“Peace, madman!” cried Philip, disdainfully. “Think you I will deign to cross swords with you?” “Heaven grant me patience, I am driven to the verge of frenzy!” ejaculated Osbert, distractedly. “At last you are beginning to comprehend your true position,” observed Philip, in a taunting tone, “and perceive that you are utterly without help.” “Not utterly,” cried a deep voice. And Derrick Carver strode into the room. “Heaven will not desert them in their need. Thou hast uttered threats against them which thou wilt never live to execute. Thou has ventured into this dwelling, but wilt never return from it. My hand failed me when I first struck at thee, but it will not fail me now.” “Make the attempt, then, if thou think’st so, assassin!” cried Philip, keeping his eye steadily upon him. “Hold!” exclaimed Osbert. “His life is sacred.” “Not in my eyes,” rejoined Carver. “It were a crime to my country and to my religion to spare their deadliest foe. He shall die by my hand.” “I say it must not be,” cried Osbert. “No harm must be done him. Persist, and I come to his defence.” “Fool! you destroy yourself, and her who should be dearer to you than life, by this mistimed weakness,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “Leave him to me.” “Again I say, forbear!” cried Osbert. “I owe you no obedience, and will show none,” retorted Carver, fiercely. “Have at thy heart, tyrant!” he exclaimed, drawing his sword. But ere he could make the meditated attack, Philip placed a silver whistle to his lips, and sounding it, Rodomont Bittern, with his sword drawn in his hand, and followed by half a dozen halberdiers, entered through the window. The party instantly fell upon Derrick Carver, and, after a brief struggle, disarmed him. “By Saint Thomas!” exclaimed Rodomont, regarding the enthusiast with surprise, “this is the murtherous villain whom we caught at Southampton. I cannot be mistaken in his ill-favoured visage.” “I will not deny myself,” rejoined the other. “I am Derrick Carver. Heaven has permitted thee to thwart my righteous purpose for the second time.” “A plain proof that thy purpose is damnable, and that Heaven is against thee, thou bloodthirsty villain,” rejoined Rodomont. “What is your Majesty’s pleasure concerning him?” he asked of the King. “Take him to the Tower,” said Philip. “It shall be done, Sire. Have you any further commands?” “Ay,” replied Philip. “An hour ago I would not have believed that Osbert Clinton would raise his hand against me, but he has done so, and his life is forfeit. Take him also with you.” “Here is my sword, Sir,” said Osbert, delivering it to Rodomont. “I am ready to attend you.” Seating himself at the table, on which writing materials were placed, Philip took a paper from his doublet and proceeded to sign it. Just as he was about to consign the warrant to Rodomont, Constance, who had appeared transfixed with terror, rushed forward and threw herself at his feet.