Cromwell himself was moreover ill in health; he had made an effort to resume his labors, but intermittent fever set in, aggravating the disorders to which the Protector had for a long while been subject. His physicians insisted upon his leaving Hampton Court, where his daughter had died. He returned to London. The complaint increased and became serious. The Protector appeared to have no thought of public affairs, but he set in order matters concerning his family and household. He had, however, not abandoned the thought of living, and he counted upon the answer of God to the prayers of his friends. "Treat me like a poor domestic," he said to his doctors; "ye may have skill in your profession, but nature can do more than all the physicians in the world, and God is far above nature." Cromwell, in fact, was much prayed for. "Truly," wrote Thurloe to Henry Cromwell, "there is a general consternation upon the spirits of all men, good and bad, fearing what may be the event of it should it please God to take his Highness at this time, and God having prepared the heart to pray, I trust He will incline His ear to hear." The disorder increased nevertheless; the attacks were more violent and frequent, the prostration of Cromwell greater. He had not yet named his successor; no one dared to speak to him of it. Thurloe had undertaken to do so, but he still hesitated. The Protector had kept his intentions secret; mention was made among the people of his two sons and of his son-in-law, Fleetwood, who was more agreeable to the army. The prudent Thurloe did not wish to place himself at variance with any of the pretenders; he therefore waited. [Image] Cromwell At The Death-bed Of His Daughter. {279} The religious opinions of Cromwell had very feebly influenced his conduct, and he had often placed them at the service of worldly interests, but they had never disappeared from this soul burdened with prevarications and criminal acts, and they resumed all their sway upon his deathbed. "Tell me," he said, on the 2nd of September, to one of his chaplains, "is it possible to fall from the state of grace?" "No," said the divine. "Then am I safe," said Cromwell, "for I am sure that once I was in a state of grace." He tossed about in his bed, praying aloud. "Lord," he said, "I am a miserable creature. ... Thou hast made me, though very unworthy, a mean instrument to do them some good and Thee service. ... And many of them have set too high a value upon me, though others wish and would be glad of my death. Lord, however Thou do dispose of me, continue and go on to do good for them. Give them consistency of judgment, one heart and mutual love. ... Pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm. ... Even for Jesus Christ's sake. And give us a good night if it be Thy pleasure. Amen."