y to whom
he was not dear.

But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the forbidding
set of his face froze them into silence.

"Give me that letter," he demanded sternly of Tyler.

Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin waited with
hand outstretched. Vainly did he look round for sign or word of help or
counsel. None was afforded him by his fellow-revellers, who one and all
hung back in silence.

Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try conclusions
with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered the paper; and, with
a pleasant bow and a word of thanks, delivered with never so slight
a saturnine smile, Crispin turned on his heel and left the tavern as
abruptly as he had entered it.

The din it was that had attracted him as he passed by on his way to the
Episcopal Palace where a part of his company was on guard duty. Thither
he now pursued his way, bearing with him the letter which so opportunely
he had become possessed of, and which he hoped might throw further light
upon Kenneth's relations with the Ashburns.

But as he reached the palace there was a quick step behind him, and a
hand fell upon his arm. He turned.

"Ah, 'tis you, Kenneth," he muttered, and would have passed on, but the
boy's hand took him by the sleeve.

"Sir Crispin," said he, "I came to thank you."

"I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. Give you good evening." And
he made shift to mount the steps when again Kenneth detained him.

"You are forgetting the letter, Sir Crispin," he ventured, and he held
out his hand to receive it.

Galliard saw the gesture, and for a moment it crossed his mind in
self-reproach that the part he chose to play was that of a bully. A
second he hesitated. Should he surrender the letter unread, and fight on
without the aid of the information it might bring him? Then the thought
of Ashburn and of his own deep wrongs that cried out for vengeance,
overcame and stifled the generous impulse. His manner grew yet more
frozen as he made answer:

"There has been too much ado about this letter to warrant my so lightly
parting with it. First I will satisfy myself that I have been no
unconscious abettor of treason. You shall have your letter tomorrow,
Master Stewart."

"Treason!" echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of Crispin's his
mood changed from conciliatory to resentful--resentful towards the fates
that made him this man's debtor.

"I assure you, o