is side, or even of where he shall lay his periled head
in the night that is coming. Those eyes have shut away the physical and
the real, and through the mists of the future they are trying to read
the great question of _fate_! Worcester is lost, and with it a kingdom:
is he to be henceforth a crownless king and a hunted fugitive, or has
the future its compensations? This is what the fixed and glassy eyes are
saying to every beholder, and there is not one who does not answer the
question with a mental response forced by that mute appeal of suffering
thought: 'The king shall have his own again!'

The second picture in the same collection is much smaller, and commands
less attention; but it tells another story of the same great struggle
between King and Parliament, through the agency of the same feature. A
wounded cavalier, accompanied by one of his retainers, also wounded, is
being forced along on foot, evidently to imprisonment, by one of
Cromwell's Ironsides and a long-faced, high-hatted Puritan cavalry-man,
both on horseback, and a third on foot, with _musquetoon_ on shoulder.
The cavalier's garments are rent and blood-stained, and there is a
bloody handkerchief binding his brow and telling how, when his house was
surprised and his dependents slaughtered, he himself fought till he was
struck down, bound and overpowered. He strides sullenly along, looking
neither to the right nor the left; and the triumphant captors behind him
know nothing of the story that is told in his face. The eyes, fixed and
steady in the shadow of the bloody bandage, tell nothing of the pain of
his wound or the tension of the cords which are binding his crossed
wrists. In their intense depth, which really seems to convey the
impression of looking through forty feet of the still but dangerous
waters of Lake George and seeing the glimmering of the golden sand
beneath, we read of a burned house and an outraged family, and we see a
prophecy written there, that if his mounted guards could read, they
would set spurs and flee away like the wind--a calm, silent, but
irrevocable prophecy: 'I can bear all this, for my time is coming! Not a
man of all these will live, not a roof-tree that shelters them but will
be in ashes, when I take my revenge!' Not a gazer but knows, through
those marvelous eyes alone, that the day is coming that he _will_ have
his revenge, and that the subject of pity is the victorious Roundhead
instead of the wounded and captive caval