have been
a man. Would that Heaven had seen fit to grant him such a son!

"Two hours to supper," was what he said. "By the slow pace of our cattle
I judge we are on Denham hill. Permit me to doze, my dear. 'Tis the best
antidote to hunger. Whew, but it is cold! If you catch a quinsy, blame
that foolish Tony of yours."

But, though he closed his eyes, he did not sleep. All his life he
had been something of a fatalist, and this temper had endeared him to
Cromwell, who held that no man travelled so far as he who did not know
the road he was going. But while in Oliver's case the belief came from
an ever-present sense of a directing God, in him it was more of a
pagan philosophy. Mr. Lovel was devout after his fashion, but he had
a critical mind and stood a little apart from enthusiasm. He saw man's
life as a thing foreordained, yet to be conducted under a pretence of
freedom, and while a defender of liberty his admiration inclined more
naturally to the rigour of law. He would oppose all mundane tyrannies,
but bow to the celestial bondage.

Now it seemed that fate had taken charge of him through the medium of
two green lovers. He was to be spared the toil of decision and dwell in
an enforced seclusion. He was not averse to it. He was not Cromwell with
Cromwell's heavy burden; he was not even a Parliment man; only a private
citizen who wished greatly for peace. He had laboured for peace both
in field and council, and that very evening he had striven to guide the
ruler of England. Assuredly he had done a citizen's duty and might now
rest.

His thoughts turned to his family--the brave girl and the worthless boy.
He believed he had expunged Jasper from his mind, but the recollection
had still power to pain him. That was the stuff of which the King's
faction was made, half-witted rakes who were arrogant without pride
and volcanic without courage.... Not all, perhaps. The good Tony was a
welcome enough son-in-law, though Cecily would always be the better man.
The young Oxfordshire squire was true to his own royalties, and a mortal
could be no more. He liked the flaxen poll of him, which contrasted well
with Cecily's dark beauty--and his jolly laugh and the noble carriage of
his head. Yet what wisdom did that head contain which could benefit the
realm of England?

This story of a new plot! Mr. Lovel did not reject it. It was of a piece
with a dozen crazy devices of the King. The man was no Englishman, but
an Italian priest wh