osts!"

But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-sword
gave him pause.

"Halt! You cannot pass this way."

"Back, son of Moab!" was the Roundhead's retort. "Hinder me not, at your
peril."

Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cut
down the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man Charles
Stuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for answer, and kept the officer in
check with his point.

"Back, or I cut you down," threatened the Roundhead. "I am seeking the
malignant Stuart."

"If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, learn that
he is where you will never be--in God's keeping."

"Presumptuous hound," stormed the lad, "giveway!"

Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other;
then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and took
his opponent in the throat.

"You would have it so, rash fool," he deprecated.

The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell he
dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet. The knight
stooped, and when again he stood erect, confronting the rebels in that
narrow passage, he held a sword in either hand.

There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his dismay Crispin
saw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over the shoulder of one of
his foremost assailants. He set his teeth for what was to come, and
braced himself with the hope that the King might already have made good
his escape.

The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his last hope
of redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's defeat.

But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and anguish
were blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket barrel was dashed
aside.

"Take him alive!" was the cry of that voice. "Take him alive!" It was
Colonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way forward, now beheld the
bleeding body of the youth Crispin had slain. "Take him alive!" roared
the old man. Then his voice changing to one of exquisite agony--"My son,
my boy," he moaned.

At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's grief
left him unmoved.

"You must have me alive?" he laughed grimly. "Gadslife, but the honour
is like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be next to court the
distinction of dying by the sword of a gentleman?" he mocked them. "Come
on, you sons of dogs!"

His answer was an angry growl, and straigh