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Updated: June 18, 2025
Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other; then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and took his opponent in the throat. "You would have it so, rash fool," he deprecated. The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell he dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet.
But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-sword gave him pause. "Halt! You cannot pass this way." "Back, son of Moab!" was the Roundhead's retort. "Hinder me not, at your peril." Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cut down the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man Charles Stuart.
And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the indomitable Galliard. They went to work more warily. He on the left parried Crispin's stroke, then knocking up the knight's blade, he rushed in and seized his wrist, shouting to those behind to follow up.
With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to heighten Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch in the saddle, and strong though he was, he was yet flesh and blood, and subject to its ills. Towards ten o'clock they passed through Denham. When they were clear of it Cynthia put her head from the window. She had slept well, and her mood was lighter and happier.
And partly through the fear of this, partly won over by Crispin's persuasions, the lad determined to hold his peace. Nor had he cause to regret it thereafter, for throughout that tedious march he found his roystering companion singularly meek and kindly. Indeed he seemed a different man.
Since this offer was made, a very decided improvement has been noticed among the donkeys of the London costermongers, as if the competition for the first prize was to be a very large one. It will be a kind of St. Crispin's Day to the whole of the long- eared race a day of emancipation from forty centuries of obloquy and oppression.
He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity he hurried from the room to do what was required of him. For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into the night he thanked God from his heart for his solution of the monstrous riddle that had been set him.
The comedian received him in his dressing-room, being already arrayed in Crispin's long boots and black trousers. He was seated in his shirt-sleeves be fore his toilet-table, and had just pasted over his smooth lips the bristling moustache of this traditional personage. Without rising, or even saying "Good-day," he cried out to the poet as he recognized him in the mirror.
You shall have your letter tomorrow, Master Stewart." "Treason!" echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of Crispin's his mood changed from conciliatory to resentful resentful towards the fates that made him this man's debtor. "I assure you, on my honour," said he, mastering his feelings, "that this is but a letter from the lady I hope to make my wife.
It seemed, indeed, that they must remain there until the morrow, and in coming to that conclusion, Sir Crispin's temper suffered sorely. "Why need it put you so about," cried Cynthia, in arch reproach, "since I am with you?" "Blood and fire, madam," roared Galliard, "it is precisely for that reason that I am exercised. What if your father came upon us here?"
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