"But I am in great trouble about him," said Israel to his wife. "It cannot last. Since Lady Claypole’s death he eats not, drinks not, sleeps not; his strong, masculine handwriting, the very mirror of his courageous spirit, has become weak and trembling. He lives much alone, keeps from his family as if he feared they might be in danger from his danger. And he thinks and thinks, hour after hour; and ’tis thinking that is killing him. I can tell you one thing, Martha, a thinking soul is always sorrowful enough, but when it is a great soul like Oliver’s, and it is wretched for any cause, then every thought draws blood." "For such dismal thought and feeling there is the Holy Scriptures." "Yes, yes, Oliver knows the Comforter, and sometimes there is a message for him. Last night he made Harvey read him the fourth of Philippians, and he said when he had listened to it, ’This Scripture did once save my life when my eldest son died, which went as a dagger to my heart, indeed it did;’ then, with a great joy he repeated the words, ’I can do all things through Christ which strengthened! me;’ adding, ’He that was Paul’s Christ, is my Christ too!’" Cromwell had hoped that his great afflictions would bring his friends back to his side; but envy, hatred and greedy ambition are not to be conciliated. Even at this time, Ludlow, Lambert, Vane, Harrison, Marten,—all the men whom he had trusted, and who had trusted him, stood aloof from his sorrow; and their sullen indifference wounded him to the quick. He had a burning fever both of the body and soul, but in two weeks he gathered a little strength and left Hampton Court for Whitehall. His unfinished work drove at him like a taskmaster. He must make great haste, for he knew that the night was coming. "I am glad he is back in Whitehall," said Martha to her husband, when she heard of the change. "I remember something that Jane said about that old, gloomy Court; he will get better in London." "I know not, Martha," answered Israel sadly; "Fairfax was with him to-day, and he might as well have drawn his sword on his old friend,—better and kinder had he done so." "Fairfax is proud as Lucifer. What did he want?"