The Darling Strumpet

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THE SUN SHONE HOT AND BRIGHT IN THE GLORIOUS MAY SKY, AND the streets of London were rivers of joyous activity. Merchants and laborers, gentlemen and ladies, apprentices and servants, whores, thieves, and grimy urchins-all were out in their thousands. And all with the same thought shining in their minds and hearts and the same words on their tongues-the king comes back this day.

After ten years-nay, it was more-of England without a king. Ten years of the bleak and gray existence that life had been under the Protector-an odd title for one who had thrown the country into strife, had arrested and then beheaded King Charles. What a groan had gone up from the crowd that day at the final, fatal sound of the executioner’s axe; what horror and black despair had filled their hearts as the bleeding head of the king was held aloft in triumph. And all upon the order of the Protector, who had savaged life as it had been, and then, after all, had thought to take the throne for himself.

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