ut
of a tavern in front of him. Their dress denoted their profession and
rank. They were lieutenants of the regiment which had been newly
quartered at the castle. Both were drunk. One was capering about in a
hopeless effort to dance; the other was trolling out a stave of the
ballad that was just then being sung at the corner of every street:--

The blood that he lost, as I suppose
(Fa la la la),
Caused fire to rise in Oliver's nose
(Fa la la la).
This ruling nose did bear such a sway,
It cast such a heat and shining ray,
That England scarce knew night from day
(Fa la la la).

The singer who thus described Cromwell and his shame was interrupted
by a sudden attack of thirst, and forthwith applied the unfailing
antidote contained in a leathern bottle which he held in one hand.

Ralph stepped off the pavement to allow the singer the latitude his
condition required, when that person's companion pirouetted into his
breast, and went backwards with a smart rebound.

"What's this, stopping the way of a gentleman?" hiccuped the man,
bringing himself up with ludicrous effort to his full height, and
suspending his capering for the better support of his soldierly
dignity.

Then, stepping closer to Ralph, and peering into his face, he cried,
"Why, it's the man of mystery, as the sergeant calls him. Here, I say,
sir," continued the drunken officer, drawing with difficulty the sword
that had dangled and clanked at his side; "you've got to tell us who
you are. Quick, what's your name?"

The man was flourishing his sword with as much apparent knowledge of
how to use it as if it had been a marlin-spike. Ralph pushed it aside
with a stout stick that he carried, and was passing on, when the
singing soldier came up and said, "Never mind his name; but whether he
be Presbyter Jack or Quaker George, he must drink to the health of the
King. Here," he cried, filling a drinking-cup from the bottle in his
hand, "drink to King Charles and his glory!"

Ralph took the cup, and, pretending to raise it to his lips, cast its
contents by a quick gesture over his shoulder, where the liquor fell
full in the face of the Shadow, who had at that moment crept up behind
him. The soldiers were too drunk to perceive what he had done, and
permitted him to go by without further molestation. As he walked on he
heard from behind another stave of the ballad, which told how--

This Oliver was of Huntingdon