The Queen had roused His Majesty to this unfortunate attempt by more than entreaties,—by reproaches,—by taunts of cowardice.
“You are not in earnest!” cried Henrietta.
“Can I be otherwise, my love, on such a day as this? I heard the word ‘poltroon,’ I heard (for she spoke shrilly)—I heard her demand that he, the King, should bring her the traitors with his own hand. Ah! my love! we are all children of passion at times; and if ever I saw faces moved by passion, it has been at Whitehall to-day.”
“Did you know what the King was going to do?”
“Not precisely; but I was dreadfully anxious. It was a weary morning. The Queen seemed lost in thought, but restless. She looked at the time-piece every minute: at last she smiled in my face, and told me that by that moment His Majesty and his crown were secure. By the time the hour struck which was then about to strike, Mr. Pym (the rival king she called him) and his abettors would be under arrest for high treason. I thought I should have died: but it was necessary to act: and, Heaven be praised! the delay of the King’s coach in the crowd saved him!—saved all the five.”
“What was it that you did?”
“I sent him a note by a quick and sure hand—”
“To my father?”
“No; to Mr. Pym. I cannot tell you more: and you are not fit to hear it now. My child, let us be thankful they are safe! Yes,—safe. The people of England will never let a hair of Mr. Pym’s head be touched.”
Henrietta was infinitely perplexed: but all such perplexities must wait. The agitations of the day were consummated by Henrietta’s condition. Before night her child was born; and the child, a boy, was living, and likely to live.
It was no use now wishing, as Lady Carewe did many times, in the course of that night, that the family had remained at their lodging in Gray’s Inn Lane, or, better still, at the house at Chelsea, where they had spent some weeks of the autumn, till the troubles brought them into London. Mr. Hampden and she had thought that they could send the young people away into Buckinghamshire, if the public quarrel should ripen into war: but that Henrietta should be brought to bed in this town lodging had never been imagined. And this very night was the noisiest and most alarming that had yet occurred. Henrietta was in the quietest room in the house; but the sailors and wherrymen made almost as much clamour on the river as the citizens did in the streets. Everywhere the people were banding themselves together for the defence of the Parliament: and the assemblages in boats and on the wharves, the nautical cries, the shouts for privilege of Parliament, the cheers for the City bands, when the news spread that the King could not have their services because they were pre-engaged,—these movements broke up the quiet of the night. Then, gunshots were heard occasionally; and the river flared under the torches which traversed it in all directions.
All this was bad for Henrietta; but it was a small disturbance in comparison with what was in her mind. She wept so that it was vain to recommend sleep to her.
“Believe me,” said Lady Carewe, “we are in no serious fear for your father’s present safety. He is doubtless hidden in the City. But, if I err not, it is another thought which afflicts you now, my child.”
Henrietta’s redoubled sobs showed that this was true; and Lady Carewe went on:
“In a few short days—possibly in one single day—you and Harry will be smiling together over the folly of two young persons who did not know when they were blessed enough, and threw their bliss away. In a few hours possibly, Harry and you will be adoring this new little idol of yours. Ah yes! it is a pity that Harry was not here when his firstborn saw the light: but, this retribution over, further lamentation will be wrong.”
Harry was coming then! On this consolation Henrietta slept at last.
Harry did not come in one day,—nor in two, nor in three. The trouble of the time was answerable for this. No man could be more impatient; and his messengers brought ample evidence of it; but Mr. Hampden’s tenantry, and many more of the yeomanry of Buckinghamshire prepared to ride up to London, to the number of four thousand, to protect their member, and to offer their support to the Parliament; and they chose to have Mr. Carewe for their leader. They could not be brought up, in complete readiness for any sort of action, in less than a week. Meantime, it required all Philip’s judgment, and all his cheerfulness, to keep up the courage of the family. The King’s friends gave out at one hour that the accused members had fled to foreign countries whence they could never return, and at the next that His Majesty knew where they were lying hid, and had them as in a trap. Again, everything went wrong with the King. He gained nothing by a visit to the City, the day after the fatal Tuesday when he failed in the object for which he had violated the privilege of Parliament. Wherever he went shouts of “Privilege!” arose: copies of the Protests of the Commons were thrust into his coach: the City bands were not well affected towards him; and his seamen, whom he had supposed as loyal to the Crown as to the sea itself, openly went over to the other side. Finally, after a week, His Majesty had to hear of the return of the five members whom he had called traitors, to their seats. It was easy to go to Hampton Court or elsewhere, out of sound of the cheering; but it was useless; for the news brought of what the people of London, and thousands from the provinces were doing in Westminster was worse to listen to than the shouts themselves. Lady Carlisle related afterwards how anxiously the King inquired all the particulars of the passage of Mr. Pym and his comrades through the streets, escorted by all London; and how he caused himself to be informed of every word that could be remembered of Mr. Hampden’s speech, which opened the business of the House that day; and how scandalised the Queen was at the freedom with which