No brain was keener to grasp an argument, for the general was as quick at a legal point as any lawyer.When, therefore, he still hesitated before what seemed a final case, it was well to search for hidden flaws.Above all when he gave no reason it was wise to hasten to him, for often his mind flew ahead of logic, and at such times he was inspired.Lovel himself and Vane and Fairfax had put the politic plea which seemed unanswerable, and yet Oliver halted and asked for a sign.Was it possible that the other course, the wild course, Ireton s course, was the right one?
Mr.Lovel had bowed to fate and his captors, and conscious that no action could follow on any conclusion he might reach, felt free to indulge his thoughts.He discovered these growing sterner.He revieived is argument against the King's trial.Its gravamen lay in the certainty that trial meant death.The plea against death was that it would antagonise three-fourths of England, and make a martyr out of a fool.Would it do no more? Were there no gains to set against that loss? To his surprise he found himself confessing a gain.
He had suddenly become impatient with folly.It was Cromwell's mood, as one who, living under the eye of God, scorned the vapourings of pedestalled mortals.Mr.Lovel by a different road reached the same goal.An abiding sense of fate ordering the universe made him intolerant of trivial claims of prerogative and blood.Kingship for him had no sanctity save in so far as it was truly kingly.Were honest folk to be harried because of the whims of a man whose remote ancestor had been a fortunate bandit? Carles had time and again broke faith with his people and soaked the land in blood.In law he could do no wrong, but, unless God slept, punishment should follow the crime, and if the law gave no aid the law must be dispensed with.Man was not made for it, but it for man.
The jurist in him pulled up with a start.He was arguing against all his training....But was the plea false? He had urged on Cromwell that the matter was one of policy.Agreed.But which was the politic road? If the King lost his head, there would beyond doubt be a sullen struggle ahead.
Sooner or later the regicides would fall--of that he had no doubt.But what of the ultimate fate of England? They would have struck a blow against privilege which would never be forgotten.In future all kings would walk warily.In time the plain man might come to his own.In the long run was not this politic?
"'Tis a good thing my mouth is shut for some weeks," he told himself."I am coming round to Ireton.I am no fit company for Oliver."He mused a little on his inconstancy.It had not been a frequent occurrence in his life.But now he seemed to have got a sudden illumination, such as visited Cromwell in his prayers.He realised how it had come about.
Hitherto he had ridden his thoughts unconsciously on the curb of caution, for a conclusion reached meant deeds to follow.But, with the possibility of deeds removed, his mind had been freed.What had been cloudy before now showed very bright, and the little lamp of reason he had once used was put out by an intolerable sunlight.He felt himself quickened to an unwonted poetry....His whole outlook had changed, but the change brought no impulse to action.He submitted to be idle, since it was so fated.He was rather glad of it, for he felt weary and giddy in mind.
But the new thoughts once awakened ranged on their courses.To destroy the false kingship would open the way for the true.He was no leveller; he believed in kings who were kings in deed.The world could not do without its leaders.Oliver was such a one, and others would rise up.Why reverence a brocaded puppet larded by a priest with oil, when there were men who needed no robes or sacring to make them kingly? Teach the Lord's Anointed his mortality, and there would be hope in the years to come of a true anointing.
He turned to his daughter.
"I believe your night's work, Cis, has been a fortunate thing for our family."She smiled and patted his hand, and at the moment with a great jolting the coach pulled up.Presently lanterns showed at the window, the door was opened, and Sir Anthony Colledge stood revealed in the driving snow.In the Chilterns it must have been falling for hours, for the road was a foot deep, and the wind had made great drifts among the beech boles.The lover looked somewhat sheepish as he swept a bow to his prisoner.
"You are a noted horse-doctor, sir," he said."The off leader has gotten a colic.Will you treat him? Then I purpose to leave him with a servant in some near-by farm, and put a ridden horse in his place."Mr.Lovel leaped from the coach as nimbly as his old wound permitted.It was true that the doctoring of horses was his hobby.He loved them and had a way with them.
