"So perish all his enemies," he repeated, "a very just vengeance, and 'tis my chance to see it, as it was to see the king die at Whitehall. But Lord, 'tis a bloody business--and to see how cheerful he bore it!" He rapped on his snuff-box and hemmed away his emotion. "Gad!" he said, suddenly staring at a face that rose above the crowd near him, "I was almost fool enough to think the fanatic's prophecy was come true, and there was General Harrison come alive again! That young fellow yonder is the very marrow of him! Some one of his family, I dare be sworn, poor wretch, and doubtless of the same way of thinking. But 'tis as handsome a young sprig as I have seen this long time. Lord, how time flies, and how one forgets business when there is any pleasuring toward; my lord will be in a fine fume;" and Mr. Samuel Pepys walked off towards the Admiralty offices without wasting another glance at Richard Harrison. He also pushed blindly on out of the crowd, with the groping step of a sleep-walker, but as he neared the outskirts of the throng a tap on his shoulder seemed to awake him, and he straightened himself as he turned sharply round. "Come under this archway till the crowd be past," said a short man muffled in a horseman's cloak. "You are too noticeable, Dick, to walk abroad to-day." "It is as safe for me as for you, Mr. Rogers," returned Dick. "Nay, nay; I am not like unto Saul the son of Kish for stature. Moreover, none who look on you can question you are kin to the servant of God who hath even now borne his witness, and this rabble is thirsty for the blood of the saints. Yet I know you have security--the friends with whom you have cast in your lot sit now in high places, and General Monck loves you well." "General Monck is no friend of mine," returned the young man sternly. "His friends are those only who sit in the king's court, and can carry honours to his house." "I am glad to hear it; I am heartily glad to hear it," replied Mr. Rogers. "The friendships of this evil generation will avail us little when the trumpet of the Lord of Hosts doth sound the reveille, and those poor bones yonder live once more, ay, and that dead hand beckon us on to victory." Mr. Rogers was quivering with excitement, and did not notice that Richard was leaning against the wall with set face, evidently quite deaf to his harangue. He went on with increased vehemence in the wildest strain of Fifth Monarchy eloquence.