The Governor of England. Bowen Marjorie

colourless as the rich lace collar he wore. "There is no advice to be given but this—Your Majesty must call a Parliament."

      The King's mobile mouth curved scornfully.

      "And what will be the first action of this new assembly?" he demanded. "To present a petition against my Lord Strafford as once a petition was presented against my Lord Buckingham. Do you not know how the nation deals with my friends?"

      "Sire," replied the minister, with a great sweetness of manner that came with endearing charm from one of his stern and bold demeanour, "if Your Majesty calls me friend, it is enough. What shall I fear when the King stands by me?"

      "Yes, yes," replied Charles, in sudden agitation; "they should not have had Buckingham, and they shall not have you—rest assured, my lord. Guard only from another Felton, and I will protect you from these baying hounds that hate us so."

      He held out his hand and Strafford clasped and kissed it with sincere reverence. Not only was the King his beloved master, but the symbol of that sacred and Divine authority which he believed to be the finest form of government, and which his strong genius had so devotedly and strenuously served.

      The King, who seemed shaken with some sudden emotion, turned away, pressing his handkerchief to his lips, and at that moment the door opened, the leathern hanging that concealed it was lifted, and a lady entered the cabinet—a lady frail and flowerlike to the eye, attired in a gown of white silk with knots of pink; a lady with a radiant face of the most delicate hues and shadings, whose fine black ringlets were adorned with a braid of pearls worked in the likeness of the fleur-de-lis on a pink ribbon.

      Her countenance wore a look of fatigue and anxiety under the animation of her expression, but, though she had lost the dewy loveliness of her girlhood, she still appeared fragrant and youthful, an exquisite, royal creature whose Bourbon blood showed in the quick, impetuous pride of her carriage, while she had the great black eyes of her Medici mother, and something, too, of the Italian in her gay liveliness.

      At her entrance the King turned towards her with instant eagerness. He had at this time three counsellors—Strafford, Laud, and the Queen—and any one who looked upon him now as he took his wife's hand and led her to the deep-cushioned window-seat, would not have doubted which had the most influence of the three. Henriette Marie was now, as she had ever been, the most powerful influence in her husband's life.

      She looked now from the King to the Earl and said quickly, with a pronounced French accent—

      "What advice does my lord give in this perverse issue?"

      "He saith there is nothing for it, Mary, but to call another Parliament."

      The Queen stamped her white-shod foot.

      "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, with her eyes afire and a heat as of fire in her voice also. "Are we to stretch our necks out for the canaille to put their feet thereon?"

      She spoke with the boundless pride of the daughter of Henri Quatre, of one whose father, brother, and husband were kings; she spoke also with the intolerance of a Papist for heretics, and with a woman's ignorance of the worth and value of the great movements and upheavals of the world.

      All this Strafford saw; he saw also that she was a bad counsellor for the King, but, though he was not the kind of man to relish sharing confidences with a woman, he had long since recognized the fact that Henriette Marie ruled England fully as much as the King.

      Therefore he answered quietly—

      "It is the only expedient, Madame, to raise money."

      "I would rather," returned the Queen impetuously, "sell every jewel I possess!"

      The Earl smiled sadly.

      "All your jewels twice over, Madame, would not serve our need now."

      The Queen turned and caught her husband's sleeve.

      "Is there no alternative—none?" she demanded. "Where are the soldiers? Believe me, I would sooner see the heads of these men on London Bridge than conferring together in Westminster Hall."

      "Nay," replied Charles tenderly, "hold up thy heart, dearest. I cannot think I shall again be confronted by such unruly miscreants as last time, and truly there are divers things of much inconvenience that I do fear cannot be settled save by this same calling of a Parliament."

      The Queen returned his look of deep affection with a flashing glance.

      "Truly, I am ashamed and scandalized that Your Majesty is come to this pass! Where are your lords and your soldiers?"

      "We have barely enough to hold the Scots off London," replied Charles, "and those are unpaid and disaffected—as thou knowest."

      The Queen's great eyes sparkled with the ready tears of provoked passion.

      "My Lord Archbishop was not safe at Lambeth," said Strafford slowly. "The mobile followed him even to the gates of Whitehall."

      "And is there no one to fire on them—to cut them down with the sword?" asked the Queen. "Oh, Strafford, my Lord Strafford, I fear you have very greatly failed of your high promises!"

      "The depth of my failure is measured by the depth of my humiliation," returned the Earl. "I have not spared myself, Madame, in the endeavour to make this kingdom great in the councils of Europe, and His Majesty first among the crowned heads thereof, but the breath of the populace is a wind that will blow any barque on to the rocks."

      The King put his hand on Strafford's great shoulder.

      "My friend," he said warmly, "no king ever had a truer. Do not blame my lord, Mary, for this pass we are in, for he, if any man can, will serve us and help us to a better issue."

      "In France we have other ways to deal with treason and rebellion," said the Queen with sudden weariness; "but do what thou wilt! Call thy Parliament, and God grant it avail thee to ease thy needs!"

      She moved, with a whisper of silk, from the two men, and, taking up a vellum-bound book from the little bureau where the King had sat, fluttered over the painted leaves.

      Strafford picked up his great plumed hat; he was bound that evening for the headquarters of the English army at York, where he was to take up the chief command.

      The King walked with him to the door, holding his arm.

      "Fear thou nought," he said earnestly. "I will protect thee."

      The Queen put down the book and came forward.

      "Take no heed of my passions," she said sweetly. "You have served us well and we love you; good fortune, my lord. Farewell, and a fair journey to York."

      The Earl went on one knee to kiss her perfumed, pale hand, and she looked at him with a certain tenderness, a certain regret, a certain scorn curious to behold.

      "I am too much your servant to avow myself afresh your creature," said Strafford, lifting his ardent eyes, not to the lady, but to his master. "You have all of me. I pray God deliver Your Majesty from these present pressures, and grant me power to work you some service."

      The sun was pouring broad beams full through the window and illumining all the rich treasures that filled the cabinet, the gold-threaded tapestry, the Italian pictures, the finely-wrought furniture, the carpets of Persia, and the two graceful figures so delicately apt to this gorgeous setting. The sunlight fell also on my lord, a figure more soldierlike and not so attuned to a scene of luxury.

      So he took his leave and came glooming into the courtyard, and mounted amid his escort, and rode down Whitehall.

      The streets were empty, by reason of the heat; only the vendors of oranges and a few idlers were abroad, but when my lord reached Westminster Hall, he saw by the corner-posts of the road two men standing, and his bright, quick glance knew them at once for two enemies of his—one his chief enemy, Mr. Pym, and the other one of his followers who had sat for Cambridge in the Little Parliament, and been marked unfavourably by my lord—a certain Oliver Cromwell.