The Parliament was gone, but the Council of State remained, and there the patriotic struggle began again! The Presbyterian section was strong, and outside it was backed by a powerful combination, at the head of which were Northumberland, Manchester and the men of the days to which the Self-Denying Ordinance put an end. These saw that a restoration was inevitable, and felt that the only salvation of the country lay in a renewal of the Isle of Wight treaty. Though baulked by Monk's watchfulness in their attempt to get the King recalled by a Presbyterian Parliament, they did not despair of outmarching the Cavaliers and Opportunists. Their last chance was in a restoration through the agency of the Council of State before the new Parliament could meet, and again and again they pressed Monk to openly espouse their cause. He only said he was in the service of the Commonwealth and could not listen. The pressure grew greater, the party more powerful, and he found it necessary to treat their proposals more seriously, but still he gave no hope. In despair, at last, they seized upon some expression he had let fall to send word to the King that they had won him, and that they were prepared to enter into formal negotiations for a restoration. A fortnight before the needy voluptuary, weary of his exile, would have embraced the offer with avidity, but now, to the astonishment of all concerned, the proposition was coldly, almost contemptuously received. Something had happened of which they were in entire ignorance, something so singular as almost to startle us anew into an exaggeration of the personal influence in history. Up till now Monk's reputation as a Commonwealth man was practically without a spot. By honestly doing his duty he had lived down every suspicion. All but the most sanguine of the Cavalier agents considered him hopelessly loyal to his trust. Best known of these was his cousin Sir John Grenville, who, in spite of his notorious malignancy, was free of St. James's on the ground of his relationship. But he had no better luck than the rest. Fruitlessly he sought a private interview through his old friend Morice. Night after night he stayed till every one was gone, but "Good-night, cousin; 'tis late," was all he got for his pains as the wary old general went off to bed.