"And so this was your doing, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse," he said, looking his triumphant enemy boldly in the face, even whilst compelling silent attention from those who were heaping opprobrious epithets upon him. "You enticed me here.... You persuaded me to play, ... Then you tried to rob me of mine honor, of my good name, the only valuable assets which I possess.... Hell and all its devils alone know why you did this thing, but I swear before God that your hideous crime shall not remain unpunished...." "Silence!" commanded Sir Marmaduke, who was the first to perceive the strange, almost supernatural, effect produced on all those present, by the young man's earnestness, his impressive calm. Segrave himself stood silent and abashed, whilst everyone listened, unconsciously awed by that unmistakable note of righteousness which somehow rang through Lambert's voice. "Nay! but I'll not be silent," quoth Richard unperturbed. "I have been condemned ... and I have the right to speak.... You have disgraced me ... and I have the right to defend mine honor ... by protesting mine innocence.... And now I will leave this house," he added loudly and firmly, "for it is accursed and infamous ... but God is my witness that I leave it without a stain upon my soul...." He pointed to the fateful table whereon a pile of gold lay scattered in an untidy heap, with the tiny leather wallet containing his five guineas conspicuously in its midst. "There lies the money," he said, speaking directly to Segrave, "take it, sir, for I had never the intention to touch a penny of it.... This I swear by all that I hold most sacred.... Take it without fear or remorse--even though you thought such evil things of me ... and let him who still thinks me a thief, repeat it now to my face--an he dare!" Even as the last of his loudly uttered words resounded through the room, there was a loud knock at the door, and a peremptory voice commanded: "Open! in the name of His Highness, the Lord Protector of England!" In the dead silence that followed, the buzz of a fly, the spluttering of wax candles, could be distinctly heard. In a moment with the sound of that peremptory call outside, tumultuous passions seemed to sink to rest, every cheek paled, and masculine hands instinctively sought the handles of swords whilst lace handkerchiefs were hastily pressed to trembling lips, in order to smother the cry of terror which had risen to feminine throats. "Open! in the name of His Highness, the Lord Protector of England." Mistress Endicott was the color of wax, her husband was gripping her wrist with a clutch of steel, trying, through the administration of physical pain, to keep alive her presence of mind. And for the third time came the loud summons: "Open! in the name of His Highness the Lord, Protector of England!" Still that deathly silence in the room, broken only now by the firm step of Endicott, who went to open the door.