Short time was allowed them for this greedy gormandising. Scarce had they taken seat by the tables when a trampling of hoofs was heard all around the house, louder on the stone pavement by the gate, from which came the shout "Surrender!" the same voice adding, "'Twill be idle for you to resist. We are Massey's men, and fifty to your one. If you wish your lives spared, cry `Quarter,' or we cut you to pieces." The carousing Royalists were taken completely by surprise. In fancied security, thinking the Parliamentarian force _en route_ for Gloucester, and far on the way, they had neither placed picket nor set sentry; and the house being fortified, there was no exit from it save by the one gate, now blocked up, as they could see, by a solid body of horse. They were literally in a trap, with no chance to get out of it, for, by the multitudinous hoof-clattering outside, they knew the words "fifty to one" were not far from the truth. Alone, the cornet got off afoot by a desperate leap into the ditch at back; stealing away unseen in the darkness. The rest made no attempt, either at escape or resistance. They but stood, terror-stricken, to hear the threat-- "Speak, quick, or we open fire on you!" Then, at least, half of them called out "Quarter!" without waiting word or sign from their leader. What followed, however, showed that he sanctioned it. As the Parliamentarian troopers came riding in through the gate he advanced to meet them, with drawn sword, hilt outward, which he handed to the officer at their head. As the latter took it, a smile of peculiar significance was exchanged between the two, with words equally strange, inaudible save to themselves. "Glad to have you back with us, Kyrle." "Not more than I to get back, Walwyn. God knows! I've had enough of Rupert, and his rascals." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. A TOWN CLEVERLY TAKEN. About an hour after the capture of Kyrle's party, a body of horse, numbering over one hundred, might have been seen descending the Kymin towards Monmouth. The fury of the storm had worn itself out, the downpour of rain being succeeded by a drizzle, while the lightning only flickered faintly, and at long intervals, the thunder muttering low and distant. But the darkness was deep as ever, and the horsemen rode down the steep incline at a slow, creeping pace, as if groping their way. In silence too, neither word of command, nor note of bugle, directing their march.