The death of the leader caused a momentary pause in the assault. But determined to make sure of their prey, three of the ruffians now attacked the Prince, leaving the fourth engaged with Osbert. But for his activity and address it might now have fared ill with Philip. His cloak saved him from many a deadly thrust aimed at his breast, and distracted his assailants. Strange to say, he was entirely untouched, though all three of his opponents had felt the point of his weapon. He tried to separate them, but without success. They were too wary to be caught by the stratagem. In this way, he was driven back towards the door of the hospital, before which stood Constance and old Dorcas, unable to gain admittance, and filling the court with cries for help. Presently at this juncture, and as if to afford him a means of retreat, the door of the hospital was thrown open by old Absalom, the porter, who held a lamp in his hand, and was shaking with terror. While stepping nimbly backwards in the hope of passing through the doorway, Philip encountered some obstacle, and fell, thus lying at the mercy of his opponents. In another moment all had been over with him, if Constance had not heroically thrown herself before him, and the ruffians, having some touch of manhood in their breasts, forbore to strike. With terrible oaths, however, they ordered her to stand aside, but, with unshaken resolution, she maintained her place, and they were preparing to execute their fell purpose in spite of her, when a loud clatter in the passage leading to the street warned them that succour was at hand, and made them pause. The next moment Rodomont Bittern and his friends, shouting and flourishing their swords, and accompanied by two or three torch-bearers, rushed into the court. [Illustration: CONSTANCE TYRRELL SAVES THE LIFE OF THE PRINCE OF SPAIN. P. 64.] “A Rodomont to the rescue!” roared Bittern. “Where is Don Philip? Heaven be praised, we are not too late!” he exclaimed, perceiving the Prince, who by this time had regained his feet. “Down with your swords, villains!” he added to the ruffians. “Down with them instantly, or we will hack you to minced-meat.” “Know you whom you aid?” cried one of the men, regarding him fiercely. “It is the Prince of Spain—the arch-foe of England. But for this foolish damsel we had already destroyed him!” “Soh! you unblushingly confess your villany?” rejoined Rodomont. “A precious rascal, truly!” “Ay, and I should have exulted in the deed, if I had accomplished it,” retorted the man. “A day will come when you will regret this interference. Think not to detain me.” “Stay him! kill him! suffer him not to escape!” shouted Rodomont to his companions.