Harry spoke in a tone of haughty frankness, which carried conviction with it.

“I doubt you not,” Cromwell said.  “You have been a bitter foe to the Commons, Colonel Furness, but it is not of men like you that we need be afraid.  You meet us fairly in the field, and fight us loyally and honorably.  It is the tricksters, the double-dealers, and the traitors, the men who profess to be on our side but who burrow in the dark against us, who trouble our peace.  In this matter I am greatly beholden to you.  Now that you have given us warning of the plot, it will be met if attempted.  But should these men’s hearts fail them, or for any other cause the attempt be laid aside, I shall be none the less indebted to you.  I trust, Colonel Furness, that you will not go to the plantations.  England needs honest men here.  There is a great work yet to be done before happiness and quiet are restored; and we need all wise and good men in the counsels of the state.  Be assured that you are free to return and dwell with the Cavalier, your father, at your pleasure.  He drew aside from the strife when he saw that the cause he fought for was hopeless, and none have interfered with him.  Charles will, methinks, fight no more in England.  His cause is lost, and wise men will adapt themselves to the circumstances.  Let me know where you lodge to-night.  You will hear further from me to-morrow.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

Rest at last.

Harry slept at an inn in Westminster, and the next morning on going down to his breakfast, he found people much excited, a rumor having gone about that an attack had been made upon Cromwell’s house during the night, and that several had been killed, but no harm done to the general.  An hour afterward a messenger brought word that General Cromwell wished to see Colonel Furness.  After his breakfast Harry had at once gone out and purchased clothes suitable to a country gentleman; in these he proceeded to the general, and was at once shown up to his room.

“Your news was trustworthy, Colonel Furness, and Oliver Cromwell owes his life to you.  Soon after midnight one of the serving wenches opened the back door, and eight men entered.  Had no watch been set, they would doubtless have reached my room unobserved, by the staircase which leads from that part of the house.  As it was, I had a guard in waiting, and when the men were fairly inside they fell upon them.  The soldiers were too quick with them, being hot at the plot which was intended against my life, and all were killed, together with the wench who admitted them, who was stabbed by one of the men at the first alarm, thinking doubtless she had betrayed them.  I hear that none of them have the air of gentlemen, but are clearly broken men and vagabonds.  The haste of my soldiers has prevented me from getting any clew as to those who set them on, but I am sure that no English gentleman, even although devoted to