“God above, heal her mind, and heal our mother country. Affection may yet smile upon her, and kindness may cherish her, but she is a wreck. The delapidated temple may have the earth around, as green as ever, and the sky above, as holy and beautiful, but it is still a ruin. Ho! my good friends, here, she breathes not. Her heart has stopped its pulse against my breast. Throw the spring water upon her face. Now she recovers. Look up, then, innocent one.” In a few minutes she was able to thank him for his attentions. “It is a painful subject, but although I hear it not mentioned, it is ever present to my mind. Oh! it is wicked in me to cherish revenge towards that man. I almost hate him. I almost wish him dead.” “Blame not the wish. I have myself wished, nay prayed fervently for hours at the still approach of midnight, that the man, Charles Stuart, should die by our hands. He has braved the Parliament, and why should the judges spare him?” And yet this was the man who, in after years, dissolved the Parliament by force, and took the keys home in his pocket. Charles might not order his attendants in as eloquent and strong language, to seize the offenders, as Cromwell used, when he told his servants to take down, “that bauble,”--the mace; but the king was guilty of a less constitutional crime than was the protector. He continued, in tones of scorn, while malice darkened over his face,-- “If Charles be bad, why, he deserves death; he is unfit to live. If he be good, it is but meet that he should leave this vain and wicked world for another more congenial to his piety, where he may inherit a heavenly crown. Let him bid adieu, and there is no honest man who could object to a monarchy in heaven! Often has Charles called the crown, a crown of thorns. We shall ease him of it. Pity that his tender and royal flesh should be scratched! Often has he called the throne of England a cross. We shall take him down from the cross, _and bury him_. Pity that he should, any longer, be a spectacle to angels and to men! We shall free him of both his crown and his throne!” “But surely not of his life?” inquired Miss Evelyn, and the question was repeated by Hans and Rachel Skippon. It was unanswered:--and Cromwell relapsed into one of those silent moods which came frequently over him, even at the commencement of his public career, as well as afterwards, when he became Lord Protector.