And Jane smiled gratefully, and her eyes were dim with tears as she laid her hands in Doctor Verity’s to clasp her promise. Yet when she reached her room and sat quiet in its solitude, no one will blame her because many thoughts of love and hope blended themselves with the piteous ones she sent to de Wick, and to the two weary fugitives under Swaffham roof. She was pleased at the thought of Harry Cromwell, but oh! what a serious happiness, what a flush of maiden joy transfigured her face when she thought of her lover, forecasting rose-winged hours for him to glorify. And in her soul’s pure sanctuary she whispered his name while her eyes dreamed against the goal of their expected meeting. For Love gives Hope to the true and tender, but counts a cold heart a castaway. _*BOOK II*_ _The Tools To Those Who Can Handle Them!_ *CHAPTER VI* *ON THE TIDE TOP* "Cromwell! Why that’s the name of Victory." "The shouting cries Of the pleased people, rend the vaulted skies." "Let there be music. Let the Master touch The solemn organ, and soft breathing flute." "Rupert! Oh there’s music in the name, Repeated as a charm to ease my grief. I, that loved name did as some god invoke; And printed kisses on it as I spoke." The great day of triumph was over. Cromwell had entered London at the head of his victorious army, and the city was safe and jubilant. Standing at her mother’s side, Jane had witnessed from a window in the crowded Strand the glorious pageant of Liberty, the martial vision of warriors whose faces had been bathed in that rain that falls on battle-fields, red as the rains of hell; she had seen again the simple, kindly man who had been her childhood’s friend, and who was now England’s chief of men, being to England both father and son, both sword and shield. She had heard his name carried on rolling tides of human shouts and huzzas, chording with the firing of cannon, the beating of drums, the tread of thousands, the chiming of bells, and all the multitudinous and chaotic clamour which constitutes the excitement of a great crowd, and always brings with it the sense of bounding life and brotherhood. And in the midst of this joyful turbulence she had caught sight of her father and brothers and lover; her father’s face sternly glad, like the face of a man who had fought a good fight to assured victory; his sons imitating his bearing, as well as youth could copy age; and the young lord not far from them, proud and radiant and carrying aloft the colours of the Commonwealth. Somewhere in that crowd of spectators he thought Jane must be present, and he bore himself as if he were constantly in her sight.