping out grandly to their government from his victorious battle-fields, impressed something of his own character upon those so nearly and dearly allied to him. They had been after his image and likeness at St. Ives and Ely, what wonder if in the palaces of London they took on something of the royal air which his achievements entitled them to assume? There are friends whose favour we wear as jewels and ornaments, and there are others whose love will bear the usage of an every-day garment, and Jane understood that she must put the Cromwells among those friends reserved for rare or great occasions.

Then there came to her mind in very sweet fashion the memory of Matilda de Wick. They had quarreled almost constantly for years, and Matilda's exacting temper and sharp tongue had wounded her often; but for all that she knew Matilda loved her. Now perfect friendship must be founded on perfect equality, for though love may stoop to an inferior, friendship cannot do so without becoming patronage and offense. But between Matilda and Jane there was no question of this kind. The Swaffhams were noble by birth, they needed no title to give them rank. In their own county they stood among the foremost, and Earl de Wick had ever been ready to acknowledge the precedence of a family so much more ancient than his own. Besides which, the Swaffhams were very wealthy. Israel Swaffham had given his eldest daughter on her marriage to Lord Armingford ten thousand pounds, an immense bridal gift in those days. So that the question of equality had never crossed or shadowed the friendship between Jane and Matilda. Their many quarrels had been about King Charles, or Oliver Cromwell – or Stephen de Wick, for Matilda was passionately attached to her youngest brother and she thought Jane Swaffham valued him too little. With her mind full of kindly thoughts towards Matilda, Jane returned to her home, and she was delighted to find a letter from her friend waiting for her.

"It came this very morning," said Mrs. Swaffham, "and I told the man who brought it you would be here to-day, and no doubt would answer it forthwith. Have you had a good visit, Jane?"

"Yes, mother."

"You wouldn't like to go again just yet, eh, my dear?"

"No, mother. I do not know why. They were all very kind to me, and the Lord General wonderfully so – but there was a difference, a change I cannot describe. It was not that they were less kind – "

"I understand. Power changes every one. Open your letter, I want to know how Matilda is; her man was so uppish, I would not ask him a question."

Then Jane laid aside her bonnet and opened her letter. "She is at Lady Jevery's house, mother, and she longs to see me, and indeed I am in the same mind. We shall be sure to quarrel, but then – "

"You can both play at that game, and you hold your own very well. What is the use of a friend if you can't talk plain and straight to her? I like Matilda no worse for her little tempers. I would go to Jevery House in the morning. Whom did you see at the Cockpit?"

"Doctor John Owen for one. He has just been made Chancellor of Oxford, and General Cromwell expects great things from him. I saw also John Milton, who writes so beautifully, and he plays the organ like a seraph. And Doctor Wilkins was there one day, and he talked to us about his lunarian journey; and Mr. Jeremy Taylor called, and we had a little discourse from him; and Mrs. Lambert, and Mrs. Fleetwood, and Lady Heneage, and Mrs. Fermor, and many others paid their respects. It seemed to me there was much enforced courtesy, especially between Mrs. Fleetwood and Mrs. Ireton; but – changes are to be expected. Mrs. Cromwell and Lady Heneage used to be gossips, and kiss each other before they sat down to talk, and now they curtsey, and call each other 'my lady,' and speak of the last sermon, or Conscience Meeting. I saw Lord Neville several times, but had no private speech with him; and I heard Mary Cromwell say there was a purpose of marriage between him and Alice Heneage."

"'Tis very like."

"I do not think so. I am sure he loves me."

"Then he should say so, bold and outright."

"He said last night he was coming to see my father and you, and though he spoke the words as if they were mere courtesy, I read in his face the purpose of his visit. Mother, we shall need your good word with my father."

"I can't go against your father, Jane. I would as soon take hot coals in my naked hands."

"But you can manage to make father see things as you do."

"Not always. He would have stayed at Swaffham and minded his own affairs instead of following Oliver Cromwell, if I could have made him see things as I did. Men know better than women what ought to be done; they are the head of the house, and women must follow as they lead. Your sister Armingford wanted to marry Frederick Walton, and your father would not hear of such a thing. You see he was right. Frederick Walton was killed in battle, and she would have been a widow on her father's and her father-in-law's hands. You will have to do as your father says, Jane; so make up your mind to that. The Swaffham women have always been obedient and easy to guide, and it isn't likely you will need bit and bridle."

"I would not endure bit and bridle."

"All I can say is, your father will decide about Lord Neville. Father keeps his own counsel, and he may have a purpose already of marrying you to some one else."

"I will not marry any one else."

"Your sister said the same thing, but she married Philip Armingford; and now there is no man in the world but Philip."

"I will marry Cluny Neville or remain a spinster."

"You will in the end do as your father and brothers say."

"What have my brothers to do with my marriage?"

"A great deal. The men of a family have to meet about family affairs. It wouldn't do to have some one among the Swaffhams that the Swaffhams didn't like or didn't trust. They have always been solid for Swaffham; that is the reason that Swaffham has done well to Swaffham. There, now! say no more about your marriage. It is beforehand talk, and that kind of discussion amounts to nothing. It is mostly to go over again. Your father thinks of buying this house. Parliament has offered it very reasonable to him, in consideration of the service he and your three brothers have rendered."

"It belonged to Sir Thomas Sandys?"

"Yes."

"And Parliament confiscated it?"

"Yes."

"If I were father I would not give a shilling for it. It will yearn for its own till it gets back to them. If the King had taken Swaffham, we should yearn for it at the other side of the world, and some Swaffham would go back to it, though it were generations after."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Jane. I suppose the Cromwells live in a deal of splendour."

"Everything is very fine. Mary Cromwell's room has the walls hung with green perpetuano and tapestries of Meleager. The standing bed is of carved wood, and the quilt of Holland striped stuff. There is a large looking-glass in an ebony frame, and many fine chairs and stools, and her toilet table is covered with silk and lace, and furnished with gilded bottles of orange-flower water and rose perfume. All the rooms are very handsome; Mrs. Cromwell's – "

"That is enough. I have often been in Elizabeth Cromwell's room, both in Slepe House and in Ely. I remember its tent bed and checked blue-and-white curtains! Well, well – it is a topsy-turvy world. You must go and see Matilda to-morrow. I have been making inquiries about the Jeverys; they are what your father calls 'Trimmers,' – neither one thing nor another. He is an old soldier, and has made use of his wounds to excuse him from further fighting; and Lady Jevery mingles her company so well that any party may claim her. A girl so outspoken as her niece Matilda will give her trouble."

In the morning Jane was eager to pay her visit, and she felt sure Matilda was as eager as herself; so an hour before noon she was on her way to Jevery House. It stood where the busy tide of commerce and the drama now rolls unceasingly, close by Drury Lane – a mansion nobly placed upon a stone balustraded terrace, and surrounded by a fine garden. In this garden the old knight was oftenest found; here he busied himself with his flowers and his strawberry beds, and discoursed with his friend John Evelyn about roses; or with that excellent person and great virtuoso, Mr. Robert Boyle, about his newly invented air pump; or thoughtfully went over in his own mind the scheme of the new banking establishments just opened by the City Goldsmiths: certainly it would be more comfortable to have his superfluous money in their care than in his own strong chests – but would it be as safe?

He was pondering this very question in the chill, bare walks of Jevery House when Jane's carriage stopped at its iron gates. She had been delayed and almost upset in Drury Lane by the deep mud, so that the noon hour was striking as Sir Thomas Jevery met and courteously walked with her to the entrance hall. Here there were a number of servants, and their chief ushered her into a stately cedar salon the walls of which were painted with the history of the Giants' war. But she hardly noticed these storied panels, for above the mantel there was a picture which immediately arrested her attention. It was a portrait of Oliver Cromwell, the rugged, powerful face standing out with terrible force amid the faces of Pym, Laud, Hampden, Strafford and Montrose. With the countenances of all but Montrose Jane was familiar, and she regarded this unknown face with the most intense interest. It was one not to be ignored, and having been seen, never to be forgotten – a face on the verge of being ugly, and yet so proudly passionate, so true, so strong that it left on Jane's mind the assurance of a soul worthy of honour.

She was standing gazing at it and quite oblivious of the Florentine curtains, the Venetian crystal, and French porcelain, when Delia came hurriedly into the room with an exclamation of delight. "Oh, Miss Swaffham! Oh, Miss Jane!" she cried. "My lady is impatient to see you. Will you kindly come to her room? She has been ill, oh, very ill! and you were always the one she called for!" So saying, she led Jane up a magnificent stairway lined with portraits, mostly by Holbein and Vandyke, and they soon reached Matilda's apartment. As the door opened she rose and stretched out her arms.

"Baggage!" she cried with a weak, hysterical laugh. "You dear little baggage! You best, truest heart! How glad I am to see you!"

And Jane took her in her arms, and both girls cried a little before they could speak. Matilda was so weak, and Jane so shocked to see the change in her friend's appearance, that for a few moments tears were the only possible speech. At length Jane said:

"You have been ill, and you never sent for me. I would have stayed by you night and day. I would have been mother and sister both. Oh, indeed, my mother would have come to you, without doubt! Why did you not let us know?"

"I have only been in London three days. I was ill at de Wick. I became unconscious at my father's burial. We had heard that day that Stephen had been shot while trying to reach the coast. It was the last thing I could bear."

"But I assure you Stephen is at The Hague. Doctor Verity said so, and he said it not without knowledge."

"I know now that it was a false report, but at the time I believed it true. My father was lying waiting for burial, so was Father Sacy, and Lord Hillier's chaplain came over to read the service. It was read at midnight in the old chapel at de Wick. We did not wish any trouble at the last, and we had been told the service would be forbidden; so we had the funeral when our enemies were asleep. You know the old chapel, Jane, where all the de Wicks are buried?"

"Yes, dear; a mournful, desolate place."

"A place of graves, but it felt as if it was crowded that midnight. I'll swear that there were more present than we had knowledge of. The lanterns made a dim light round the crumbling altar, and I could just see the two open graves before it. Father Olney wept as he read the service; we all wept, as the bodies were laid in their graves; and then our old lawyer, William Studley, put into Father Olney's hands the de Wick coat of arms, and he broke it in pieces and cast the fragments on my father's coffin; for we all believed that the last male de Wick was dead. And when I heard the broken arms fall on the coffin, I heard no more. I fell senseless, and they carried me to my own room, and I was out of my mind for many days. My aunt and Delia were very kind to me, but I longed for you, Jane, I did indeed. I am nearly well now, and I have left my heartache somewhere in that awful land of Silence where I lay between life and death so long. I shall weep no more. I will think now of vengeance. I am only a woman, but women have done some mischief before this day, and may do it again."

"Tonbert and Will are now at Swaffham; they will keep a watch on de Wick if you wish it."

"I suppose I have left de Wick forever; and I could weep, if I had tears left, for the ill fortune that has come to the old place. You remember Anthony Lynn, the tanner and carrier, Jane?"

"Yes."

"He has bought de Wick from the so-called Parliament. He was very kind to me, and he knew his place; but on my faith! I nearly lost my senses when I saw him sitting in my father's chair. Well, then, I am now in London, and all roads lead from London. I shall not longer spoil my eyes for the Fen country, and

"'De Wick, God knows,Where no corn grows,Nothing but a little hay,And the water comesAnd takes all away.'

You remember the old rhyme; we threw it at one another often when we were children. But oh, Jane, the melancholy Ouse country! The black, melancholy Ouse, with its sullen water and muddy banks. No wonder men turned traitors in it."

And Jane only leaned close, and closer to the sad, sick girl. She understood that Matilda must complain a little, and she was not unwilling to let the dreary meadows of the Ouse bear the burden. So the short afternoon wore away to Jane's tender ministrations without one cross word. Early in her visit she had yielded to Matilda's entreaties, had sent home her carriage, and promised to remain all night. And when they had eaten together, and talked of many things and many people, Matilda was weary; and Jane dismissed Delia, and herself undressed her friend as tenderly as a mother could have done; and when the tired head was laid on the pillow, she put her arms under it and kissed and drew the happy, grateful girl to her heart.

"Sweet little Jane!" sighed Matilda; "how I love you! Now read me a prayer from the evening service, and the prayer for those at sea – you won't mind doing that, eh, Jane?"

And after a moment's hesitation Jane lifted the interdicted book, and taking Matilda's hand in hers, she knelt by her side and read the forbidden supplications; and then Matilda slept, and Jane put out the candles and sat silently by the fire, pondering the things that had befallen her friends and acquaintances. The strangeness of the house, the sleeping girl, the booming of the city's clocks and bells, and the other unusual sounds of her position filled her heart with a vague dream-like sense of something far off and unreal. And mingling with all sounds and sights, not to be put away from thought or presence, was that strange powerful picture in the salon – the terrible force of Cromwell's face and attitude as he seemed to stride forward from the group; and the unearthly passion and enthusiasm of the unknown, just a step behind him, would not be forgotten. She saw them in the flickering flame and in the shadowy corners, and they were a haunting presence she tried in vain to deliver herself from.

So she was glad when she turned around to find Matilda awake, and she went to her side, and said some of those sweet, foolish words which alas! too often become a forgotten tongue. Matilda answered them in the same tender, broken patois – "Dear heart! Sweetheart! Darling Jane! Go to the little drawer in my toilet table and bring me a picture you will find there. It is in an ivory box, Jane, and here is the key." And Jane went and found the miniature she had once got a glimpse of, and she laid it in Matilda's hand. And the girl kissed it and said, "Look here, Jane, and tell me who it is."

Then Jane looked earnestly at the handsome, melancholy, haughty face; at the black hair cut straight across the brows and flowing in curls over the laced collar and steel corselet, and she lifted her eyes to Matilda's but she did not like to speak. Matilda smiled rapturously and said,

"It is not impossible, Jane, though I see you think so. He loves me. He has vowed to marry me, or to marry no one else."

"And you?"

"Could I help loving him? I was just sixteen when we first met. I gave my heart to him. I adored him. He was worthy of it. I adore him yet. He is still more worthy of it."

"But – but – he cannot marry you. He will not be allowed. Half-a-dozen kings and queens would rise up to prevent it – for I am sure I know the face."

"Who is it, Jane? Whisper the words to me. Who is it, dear heart?" And Jane stooped to the face on the pillow and whispered,

"Prince Rupert."

And as the name fell on her ear, Matilda's face grew heavenly sweet and tender, she smiled and sighed, and softly echoed Jane's last word —

"Rupert."

CHAPTER VII

TWO LOVE AFFAIRS

"Justice, the Queen of Virtues!All other virtues dwell but in the blood,That in the soul; and gives the name of good."* * * * *"The wise and active conquer difficultiesBy daring to attempt them. Fear and FollyShiver and shrink at sight of wrong and hazard,And make the impossibility they fear."

Matilda's confession brought on a conversation which lasted many hours. The seal of silence having been broken, the sick and sorrowful girl eagerly took the consolation her confidence procured her. She related with an impulsive frankness – often with bitter, though healing tears – the story of her love for the gallant Royalist leader. "He came first when I was yet a girl at my lessons," she said, "but my governess had told me such wonderful things of him, that he was like a god to me. You must know, Jane, that he is exceedingly tall and warlike, his black hair is cut straight across his brows, and flows in curls upon his shining armour. And he is always splendidly dressed."

"Indeed, all have heard of his rich clothing; even the laced cravats are called after him."

"See how people talk for nothing. Rupert's laced cravat was a necessity, not a vanity. He told me himself, that being out very early drilling his men, he took a sore throat, and having no other covering, he drew his laced kerchief from his pocket and tied it round his neck. And his officers, seeing how well it became him, must needs also get themselves laced neckerchiefs, and then civilians, as is their way, followed the custom. But who could look as Rupert looked? the most beautiful, the most soldierlike man in England."

"I might question that opinion, Matilda. I might say there is your brother Stephen – or – "

"Or Lord Cluny Neville, or many others; but let the question go, Jane. I had given my heart to Prince Rupert before I knew what love was; but one day – it was my sixteenth birthday – we were walking in de Wick Park, and the Hawthorns were in flower – I can smell them now, it was the very scent of Paradise; and he said such words as seemed to float upon their sweetness, and they filled my heart till I could have cried for pure happiness. The green turf was white with flowers, and the birds sang above us, and if heaven can come to earth, we were in heaven that dear spring morning. And as truly as I loved him, so he loved me; and that is something to make all my life beautiful. I have been loved! I have been loved! even if I see him no more, I have been loved! and by the noblest prince that ever drew a righteous sword. This is the one joy left me."

"But, Matilda, it was a secret joy, and it could not be right. What would your father and mother have said?"

"You think wrong too readily, Jane. When Rupert had told me how dear I was to him, he went to my parents. He said to them, as he held my hand, 'Earl and Countess de Wick, with your permission, this is my Princess;' – and they were glad and proud, for they loved Rupert, and my brothers, who were in his troop, adored him. As for me, when Rupert said 'Matilda,' I was in an ecstasy; and if he took my hand I trembled with delight. I was so happy! So happy! For those heavenly hours I will thank God all my life long."

"But I see not how, even with your father's and mother's consent, you could hope to marry Prince Rupert. Kings and queens would be against it."

"Indeed, it was a most likely consummation. The Prince came to de Wick to arrange loans for the King. You must have heard that at the beginning of the war my father had great wealth which he had made by joining in Sir Thomas Jevery's East and West Indian ventures. He was glad to let King Charles have money, and a great deal of gold was sent, from time to time, as the King needed it. And when the war was over, my father was to have all his loans back, and also be raised to the rank of a Duke. And in those days we never doubted that the King would win; not till Dunbar, not till after cruel Worcester, did we lose hope. And surely you can see that an English Duke's daughter, with a large fortune in money, would be a suitable match for one of the Palatine Princes. Rupert is poor, Jane, his sword is his only fortune. And moreover, Rupert's mother and brothers have been in terror lest he marry a papist. But as for me – you know that I would die, yes, I would burn for my Bible and Book of Common Prayer. More than this, the King was pleased at our engagement, and sent me a jewel in token of it. Alas, it has been an unlucky jewel! I have had only sorrow since it came to me."