shall answer to me!"

The suddenness of his action and the fierceness of his tone and
gesture - a fierceness so grotesquely ill-attuned to his
slender frame and clerkly attire left the company for a moment
speechless with amazement. Then a mighty burst of laughter
greeted him, above which sounded the shrill voice of Tyler, who
held his sides, and down whose crimson cheeks two tears of
mirth were trickling.

"Oh, fie, fie, good Master Stewart!" he gasped. "What think
you would the reverend elders say to this bellicose attitude
and this profane tongue of yours?"

"And what think you would the King say to this drunken
poltroonery of yours?" was the hot unguarded answer.
"Poltroonery, I say," he repeated, embracing the whole company
in his glance.

The laughter died down as Kenneth's insult penetrated their
befuddled minds. An instant's lull there was, like the lull in
nature that precedes a clap of thunder. Then, as with one
accord, a dozen of them bore down upon him.

It was a vile thing they did, perhaps; but then they had drunk
deep, and Kenneth Stewart counted no friend amongst them. In
an instant they had him, kicking and biting, on the floor; his
doublet was torn rudely open, and from his breast Tyler plucked
the letter whose existence had led to this shameless scene.