"Hasten, sire," he exclaimed, "here is a portion of Colonel's
Pride's troop."

The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians,
"It is ended," he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin
had sprung from his horse.

"Dismount, sire," he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously
as to appear to drag him out of the saddle.

"Which way?" demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to
right. "Which way?"

But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing
the royal arm - for who in such straits would deal
ceremoniously? - he thrust the King across the threshold, and,
following, closed the door and shot its only bolt. But the
shout set up by the Puritans announced to them that their
movement had been detected.

The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the
passage wherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that
bent the royal brows.

"And now?" demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his
voice.

"And now begone, sire," returned the knight. "Begone ere they
come."