“Pshaw!” Albemarle’s lip curled a little. “Where have you lived at all that you do not know what has befallen those whom it covered?” He smiled grimly, shaking his great black head. “Never compel from a man a promise he is loath to give. Such promises are never kept, however fast you may bind them in legal bonds. I wrung the promise of that bill from His Majesty whilst he was still a throneless wanderer. Whilst he was at Breda I concerted with him and with Clarendon that there should be four exceptions only from that bill. Yet when, after His Majesty’s restoration, it was prepared, it left to Parliament such exceptions as Parliament should deem proper. I saw the intention. I pleaded; I argued; I urged the royal promise. Finally it was agreed that the exceptions should be increased to seven. Reluctantly I yielded, having no longer the power effectively to oppose a king _de facto_. Yet when the bill came before the Commons--subservient to the royal promptings--they named twenty exceptions, and the Lords went further by increasing the exceptions to include all who had been concerned in the late king’s trial and sundry others who had not. And that was a bill of indemnity! It was followed by the King’s proclamation demanding the surrender within fourteen days of all those who had been concerned in his father’s death. The matter was represented as a mere formality. Most were wise enough to mistrust it, and leave the country. But a score obeyed, conceiving that they would escape with some light punishment.” He paused a moment, sinking back into his chair. A little smile twisted the lips of this man who had no sense of humour. “It was announced that those who had not surrendered were excluded from the Bill of Indemnity, whilst, as for those who having surrendered were to be supposed included in it, a loyal jury found a true bill against them. They were tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. Major-General Harrison was the first of them to suffer. He was disembowelled over yonder at Charing Cross. Others followed, until the people, nauseated by the spectacle provided daily, began to murmur. Then a halt was called. There was a pause, at the end of which the executioners began again. Nor were those sentenced in that year the only ones. Others were indicted subsequently. Lambert and Vane were not brought to trial until ’62. Nor were they the last. And it may be that we have not reached the end even yet.” Again he paused, and again his tone changed, shedding its faint note of bitterness.