, holding aloft a lanthorn whose rays were flashed back by his
polished cuirass. He beheld Crispin on the bed with closed eyes and open
mouth, and he heard his reassuring and melodious snore. He saw Kenneth
seated peacefully upon the floor, with his back against the wall, and
for a moment he was puzzled.

"Heard you aught?" he asked.

"Aye," answered Kenneth, in a strangled voice, "I heard something like a
shot out there."

The gesture with which he accompanied the words was fatal. Instinctively
he had jerked his thumb towards the window, thereby drawing the
soldier's eyes in that direction. The fellow's glance fell upon the
twisted bar, and a sharp exclamation of surprise escaped him.

Had he been aught but a fool he must have guessed at once how it came
so, and having guessed it, he must have thought twice ere he
ventured within reach of a man who could so handle iron. But he was a
slow-reasoning clod, and so far, thought had not yet taken the place of
surprise. He stepped into, the chamber and across to the window, that he
might more closely view that broken bar.

With eyes that were full of terror and despair, Kenneth watched him;
their last hope had failed them. Then, as he looked, it seemed to him
that in one great leap from his recumbent position on the bed, Crispin
had fallen upon the soldier.

The lanthorn was dashed from the fellow's hand, and rolled to Kenneth's
feet. The fellow had begun' a cry, which broke off suddenly into a
gurgle as Galliard's fingers closed about his windpipe. He was a big
fellow, and in his mad struggles he carried: Crispin hither and thither
about the room. Together: they hurtled against the table, which would
have: gone crashing over had not Kenneth caught it and drawn it softly
to the wall.

Both men were now upon the bed. Crispin had guessed the soldier's intent
to fling himself upon the ground so that the ring of his armour might
be heard, and perchance bring others to his aid. To avoid this, Galliard
had swung him towards the bed, and hurled him on to it. There he pinned
him with his knee, and with his fingers he gripped the Roundhead's
throat, pressing the apple inwards with his thumb.

"The door, Kenneth!" he commanded, in a whisper. "Close the door!"

Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that throttling
grip. Already his efforts grew his face was purple; his veins stood out
in ropes upon his brow till they seemed upon the point of bursting; his
eye