"I am right glad to hear it," answered the other, heartily. "Then, farewell, but I trust we shall meet and be merry many a year after Pat Keith is hanged," and shaking Harrison warmly by the hand, the guardsman turned on his heel and swaggered down the street. Dick smiled grimly to himself as he directed the waiting-maid to follow her mistress in the coach to the Coleman Street meeting-house. "I am to avoid the company of fanatical people," he muttered. "Heaven knows I have as little love for them as Old George can have! If I can but get Aunt Harrison safe into the coach, I give them leave to clap a Geneva gown on my back if ever I am found in their company again." The shabby room in Coleman Street, where the Fifth Monarchy men were in the habit of assembling, was crowded with men, and the first glance showed with what ominous intentions the congregation were assembled. On a rickety platform at the end of the of the room a preacher in a Geneva gown was holding forth in the most violent language of the sect, and all around the grim listeners hung on his words with immovable attention, leaning on their pikes or holding their drawn swords across their knees. Many were old soldiers, their stained buff-coats and scarred faces telling tales of Naseby and Marston Moor, and contrasting with the prim bands and well-brushed cloaks of the citizen members of the congregation. As the new-comers entered, the preacher paused in his harangue, and a hum of welcome went up from the armed ranks to greet their arrival. But one white-haired old soldier sprang up with a shout of exultation that was almost a scream. "Glory, glory," he shrieked, "the General is risen from the dead! The power of Satan is broken!" and rushing forward he flung his arms round Dick in an ecstacy of welcome. "Nay, nay, brother Day," said Mr. Rogers, stepping forward, "you mistake; this is Richard Harrison who fought beside you at Worcester; he is come to speak with his kinswoman. We must yet for a little possess our souls with patience," he continued; drawing the old man's hand on his arm, and leading him to a seat he sat down beside him, exhorting him in a low voice, while Dick made his way to the corner where Mrs. Harrison sat, her head bowed on her hands. To his astonishment and relief, she did not immediately refuse his invitation to accompany him; a woman of gentle nature and rather dull intelligence, she naturally clung to her nephew as the dearest thing left to her in her sorrow, and although she pleaded at first faintly that he would not take her away from the comfort of Mr. Feake's exhortations and the expectation of the miracle he foretold, she showed herself quite ready to listen to his persuasions.