To Dick's vexation many of the idlers seemed familiar with the names of the leaders of the Fifth Monarchy sect, and not only shouted for Parson Rogers, but hailed Madam Harrison and her nephew with expressions of mock respect. Dick hurried her into the coach with all speed, and signed to his servant to lead his horse down a retired alley, but the aspect of the gathering crowd was so threatening, and that of his attendant saints so grim, that he began to suspect that his only escape from being stoned by the unbelieving mob, or run through by a Fifth Monarchy corporal, would be to be laid by the heels in a city jail! But the rising commotion in the street was nothing to the commotion that greeted Dick as he re-entered the meeting-house. Some were clamouring for vengeance on the spy who had signalled the mob to gather round their door, others urging Richard to save himself from the fate awaiting impenitent sinners by immediately drawing his sword in the Fifth Monarchy cause, while others, of whom Mr. Rogers was chief, were clamouring for liberty for tender conscience and long suffering with those of feeble faith. The shouting was so violent that the congregation effectually deafened themselves to the knocking that began to make itself heard at the door of the room, and it was not till the knocking changed to the clang of crowbars, and the door gave way before the assailants, that the excited fanatics realized that their enemies were upon them. The doorways were filled with the pikes and muskets of a strong body of soldiers, and an officer pressing his way to the front called upon the principal leaders of the Fifth Monarchy men by name to surrender themselves. Feake, Powell, John Rogers, Courteney, Day, and Richard Harrison were the names that rang out above the shouts of the sectaries, who, crying out that the day of the Lord was come, charged outwards with such impetuosity that the soldiers were for a moment forced backwards. Dick stood watching the conflict with a feeling of grim amusement. Fate had played into the hands of his Scotch enemy with a vengeance, and his presence among these desperate fanatics would corroborate any accusation that the ingenuity of malice could invent. His arm was caught by John Rogers. "Fly, Dick, fly," he urged; "thou art not one of us, neither hast thou any part in our warfare. Save thyself; that window looks out on a lane they will scarce have thought to guard." "Come you too, Mr. Rogers," cried Dick, endeavouring to draw the minister towards the open window. "Nay, nay, I abide with my comrades to live and die with them. But begone--your time is not yet; none but the elect may abide the fury of the Lord's foemen. Begone."