Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he devote to it, but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of his endeavours, he sighed and moved uneasily in his chair, whilst the broad, tanned face was clouded with regret. Crispin saw this, and approaching him, he laid a hand upon his shoulder. “I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle Marleigh and to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. But if you go--” “Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?” Then of a sudden there crept into the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note of soft concern. “Think you there be danger to yourself in remaining?” he inquired. “Danger? To me?” echoed Crispin. “Aye--for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's Foot suspects you.” “Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of suspicion?” “There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart.” “Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is therefore silence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. Come, Harry,” he added, briskly, changing his manner, “the night wears on, and we have your safety to think of.” Hogan rose with a sigh. “Give me a horse,” said he, “and by God's grace tomorrow shall find me in Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, Cris.” “We must find you clothes more fitting than these--a coat more staid and better attuned to the Puritan part you are to play.” “Where have you such a coat?” “My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit taken in that Presbyterian Scotland of his.” “But I am twice his bulk!” “Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your neck, Harry. Wait.” Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with the coat that Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had abstracted from the sleeping lad's chamber. “Off with your doublet,” he commanded, and as he spoke he set himself to empty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a handkerchief and a few papers he found in them, and these he tossed carelessly on the bed. Next he assisted the Irishman to struggle into the stolen coat. “May the Lord forgive my sins,” groaned Hogan, as he felt the cloth straining upon his back and cramping his limbs. “May He forgive me, and see me safely out of Penrith and into Cromwell's camp, and never again will I resent the resentment of a clown whose sweetheart I have made too free with.” “Pluck that feather from your hat,” said Crispin. Hogan obeyed him with a sigh. “Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays many parts. Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing the Puritan?” “Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are not like to play it long,” laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. “There, man, you'll do well enough. Your coat is somewhat tight in the back, somewhat short in the skirt; but neither so tight nor so short but that it may be preferred to a winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry.”