“’Tis the King!” mentally ejaculated Osbert Clinton. And he sprang towards the door. “Perdition! we have a spy among us,” cried Stafford. “Seize him and put him to death!” And, as he spoke, swords were drawn by the conspirators. “Let no one go forth, but let each man answer for himself. Where is Osbert Clinton?” “Here,” he replied, from the door. “Where is Sir Henry Dudley?” “Here,” answered the person designated. While Stafford was pursuing these inquiries, Osbert heard some one approaching, and stepped a little aside. It was well he did so, as otherwise a rapier would have transfixed him. As it was, the point of the weapon merely pierced the side of his doublet, without doing him any injury. But at the same moment Osbert seized the arm that had dealt the blow. After vainly struggling to free himself from the iron grasp in which he was held, the King (for it was he) whispered, “Release me, Sir, I command you.” “Your commands are of no weight here, Sire,” replied Osbert. “But I will not see you assassinated. Save yourself!” And letting go his hold as he spoke, the King instantly passed through the door, and made good his retreat. At the noise occasioned by his exit, all was confusion and alarm among the conspirators. Amid fierce shouts and exclamations a general rush was made to the door, and had they not reached it quickly, the whole party would have been made prisoners without the possibility of escape, for some one was trying to lock them in. Made aware of their approach by the noise, this person fled, without having accomplished his purpose, but, while hastily mounting the steps, he became entangled in his gown—for his garments were those of a monk—and fell. The first of the conspirators to issue from the crypt, were Stafford and Dudley, and on catching sight of the monk, who was getting up as quickly as he could, they recognised Father Alfonso de Castro. “By Heaven! it is the King’s confessor who has been playing the spy upon us,” exclaimed Stafford. “He shall not escape to tell the tale,” roared Dudley. “My sword shall stop his preaching in future.” And they dashed up the steps. Ere they could reach him, however, Father Alfonso had regained his feet, and speeded across the court, shouting lustily for help. His object was to gain a small tower, then standing near the cloisters, on the summit of which tower, under a wooden pent-house, hung the alarm-bell. As Father Alfonso was aware, the door of this building was always left open, and if he could only reach it, he would be safe. Fear lent him wings, and he had passed through the door, shut it, and barred it inside before his pursuers came up. While they were venting their disappointment in maledictions, he ran up a narrow spiral stone staircase, and, reaching a small chamber, seized a rope that dangled from a hole in the ceiling, and began to ring the alarm-bell. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration]