"Hey day! morning already!" he grumbled, sitting up shiveringly, and cramped in every limb. "Ha! what's that?" he went on, blinking and rubbing his eyes, as a flare of red light broke across the green-tinted traceried lattice of the window looking into the High Street, and lit up the room clear as day. The next moment he was in utter darkness, for the lamp had disappeared. "Mercy alive, 'tmust be fire!" ejaculated the goldsmith, as another and another flash rose and fell; and aided by the fitful light, he groped, stumbling among the chairs to the window-seat, where he sank down staring horror-stricken at the showering sparks, as they fell on the heads of the crowd surging in the street, as far as his eyes could reach. "What, where is it?" he gasped, dashing open a pane, and seizing the nearest gaper by the chin. [Sidenote: Quick work.] "The king's private apartments, so 'tis said," answered the man, shaking himself free, and rushing onward with the rest. "And the king! the king!" shrieked Alworth, in a frenzy of dismay as he turned from the window, and groping forward in the direction of the door, stumbled into a pair of strong supporting arms. "Here, Master Alworth, safe and sound," said the unmistakable sonorous tones of Charles, as he set the trembling old man on his feet again. "Thanks to my young friend here." "But how--how--" began Alworth, gasping like a stranded fish. "The sphinx helped me, Master Alworth," said Lee, as he lighted a couple of waxen tapers which stood on the buffet, by the flame of the almost spent lamp. "But we'll talk about all that another time. Meanwhile there's a plot being hatched against the king's life; and if he stays here till folks from the palace yonder find him, and he be detained, and no doubt they are already in search of him, 'tis likely to go hard but his life runs in danger." "What's to be done?" cried Alworth, gazing with scared eyes from Lee to the king. "What is to be done?" he went on, wringing his hands. "What can I do?" "Lend him your coat, and the rest of it, and your hat, and spare him your periwig--Eh?" added Lee, laying despoiling hands on the grizzled article in question. "So, by your leave, 'in the night all cats are gray.'" "I would give my skin to save your Majesty," murmured the goldsmith, as he watched Lee tear off Charles's singed perruque, and assist him in fitting on the more venerable borrowed locks.