“Cromwell, quotha? Would to Heaven 'twere no worse! I've killed a man!” “If he's dead, why run?” The Irishman made an impatient gesture. “A party of Montgomery's foot is on my heels. They've raised the whole of Penrith over the affair, and if I'm taken, soul of my body, 'twill be a short shrift they'll give me. The King will serve me as poor Wrycraft was served two days ago at Kendal. Mother of Mercy!” he broke off, as his ear caught the clatter of feet and the murmur of voices from without. “Have you a hole I can creep into?” “Up those stairs and into my room with you!” said Crispin shortly. “I will try to head them off. Come, man, stir yourself; they are here.” Then, as with nimble alacrity Hogan obeyed him and slipped from the room, he turned to the lad, who had been a silent spectator of what had passed. From the pocket of his threadbare doublet he drew a pack of greasy playing cards. “To table,” he said laconically. But the boy, comprehending what was required of him, drew back at sight of those cards as one might shrink from a thing unclean. “Never!” he began. “I'll not defile--” “To table, fool!” thundered Crispin, with a vehemence few men could have withstood. “Is this a time for Presbyterian scruples? To table, and help a me play this game, or, by the living God, I'll--” Without completing his threat he leaned forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden breath upon his cheek. Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, his glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation--intended as an excuse to himself for his weakness--that he submitted since a man's life was at stake. Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile that made him wince. Taking up the cards, he flung a portion of them to the boy, whilst those he retained he spread fanwise in his hand as if about to play. Silently Kenneth copied his actions. Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights flashed before the window, and the two men, feigning to play, sat on and waited. “Have a care, Master Stewart,” growled Crispin sourly, then in a louder voice--for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a face that watched them from the window--“I play the King of Spades!” he cried, with meaning look. A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to “Open in the King's name!” Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath. Then he rose, and with a last look of warning to Kenneth, he went to open. And as he had greeted Hogan he now greeted the crowd mainly of soldiers--that surged about the threshold. “Sirs, why this ado? Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon us?” In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon the edge of the open door. It was a young ensign who stood forward to answer him. “One of Lord Middleton's officers hath done a man to death not half an hour agone; he is an Irishman Captain Hogan by name.”