"God bless him, and bring him safe out of their wicked hands," echoed the old woman, as she turned to hobble home. Within the house, the hall and passages were thronged with servants and visitors, most of whom made no secret of their loyal sorrow at seeing their king brought among them as a prisoner. The officers who formed the escort appeared, however, to trouble very little about the sentiments of the crowd, and from good nature or contempt went about their own affairs, allowing the country squires and their wives to show their loyal devotion in any fashion they pleased. In the panelled dining-parlour the supper-table stood ready, prepared for one guest only, but the room was as yet only lit by the fading gleams of the winter sunset and the dancing flames of the fire. The group of officers and visitors who were gathered round the hearth, spoke to each other in low tones as they glanced with looks of curiosity, and even covert amusement, at two gentlemen who stood in the recessed window, in earnest talk. But a boy who stood near the door watched all with no amusement in his face. He stood erect, grave, watching with his serious untroubled childish eyes the great things that were passing before him. A bright, eager boy, whose brown hands one would think fitter to hold a top than to caress the hilt of his new sword; a boy young enough to be proud of his position, proud of his soldier's dress; to whom life was a very interesting but a very simple matter. He looked with a child's awe at the two men in the window, and they were worthy of his gaze. The slender, slightly bowed figure in the velvet coat and blue ribbon, with soft curls that flowed from beneath a plumed hat, the sad eyes, the regular features only marred by a look of weakness and almost peevishness about the mouth; the boy had seen them all often enough in pictures, but to-day he stood for the first time in the presence of a king, of King Charles the First of England. Before the king stood an equally picturesque personage, although at first sight you hardly noticed the features or colouring that went to make up the gallant figure of the man. It was the erect, proud bearing, the vivid life, the eagerness of a high-strung nature, now controlled by the courtesy due to his companion. His buff coat and crimson sash were like those worn by the boy, and the velvet cap he carried in his hand left uncovered curls as brown; but instead of the childish calm of the boy's hazel eyes, the older man's glance now flashed with the fire of an eagle, now glowed with the exalted enthusiasm of a poet. It was no wonder that the boy watched him with a look of dog-like adoration that scarcely spared a glance for the king himself. Young Dick's king stood before him in truth, and his name was not Charles Stuart but Thomas Harrison. "Show us thy new sword, Dick," whispered a young cornet, whose laughing eyes danced in very unpuritanical fashion.