from death.

"No!" said he, sternly. "Better that one man should perish than that
the whole country should be ruined for his sake. It is resolved that he
shall die!"

When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the scaffold, his great enemy
stood at a window of the royal palace of Whitehall. He beheld the poor
victim of pride, and an evil education, and misused power, as he laid
his head upon the block. He looked on with a steadfast gaze while a
black-veiled executioner lifted the fatal axe and smote off that
anointed head at a single blow.

"It is a righteous deed," perhaps he said to himself.

"Now Englishmen may enjoy their rights."

At night, when the body of Charles was laid in the coffin, in a gloomy
chamber, the general entered, lighting himself with a torch. Its gleams
showed that he was now growing old; his visage was scarred with the many
battles in which he had led the van; his brow was wrinkled with care and
with the continual exercise of stern authority. Probably there was not
a single trait, either of aspect or manner, that belonged to the little
Noll who had battled so stoutly with Prince Charles. Yet this was he!

He lifted the coffin-lid, and caused the light of his torch to fall upon
the dead monarch's face. Then, probably, his mind went back over all
the marvellous events that had brought the hereditary King of England to
this dishonored coffin, and had raised himself, a humble individual, to
the possession of kingly power. He was a king, though without the empty