Then there was a short pause of spiritual sensitiveness which was broken by the opening of a door, and all eyes turning towards it beheld Cromwell standing on the threshold. Perhaps he had been listening to Mr. Milton’s ecstatic anthem, for his clear, penetrating eyes were tender and mystical, and a smile gentle as a woman’s softened his austere mouth. He wore a suit of black cloth with a falling linen collar, stockings of homespun wool which his wife had knit, and strong shoes fastened with a steel latchet. But his brown hair, tinged with gray, flowed down upon his shoulders, and his whole air was that of a man on whom the eternal dignities of a good and great life had set their seal. Frances ran to him with a cry of delight. Mary looked at him with adoring pride, and then put into Mr. Milton’s hand the roll of manuscript Lord Neville had given her. Jane left her companions and timidly advanced to meet the Lord General. He saw her in a moment, and gave her a smile so bright and affectionate that all fear vanished, and she hastened her steps and the next moment felt his strong arm draw her to his side. [Illustration: "BEHELD CROMWELL STANDING UPON THE THRESHOLD."] "Jane," he said tenderly, "Jane Swaffham, I got your message, and it did me good; it did indeed. Out of the mouths of babes often come our sweetest help and comfort. When I was ill and my heart was troubled for Israel, I remembered one night the word you sent me by John Verity, and it was very good. I think of it often, Jane, when in the midst of ill men. Say it now in my own ears, and let me taste its goodness from your own lips." Then Jane lifted her eyes to his, and the fiery particle in them filled her with Cromwell’s own faith and courage, and she said with a fearless fervour, "_They shall be able to do nothing against thee, saith the Lord. My hands shall cover thee._" "Truly God is good, indeed He is, Jane, and you have been His messenger to me. Let us take this gracious God at His Word. And if ever I can help you or yours, Jane, come to me; I will be as good as my word—doubt not. Let us see what John Milton is going to play for us. I’ll warrant ’tis my young soldier’s hymn, and in my judgment, a good hymn." They were advancing towards the organ as Cromwell spoke, and they joined the group around the inspired player. His trampling notes gave the sensation of charging men and horses, and of the ministration of angelic hosts. Then there was a pause, and out of it arose in jubilant praise the song of triumph on the battle-field: Not unto us, not unto us, O Lord, Thine was the Word, and Thine the mighty sword, Thine be the glory. We heard Thy call to arms, and understood: But Thine the hand that wrought in flame and blood, The splendid story.