Meanwhile, the Prince had quickly divested himself of his cloak, and, wrapping part of it round his left arm, leaving the other half hanging down, he flew to the passage, rapier in hand. On reaching it, he found it occupied by Osbert and his assailants. The young man was defending himself like a lion against his opponents, one of whom he had already disabled, but he was compelled to retreat; his position being such, that for the moment the Prince could render him no assistance. But the foremost of the assassin band caught sight of Philip, and shouting out to his comrades,— “There stands the accursed Spanish Prince who would enslave us! We have him now—we have him!” Whereupon, incited by the words, they attacked Osbert so furiously that they drove him down the passage. “Ah! why do I find your Highness here?” cried young Clinton, despairingly, as the Prince joined him, and helped him to keep off his assailants. “You hear what he says, comrades,” cried the leader of the band, a formidable-looking ruffian in a buff jerkin and steel cap, who looked like a disbanded soldier. “I was not mistaken, you see. ’Tis the Prince in person. ’Tis the bloodthirsty tyrant who would rob us of our liberties, and place us under a foreign yoke; who would force us by fagot and fire and other severities, conceived in hell, to return to the Romish idolatries we have abjured. But he has been delivered into our hands ere the wicked devices of his heart can be accomplished. It is Heaven’s will that he should die, and in putting him to death we shall earn the gratitude of our country.” “Besides the hundred rose-nobles each that we are to have for the deed,” cried one of his comrades. “I would do the deed for nothing,” shouted another of the band, “for it will redound to our credit. So have at him!” “Harkye, young Sir,” cried the leader of the band, addressing Osbert. “We do not desire your life—nay, we would willingly spare you. Our sole object is to crush this spawn of hell. Retire, and leave him to our justice.” “Think you I will stand tamely by and see you execute your ruthless purpose?” cried young Clinton. “No; I will defend the Prince to my last gasp.” “Your blood be upon your own head, then,” rejoined the ruffian. “Upon them, comrades! Strike, and spare not.” “Thou, at least, will never be executioner,” cried the Prince. And as the ruffian made a desperate lunge at him, he dexterously caught his sword in the hanging part of his cloak, and returning with a full thrust, transfixed his antagonist with his rapier. “This comes of Spanish practices,” groaned the wretch, as he fell to the ground. “Had he fought like an Englishman, without the cloak, I had killed him. Revenge me, comrades,” he added, with his last breath. “I have done thee too much honour in killing thee, vile caitiff,” cried Philip, spurning the body with his foot.