Boscobel; or, the royal oak: A tale of the year 1651Ainsworth, William Harrison
History
Boscobel; or, the royal oak: A tale of the year 1651
Ainsworth, William Harrison
Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction
"You are a stout-hearted maiden," he said. "'Tis a pity you cannot
understand the truth."
"I understand some things," replied Jane, boldly. "I understand treason
and rebellion, and I will have nought to do with traitors and rebels.
Your excellency is fond of texts. Forget not that it has been said,
'Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and shall be so punished.'
Remember also what Rabshakeh said to Hezekiah, 'On whom dost thou trust
that thou rebellest?' Lastly, I ask with Nehemiah, 'What do ye? Will
you rebel against the king?'"
"There is no king left," replied Cromwell. "The Lord has smitten the
house of Ahab, and the seed royal shall be destroyed."
"Not so, thou worse than Athaliah," said Jane. "The blood of the royal
Martyr cries for vengeance upon his murderers, and it will not cry
in vain. Thou mayest capture yonder city--mayest destroy its brave
and devoted citizens, but the king will escape--ay, escape, I tell
thee--and mount the throne when thou art dust."
"While I live he shall never mount the throne," rejoined Cromwell.
His brow had grown very dark as he listened to Jane's imprudent speech,
but he repressed his wrath, and a seasonable interruption was offered
by the arrival of another party of musketeers under the command of
Cornet Hardiman.
With them was a young and good-looking woman on horseback, seated on a
pillion behind a serving-man. She was habited in deep mourning.
"How is this?" cried Oliver, angrily. "Can ye bring me none but women
as prisoners to-day?"
"May it please your excellency," replied Hardiman, "this young dame is
not a prisoner. She is the widow of that Urso Gives who was hanged by
Charles Stuart. Having heard that you made some promise of a reward
to her late husband, she entreated me to bring her before you, and
believing her story, I consented."
"Is this the Widow Gives?" demanded Cromwell, regarding her with
attention.
"Ay, marry, your excellency," replied the young dame. "I am the widow
of that unfortunate man, who lost his life in your service. I have been
informed by the Reverend Laban Foxe--a most godly minister--that your
excellency promised Urso a reward, and that if he perished I should
receive it."
"It is true, and I will not fail one word of my promise," replied
Cromwell. "You shall have the reward, but you must be content to wait
for it till the city is in my hands."
"Then I trust she will have to wait for it long," observed Jane.
Cromwell took no notice of the remark, but said to the young widow:
"You are passing fair, and I marvel not at your husband's strong
attachment to you."
"Of a truth, poor Urso was greatly attached to me," replied the young
widow, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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