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.
As yet they had not met, nor had Cluny any certain knowledge of the Swaffham's location. There had been some supposition that they would lodge in Leadenhall Street, at the home of Mistress Adair, the widow of an Independent minister who had preached often in the little chapel attached to Oliver Cromwell's house in Huntingdon; but of this he had no positive information, and he certainly expected that Mrs. Swaffham would advise him of their arrival in London.
Mrs. Swaffham had, however, learned that Cluny Neville was personally objectionable to her husband and sons, and, as she could not see clearly what road to take, she very wisely stood still, waiting for some light and guidance. And it seemed unnecessary to trouble Jane's heart until there was a positive reason for doing so; yet her depression and evident disappointment fretted her mother.
"What is the matter with you, Jane?" she asked irritably one morning; "you look as if you had lost everything in the world instead of being, as your father thinks, right on the road to many a good day. I wouldn't throw such a damp over things if I were you."
"You seem to have forgotten Cluny, mother."
"He seems to have forgotten us; he might have called, I think."
"Does he know where we are?"
"He could have found out. He sees Cymlin often enough."
"I think Cymlin dislikes him. I asked him yesterday if he knew Lord Neville and he answered me rudely."
"He is your brother."
"Just for that reason he ought to have spoken civilly to me."
"He is your brother, and you must hear and heed what he says. And I must tell you, Jane, that it is not maidenly to take any young man so seriously as you take Lord Neville until your father and brothers are satisfied. It is a matter of importance to them what men are brought into the Swaffham family. There is plenty to make you happy without Lord Neville. Your own people are safe and sound, the Cause we love is secure, and you may now dwell your life out in England; but if we had not conquered, it would have been over the seas and into the wilderness for us, and strangers forever in old Swaffham. I shouldn't think you were done thanking God for these mercies yet; and if not, then where do you find heart-room for such melancholy and moping as I see in you?"
"But, mother, when I look back to last August – "
"If you want to look happily forward never look backward."
"To be sure; but though I know Cluny loves me, doubts and fears will come, and I cannot always fight them or reason with them."
"Don't try either fighting or reasoning. There is a broad enough way between them."
Jane smiled and lifted her tambour work, and her mother nodded cheerfully as she continued, "Enjoy the hour as it comes to you. I have always found that one good hour brings on another." And Jane took the counsel into her heart and anon began to sing —
"It was alone Thy Providence,
That made us Masters of the field,"
and when she had got thus far, a loud, joyful voice joined her in the next two lines, and its owner came into the room singing them —
"Thou art our Castle of defense,
Our Fort, our Bulwark and our Shield."
"Oh, Doctor Verity!" Jane cried, "how glad I am to see you."
"I had been here an hour ago, but I had to wait on the Lady Mary Cromwell. They who serve women must learn to wait. She has sent you a letter, and a coach is at your order, and you are bid to Whitehall. And you will be very welcome there."
"I know not any ceremonies, Doctor."
"You do not need to know them. It is Mary Cromwell, yet; though if the women of Cromwell's house assume greatness, he has won it for them. Why should they not wear the honours their father gives them?"
Then Jane ran to her mother, and her box of fineries was quickly packed, and the girl came down for her visit glowing with hope and happiness. All the shadows were gone; she sat a little proudly in the fine coach by the side of Doctor Verity, and was alert and watchful, for it did not seem an improbable thing that she might have a passing sight of her lover. The city had by this time recovered its every-day temper, and she could not help contrasting the plodding, busy serenity of its present mood with its frenzy of triumphant joy on the entry of Cromwell. Doctor Verity insisted that the two conditions were alike natural. "No one can play the fool like a wise man," he said; "and the greater and the richer the city the more extravagantly and unreasonably and vauntingly it will express its victory and salvation. London had so much to lose," he continued, "that it would better have lain in ashes than lain at the feet of any Stuart."
As they drew near to Whitehall, Jane's spirits fell a little. She had not caught a glimpse of her lover, and she felt a sudden anxiety about her position. Sometimes prosperity is as fatal to friendship as adversity, and the girl tried in silence to prepare herself for any change in affection that change of fortune might have caused. But her fears were very transient; Mary and Frances Cromwell met her with effusive attentions; they called her affectionately by her name, and quickly took her to the general sitting-room of the family. Madame Cromwell was there, as kind and motherly as of old; and Mistress Ireton, silently reading a sermon of Doctor Owen's; and Mrs. Claypole selecting some damask for a new gown; and Mary and Frances, full of the joy and pride of their great position, soon carried Jane all through their splendid apartments, and afterwards sat down together in Mary's room to talk over old times and the friends and occupations that had made them happy and memorable. Their first inquiry was for Lady Matilda de Wick, and when Jane answered, "Her father is dead, and I know not exactly what has befallen her since his death," the girls were all silent a few minutes. After the pause, Mary Cromwell said —
"I remember her so well on her fine Barbary mare. How handsome she was! How proud! If the Earl spoke to my father then she would deign to ask after my lessons, or my dog, or how the skating was on the Broad. But she was older than I, and it seems so long ago – lately she has been deaf, dumb and blind to the Cromwells – they do not mind that much now. I wonder where she is."
"It was said she would live with her aunt, Lady Jevery; if so, she must be in London."
"And you know it not? And you have not seen her? That is a marvel. It was thought impossible for Matilda de Wick and Jane Swaffham to live long apart."
"There have been great changes," sighed Jane. "People that were once friends know each other no more. It is hoped now that there will be many reconciliations."
"We have seen Lady Heneage often," said Mary Cromwell, "and 'tis said there is a purpose of marriage between Alice Heneage and a favourite of my father's – Lord Cluny Neville."
"I have seen Lord Neville," said Jane. "He brought me your letters and the blue and gold ribbon you sent me. His visits were flying ones; he came and he went."
"Like the knight in the story – he loved and he rode away. But we are all mightily taken with his fine manner and his beauty, and the Lord General, my father, thinks him to have great sincerity and discretion."
"A very perfect youth," answered Jane with a smile.
"Indeed, we think so; if you are of a different opinion you will change it on a better knowledge of the young man. He is coming here this afternoon, is he not, Frank?"
"He said so. He was to make some copies of the hymn he wrote, for Mr. Milton has set it to music, and we are to practice the singing together. Father thinks very highly of the words."
"Dear me!" ejaculated Jane, "is he also a poet? I thought he wrote only with his sword. I fear that he has too many perfections. Has he not one fault to balance them?"
"Yes," answered Mary, "he has one great fault, he is a Presbyterian, and a Scotch Presbyterian. In all other things he holds with the Lord General, but he sticks to his Scotch idols – John Knox and the Covenant."
"I think no worse of him for that," said Jane. "If he knew what an Independent was, he would likely be an Independent."
"It is not believable," retorted Mary. "He is a Scotchman, or next door to one. And if a man is a Samaritan, what can he know of Jerusalem?"
"I care not what he is," said Frances. "He has handsome eyes, and he writes poetry, and he tells such stories as make your blood run cold – and sometimes love-stories, and then his voice is like music; and if it was not sinful to dance – "
"But it is sinful," said Jane warmly, "and if I saw Lord Neville or any other man making mincing steps to a viol I would never wish to speak to him again. Would you, Mary?"
"Of course not, but Frank is only talking. We have masters now in music and singing and geography, and I am learning Morley's Airs3 straight through, besides roundelays and madrigals. And we have a new harpsichord, though the Lord General, my father, likes best the organ or the lute."
"And besides all this," continued Frances, "we are studying the French tongue, and history, and the use of the globes; and Mrs. Katon comes twice every week to teach us how to make wax flowers and fruit and take the new stitches in tatting and embroidery. And, Jane, I have got a glass bowl full of goldfish. They came from China, and there are no more of them, I think, in England. Come with me, and you shall see them."
"Never mind the fish now, Frank," said Mary; "there is the bell for dinner, and we must answer it at once or we shall grieve mother."
They rose at these words and went quickly to the dining-room. Mrs. Cromwell, leaning upon the arm of her daughter, Mrs. Ireton, was just entering it, and Jane wondered silently at the state these simple country gentry had so easily assumed. Officers of the household, in rich uniforms, waited on all their movements and served them with obsequious respect; and they bore their new honours as if they had been born to the purple. Mrs. Cromwell's simplicity stood her in the place of dignity, and the piety and stern republicanism of Mrs. Ireton gave to her bearing that indifference to outward pomp which passed readily for inherited nobility, while the beauty of Mrs. Claypole and her love of splendour fitted her surroundings with more than accidental propriety. All the women of this famous household were keenly alive to the glory of those achievements which had placed them in a palace, and all of them rendered to its great head every title of honour his mighty deeds claimed as their right.
"The General dines with the Speaker," said Mrs. Cromwell; and she was herself about to say grace when Doctor Verity entered. He was greeted with a chorus of welcomes, and readily took his seat at the foot of the table and spoke the few words of grateful prayer which sweetened and blessed every Puritan meal. Then in answer to some remark about Cromwell's absence he said,
"The Lord General is much troubled about the Worcester prisoners. There has just been a pitiful kind of triumph made out of their miseries. I don't approve of it, not I, God forbid! They have been made a spectacle for men and angels, marched from Hampstead Heath, through Aldgate, Cheapside, and the Strand, to Westminster – hungry, beggarly creatures, many of them wounded, and nearly naked."
"Poor fellows," said Mrs. Cromwell.
"Sturdy, surly fellows, madame. I don't envy the men who will have to manage them as slaves."
"They go to the Barbadoes, I hear?"
"Yes, – it is Scotland no more for them."
"Is that right, Doctor?"
"Indeed, madame, I am not clear in my conscience concerning the matter. It is the liberty of war. The Lord General has given two or three prisoners to each of his friends and entertainers between here and Worcester. However, the miserable fellows brought some comfort out of their evil plight, for the citizens along all the route forgot they were enemies, and the women fed them with the best of victuals, and the men stepped from their shop doors and put money in their hands. I'll be bound the rogues got more money and good white bread this morning than they have seen in all their lives before. Besides which, there is, in the Exchange and in the ale-houses, a box for the poor prisoners, and whenever men make a bargain they drop a God's-penny into it for them. That's Englishmen all over; they fight to the death in fair battle, but when their foe is at their feet they lift him up and help him and forget that he was ever their enemy. And may God keep Englishmen ever in such mind!"
"Indeed," said Mary Cromwell, "these Scots have given us trouble and sorrow enough. They ought to be sent out of the country, or out of the world, and that at once!"
"That is my opinion," said Mrs. Ireton. "Our brave men are being slain, and the country is torn asunder for their malignancy."
"There have been as brave spirits as the world ever saw in both Puritan and Royalist armies, madame," answered the Doctor. "I, for one, am glad that both parties have fought their quarrel to the end. I rejoice because our hard-smiting Puritan hosts would not let the Stuarts come back and trample them, with all law and liberty, under their feet. But I would have been deadly sorry if the Cavaliers of England had wanted the temper to fight for their King and their church. Right or wrong, we must honour men who have convictions and are willing to die for them."
"Monarchy and Prelacy go together," said Mrs. Ireton; "and England has had more than enough of both."
"We are of one mind on that point, madame," said Doctor Verity. "In this respect, the man George Fox and his followers have some true light, and they are scattering the truth, as they see it, broadcast. I have taken occasion, and sought occasion, and gone out of my way to find occasion, to meet George Fox, but have not yet done so. I was told that he once listened to my preaching at St. Paul's Cross, and that he said I was not far from the Kingdom. I liked that in George; I hope I may say the same for him. Our Lord General thinks him to be a man after God's own heart."
"My father sees the best in every one," said Mrs. Claypole.
"Why do you not speak to the Lord General about these poor prisoners?" Mrs. Cromwell said. "He gave very kind orders about the Dunbar prisoners, and if they were not carried out it was not his fault."
"I neglect no opportunities, madame. And Cromwell needs not that any one soften his heart. The sight of these fallen heroes made him weep – but there are considerations – and every triumph implies some one crushed at the chariot wheels."
"But, Doctor Verity," said Jane, "if we may lawfully fight and kill for the sake of our rights and our convictions, may we not also lawfully punish those who made us put our lives in such jeopardy?"
"Jane, I am sure that we have the right of self-defense; the awful attributes of vengeance and retribution are different things. Will mortal hands be innocent that take the sword of vengeance from God's armoury? I fear not. I had a long talk with Sir Richard Musgrave this morning on this very subject. I found Lord Cluny Neville with him; it seems they are related."
"Why did you not bring Lord Neville with you?" asked Frank.
"Lord Neville looks after his own affairs, Lady Frances – I do likewise."
"Then, Doctor," said Mrs. Cromwell, "look better after your dinner. That buttered salmon has gone cold while you talked. There is a jar of olives near you, – and pray what will you have? a dish of steaks? or marrow bones? or ribs of roast beef? or some larded veal? or broiled larks?"
"Roast beef for John Verity, madame, and a couple of broiled birds and a dish of prawns and cheese. I enjoy my meat, and am not more ashamed of it than the flowers are of drinking the morning dew."
"You are always happy, Doctor," said Jane.
"I think it is the best part of duty to be happy, and to make others happy. No one will merit heaven by making a hell of earth. As I came through Jermyn Street I saw Lady Matilda de Wick. She looked daggers and pistols at me. God knows, I pity her. She was shrouded in black."
"Has anything been heard of Stephen de Wick?" asked Jane.
"It is thought he reached The Hague in safety. His companion, Sir Hugh Belvard, joined Prince Rupert's pirate fleet there."
Then Mrs. Ireton, as if desirous of changing the subject, spoke of Doctor John Owen, and of his treatise on "The Pattern-Man," and Doctor Verity said he was "a Master in Israel." Talking of one book led to conversations on several others, until finally the little volume by Cromwell's brother-in-law, Doctor Wilkins, was mentioned. It was a dissertation on the moon and its inhabitants, and the possibility of a passage thither. Mrs. Ireton disapproved the book altogether, and Mrs. Cromwell was quite scornful concerning her brother Wilkins, and thought "the passage to the heavenly land of much greater importance."
But it was easy to turn from Doctor Wilkins to the great University in which he was a professor, and Mrs. Claypole reminded her mother of their visit to Oxford after its occupation by Cavalier and Puritan soldiers.
"I remember," she answered. "It was a sin and a shame to see! The stained windows were broken, and the shrines of Bernard and Frideswide open to the storm; the marble heads of the Apostles were mixed up with cannon balls and rubbish of all kinds. Straw heaps were on the pavements and staples in the walls, for dragoons had been quartered in All Souls, and their beasts had crunched their oats under the tower of St. Mary Magdalene. I could not help feeling the pity of it, and when I told the General he was troubled. He said 'the ignorant have clumsy ways of showing their hatred of wrong; but being ignorant, we must bear with them.'"
"All these barbarisms have been put out of sight," said Dr. Verity, "and thanks to Doctor Pocock, Oxford is itself again."
"Doctor Pocock!" ejaculated Mrs. Cromwell. "He was here a few days ago to consult with the General. He had on a square cap, and large ruff surmounting his doctor's gown; his hair was powdered and his boots had lawn tops trimmed with ribbons. He looked very little like a Commonwealth Divine and Professor."
"My dear madame, Doctor Pocock is both a Royalist and a Prelatist."
"Then he ought not to be in Oxford," said Mary Cromwell hotly. "What is he doing there?"
"He is doing good work there, Lady Mary, for he is the most famous Oriental and Hebrew scholar in England. No Latiner, but great in Syriac and Arabic; and no bigot, for he is the close friend of Doctor Wallis and of your uncle, Doctor Wilkins, though he does not go with them to the Wadham conventicle. The Parliamentary triers declared him incompetent but Edward Pocock had powerful friends who knew his worth, and perhaps if you ask your honoured father, he can tell you better than I why Dr. Pocock is in Oxford, and what he is doing there."
At this moment, Lord Cluny Neville entered the room. He saw Jane on the instant, and his eyes gave her swift welcome, while in the decided exhilaration following his entrance Love found his opportunities. But among them was none that gave him free speech with Jane; they were not a moment alone. Cluny had a fund of pleasant talk, for he had just come from the Mulberry Gardens, where he had met Mr. and Mrs. Evelyn and had some refreshment at the tables with them.
"I suppose the Evelyns were as gaily dressed as usual?" asked Mrs. Claypole, "and looking as melancholy as if the world would come to an end in a week's time?"
"Indeed, they were very handsome," answered Neville; "and the coach they brought from Paris is extremely fine. We had some chocolate in thin porcelain cups, and some Italian biscuits and sweetmeats. And anon we were joined by Mr. Izaak Walton, the gentlest of malignants, and very entertaining in his talk. Mr. Evelyn was praising Mr. Milton's poetry, but Mr. Walton did not agree with him. He thought John Milton was always trying to scale heaven by a ladder of his own, or else to bring down heaven on earth in some arbitrary shape or other – that in truth, he knew not in his work where he was going."
"He goes, truly, where Mr. Izaak Walton cannot follow him," said Mrs. Ireton. "John Milton has looked God's Word and his own soul in the face, and he will not hold Mr. Walton's opinion of him as anything to his hurt."
"Besides," added Cluny with a pleasant laugh, "Mr. Walton is writing a book, and Mr. Milton will soon not need to say with the patient man of Uz, 'Oh, that mine enemy had written a book!' He may have reprisals."
During this speech there was heard from a distant apartment the sound of music, low and sweet, and full of heavenly melody.
"That is Mr. Milton playing," said Mary Cromwell. "I would know his touch among a thousand." And then Cluny blushed a little, and held out a small roll which he carried in his hand. It contained three fair copies of his own hymn, and Mary delightedly hurried Jane and Frank away with her to the musician. He turned as they entered and bowed gravely, and the girls fell at once under the charm of his music. Mary involuntarily assumed a majestic attitude, Frances ceased her childish titter, Cluny became almost severe, and Jane stood in silent delight while the grand melody filled their souls till they outsoared the shadow of earth and that unrest which men miscall delight. "Glory to God!" he sang, and the room rang with the lofty notes and seemed full of Presence, and of flame-like faces, sublime and tender, while the air vibrated to the final triumphant crescendo, "Glory to God! Glory to God! Glory to God in the Highest!" And in his beautiful face there was seen for a few moments that face of the soul wherein God shineth.
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.
"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.
Not for ourselves, or for this day, we fought,
But for all lands and for all times we wrought
Stormy Salvation:
Thine was the battle, both by land and sea,
Thine was our valour and our victory,
Thine our oblation."
So far, Cluny Neville led the singers, but it was Cromwell's strenuous, adoring tones that mostly influenced the stirring chorus —
"Not unto us triumphant lauds and lays,
To 'Him whose name is Wonderful' be praise!
Be thanks! Be glory!"
The exultant song ceased, but their hearts were yet full of thanksgiving, and Cromwell walked about the room – with Frances and Jane at his side – humming the majestic melody, or breaking out into some line of audible song, until he finally said,
"I came here for John Milton, whose pen I need, and I have stayed to sing; and that is well, for the soul has wings as well as hands – and indeed our souls have had a good flight heavenward." Then addressing John Milton, he said,
"We have sundry letters to write, and the plain truth is, I could wish they were more heavenly. Here is a man to answer who is playing fast and loose with us, – and I will not have it. He is laying too much weight on my patience; let him take care that he break it not."
Speaking thus, he walked towards the door, and Jane marveled at the man. His countenance was changed: all its wistful tenderness and exaltation had given place to a stern, steadfast severity; his voice was sharp, his words struck like caustic, and the homelike, country gentleman was suddenly clothed with a great and majestic deportment. He put on his hat as he left the room. And there was the glint of a gold band round it, and in Jane's mind it gave to the rugged, broad-hatted grandeur of the man a kind of mythical authority, for she instantly remembered a picture of St. George of Cappadocia in de Wick hall which had the same gold band around the helmet. And ever afterwards she associated in her memory the patron Saint of England and the great Pathfinder of her people.
Neville left soon after the Lord General, and the girls had a game of battledore and shuttlecock in the long gallery; then sewing, reading aloud, the evening meal, and the evening exercise closed the day. The days that followed were little different; when the weather permitted there was a ride in the park, or shopping in Jermyn Street, or a visit to St. Paul's to hear Dr. Owen, or the great tolerant Mr. Jeremy Taylor. But Jane thought Dr. Verity need hardly have given her special counsel against the vanities of such a life as the Cromwells led. On the whole, she was not very sorry when her visit was over and she was free to return home. In spite of the frankest kindness, she felt out of her element. The Cromwells had outgrown their old friends, and not all their familiarities could dispel the atmosphere of superiority which surrounded them; it was unavoidable and unequivocal, though they were not themselves conscious of it.
But every happy family takes its tone from the head of the household, and this conqueror of three Kingdoms, stepping out grandly to their government from his victorious battle-fields, impressed something of his own character upon those so nearly and dearly allied to him. They had been after his image and likeness at St. Ives and Ely, what wonder if in the palaces of London they took on something of the royal air which his achievements entitled them to assume? There are friends whose favour we wear as jewels and ornaments, and there are others whose love will bear the usage of an every-day garment, and Jane understood that she must put the Cromwells among those friends reserved for rare or great occasions.
Then there came to her mind in very sweet fashion the memory of Matilda de Wick. They had quarreled almost constantly for years, and Matilda's exacting temper and sharp tongue had wounded her often; but for all that she knew Matilda loved her. Now perfect friendship must be founded on perfect equality, for though love may stoop to an inferior, friendship cannot do so without becoming patronage and offense. But between Matilda and Jane there was no question of this kind. The Swaffhams were noble by birth, they needed no title to give them rank. In their own county they stood among the foremost, and Earl de Wick had ever been ready to acknowledge the precedence of a family so much more ancient than his own. Besides which, the Swaffhams were very wealthy. Israel Swaffham had given his eldest daughter on her marriage to Lord Armingford ten thousand pounds, an immense bridal gift in those days. So that the question of equality had never crossed or shadowed the friendship between Jane and Matilda. Their many quarrels had been about King Charles, or Oliver Cromwell – or Stephen de Wick, for Matilda was passionately attached to her youngest brother and she thought Jane Swaffham valued him too little. With her mind full of kindly thoughts towards Matilda, Jane returned to her home, and she was delighted to find a letter from her friend waiting for her.