yed the dastard had not a carved chair
arm stayed, for an instant, the weapon's fall. Ere it had shorn its
way through the oak, Stanley was safe from death, though the edge
scraped his head glancingly, sending the blood flying and leaving him
unconscious on the floor.

The Bishop of Ely escaped the axe aimed at him by a hurried retreat to
the rear of the room out of the general melee; for he was shrewd enough
instantly to comprehend that, while there might be fatal danger to him
in the crowd, there was but little when he stood aloof: God's Bishops
were not wont to be murdered deliberately in public. Yet it did not
save him from arrest, for Raynor glanced at the Protector, and reading
the order in his face stalked back and clapping Morton on the shoulder
said gruffly: "Come, Lord Bishop."

The whole affair was over almost as quickly as begun, and the Duke of
Gloucester never so much as changed position during the tumult, save to
lower the hand that had menaced Hastings. Then, when all the
counsellors were crowded together and surrounded by the soldiers, he
spoke quietly, addressing Raynor Royk:

"Commit the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Ely, and Lord Stanley to
the Garden Tower. See that Stanley's hurts be dressed. Release the
others, save the traitor Hastings. Him conduct to the Chapel Green,
and let his head be stricken from his fell carcass without delay, save
for absolution if he so desire it. . . Gentlemen, attend me."

Adjusting his cloak the Protector quitted the apartment and in silence
descended to the courtyard. There he drew his arm within Stafford's,
and dismissing the others proceeded slowly toward the royal lodge at
the southeast angle of the fortress.

"Verily will this day live in England's history," said De Wilton.
"Stoney Stratford was but a game of marteaux beside it."

"But when ends it?" said De Lacy solemnly.

"Yonder, on the throne in Westminster," De Wilton replied, almost in a
whisper.

"Nay, I mean the final end. Methinks I hear the rattle of armor and
the splintering of spears."

At that moment the file of soldiers emerged from the White Tower with
Lord Hastings in their midst, walking with the same grace and ease of
carriage that always distinguished him, his face calm and serene. As
his eyes fell upon the two younger Knights, who were moving slowly
toward the river gate, he said a word to Raynor Royk, and the column
halted. Raising his voice, that had rung over so ma