Amid all this confusion and bustle, a sergeant’s guard entered the room where Inglesant was confined, and desired him to accompany them to the commander, that the transfer of his person might be arranged. He followed them out of the castle, by St. Mary’s Church, and up the short street into the Bridge Street, at the corner of which Sir Francis Gammul’s house stood. Forcing his way through the crowd that gaped and pressed upon them, the sergeant conducted Inglesant into the house, and up into one of the principal rooms, where the commanders and the ladies and many others were assembled. A crowd of curious spectators pressed after them to the door as soon as it was known whom the sergeant had brought; a dead silence fell upon the whole company, and the two commanders, who were seated at a table, on which were the articles of surrender, rose and gazed at Inglesant. A confused murmur, the nature of which it would have been difficult to describe, ran through the room, and the ladies pressed together, with mingled timidity and curiosity, to look on. Inglesant was thin and pale, his clothes shabby and uncared for, his hair and moustache undressed, his whole demeanour cowed and dispirited—very different in appearance from the fine gentleman who had played Philaster before the Court. Doubtless, many among the Royalists pitied him; but at present no doubts were felt, or at any rate had time to circulate, of the King’s sincerity, and the dislike to the Jesuits, even by the High Church Loyalists, closed their hearts against him. The Lord Biron asked him whether he had anything to say before he was delivered over to Sir William, to which he replied,— "No." He made no effort to speak to any one, or to salute Lady Biron or any of his acquaintances, but stood patiently, his eyes fixed on the ground. Sir William asked whether he adhered to his statement that the commission he had exhibited was a forgery? At which he looked up steadily, and said,— "Yes; it was not written by the King." As he made the avowal a murmur of indignation passed through the room, and Sir William ordered him to be removed, telling him he should be examined to-morrow, the account of his answers sent up to London, and the will of the Parliament communicated to him as soon as possible. Inglesant bowed in reply and turned to leave the room, making no effort to salute or take leave of any one; but Lord Biron stopped him with a gesture, and said, probably actuated by some feeling which he could not have explained,— "I wish you good-day, Mr. Inglesant. I may never see you again." Inglesant looked up, a slight flush passing over his features, and their eyes met. "I wish you good-day, my lord," he said; "you have acted as a faithful servant of the King." Lord Biron made no further effort to detain him, and he left the room.