Puritan. When that was over, "Fool," he yells, "what make you
here?" The lad stammered and grew confused. At last - "I was
detained here," says he. "Detained!" thunders the other, "and
by whom?" "By my father, you murdering villain!" was the hot
answer.

"At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking.
"So," he says, in a playful voice, "you have learnt that, have
you? Well, by God! the lesson shall profit neither you nor
that rascal your father. But I'll begin with you, you cur."
And with that he seizes a jug of ale that stood on the table,
and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body! The lad
showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him.
"Outside," yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and
pointing to the door with the other. "Outside, you hound,
where I can kill you!" Ashburn laughed and cursed him, and
together they flung past me into the yard. The place was empty
at the moment, and there, before the clash of their blades had
drawn interference, the thing was over - and Ashburn had sent
his sword through Jocelyn's heart."

Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in
torment.

"And Ashburn?" he asked presently, in a voice that was
singularly hoarse and low. "What became of him? Was he not
arrested?"

"No," said Hogan grimly, "he was not arrested. He was buried.
Before he had wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and