In vain did he represent to the corporal that sermons could not be prepared on the instant, that a discourse worthy of such a theme would require days of careful thought and study; in vain did he endeavour by every device in his power to escape the ordeal thus set unexpectedly before him, but escape was impossible; for the worthy corporal, finding himself in a position of unquestioned authority, was once more minded to enjoy it to the full. He could not enter the pulpit himself, but he was resolved to cause such a discourse to be delivered as should bitterly condemn all rebels, and surround with a halo of glory his loyal, law-preserving self. A few judiciously suggested threats concerning the suspected disloyalty of the minister were sufficient; the worthy doctor recognised his helplessness and he submitted. Not, however, until he ascended his pulpit on the morning of the Sabbath had he fully realised the enormity of the task he had undertaken. Beneath him stretched row after row of benches, well filled with the parishioners who loved and trusted him, and the majority of whom had sent their best-beloved to aid the rebellion which he was to condemn. To his left sat Corporal Crutch, attended by two troopers, sitting as judges upon the loyalty and fervour of his discourse. While immediately below the pulpit sat "the quality," as represented by Lady Cicely and Mistress Barbara Winslow, and when his glance fell upon the face of the latter, he knew that the ordeal before him was desperate indeed. He had chosen for his text the words of the psalmist, "Kings with their armies shall flee before Him," hoping that the allegorical allusion to Monmouth as a king might soothe the feelings of those who believed in their hero’s title. The delivery of these words, applicable as they were to recent events, instantly aroused the attention of his hearers. The worthy preacher groaned inwardly; would they but sleep or allow their attention to wander, as was ordinarily the custom, all might yet be well; this unwonted interest was but another cruel jest of Fate. Barbara, after a sharp glance in the direction of the corporal, whose presence she had noted with surprise and anxiety, settled herself to follow the discourse with a defiant light in her dark eyes, and even Lady Cicely looked up with unusual interest. The Reverend Marmaduke mopped his brow, sipped his glass of water, and sighed deeply. Then summoning all his resolution to the task, he plunged into his subject and wandered for some time among the ramifications of the history of the Israelites, until an impatient movement from Corporal Crutch warned him that it was inadvisable longer to delay the application of his text to current topics.