And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his
hot lips.

A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and
one of its panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw
it, and with a muttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he
obeyed the knight, and fled.

Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the
door gave way completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over
the ruins of it sprang a young Puritan-scarce more than a boy -
shouting: "The Lord of Hosts!"

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,