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I will find thee man after man from amongst Ireton's or Cromwell's horse I know not the foot so well: fanatic enough they are, God knows! and many of them fools enough to boot! but I will find thee man after man who is fanatic or fool enough, which thou wilt, to love better than thou, thou poor atom of solitary selfishness!
His opponents had a certain regard for him, and he had the name of moderate. No, if politics touched the business, it was Ireton's doing. Ireton feared his influence with Cromwell. But that sober man of God was no bravo. He confessed himself at a loss. Mr. Lovel had reached this point in his meditations when the coach suddenly stopped.
Ireton's wing, indeed, had given way and fled under the shock of Rupert's charges, but not till Ireton himself had had his horse shot under him, received two wounds, and been taken prisoner in a counter-attack. Carlyle's Cromwell, I. 176.
Her dignity and self-control added greatly to Michael Ireton's admiration for her. He, too, had been struck by her resemblance to Hadassah, so her beauty appealed to him very strongly. Hadassah and her husband allowed her to go home to England without protest.
'It's quiet, and we can talk. The sun had just set; the sky was magnificent with afterglow. Ireton's hint about privacy led me to hope that he was going to talk more confidentially than hitherto, and I soon found that I was not mistaken. 'Do you know, he began, calling me by my name, 'I fancy you have been criticising me yes, I know you have.
In that event you might have stood in Captain Ireton's shoes, and so had the priest fetched for your benefit." Then he turned to Margery with a bow that had no touch of mockery in it. "I crave your pardon, Madam; I knew not you were pleading for your husband's life an hour ago. It grieves me that I may not spare him to you longer than the night, but war is cruel at its best."
Political events of great interest happened during the two short years of Ireton's command.
In the remote parts of his being there was the capacity for the phenomenal, the strange. Once again, as in the church, he saw the field of Naseby, King Charles, Ireton's men, Cromwell and his Ironsides, Prince Rupert and the swarming rush of cavalry, and the end of it all! Had it been a tale of his father's at camp-fire? Had he read it somewhere? He felt his blood thump in his veins.
Her happiness as the wife of the Englishman who had scorned the gossiping tongues of Cairo by marrying her, and her pride in the young Nicholas, their son, who was just learning to walk, made Michael Amory a little envious. Michael Ireton's home and life seemed almost ideal. This wealthy, happy couple lived in the world and yet not for the world; they had discovered the true meaning of life.
You must not forget that he is Gilbert Stair, and you are Roger Ireton's son." "I am not likely to forget it. But still a word of welcome to the unbidden guest would not have come amiss. And it was none of my seeking this asylum in his house." "True; but that has naught to do with any coolness of my father's." "What is it, then? besides the fact that I am Roger Ireton's son?"
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