hat you an'
your freends'll be in kingdom-come before we swing, if ye try to tak' us
alive. Oot o' this hoose, ye scoondrels!"

So saying, Black made a spring worthy of a royal Bengal tiger, turned
aside the pike of the foremost man, and brought the shovel down on his
iron headpiece with such force that he was driven back into the passage
or landing, and fell prostrate. Black was so ably and promptly seconded
by his stalwart comrades that the room was instantly cleared.
Glendinning, driven back by an irresistible blow from the rolling-pin,
tripped over the fallen man and went headlong down the winding stairs,
at the bottom of which he lay dead, with his neck broken by the fall.

But the repulse thus valiantly effected did not avail them much, for the
leader of the guard had reinforcements below, which he now called up.
Before the door could be shut these swarmed into the room and drove the
defenders back into their corner. The leader hesitated, however, to
give the order to advance on them, partly, it may be, because he wished
to induce submission and thus avoid bloodshed, and partly, no doubt,
because of the terrible aspect of the four desperate men, who, knowing
that the result of their capture would be almost certain death, preceded
by imprisonment, and probably torture, had evidently made up their minds
to fight to the death.

At that critical moment a quick step was heard upon the stair, and the
next moment the Reverend Frank Selby entered the room.

"Just in time, I see," he said in a cool nonchalant manner that was
habitual to him. "I think, sir," he added, turning to the leader of the
guard, "that it may be as well to draw off your men and return to the
guard-room."

"I'll do that," retorted the man sharply, "when I receive orders from my
superiors. Just now I'll do my duty."

"Of course you will do what is right, my good sir," replied the Reverend
Frank; "yet I venture to think you will regret neglecting my advice,
which, allow me to assure you, is given in quite a friendly and
disinterested spirit. I have just left the precincts of the Council
Chamber, where I was told by a friend in office that the Councillors
have been thrown into a wild and excusable state of alarm by the news
that William, Prince of Orange, who, perhaps you may know, is James's
son-in-law and nephew, has landed in Torbay with 15,000 Dutchmen. He
comes by invitation of the nobles and clergy of the kingdom to take
possession of