By-and-by a slight tap was heard without, and the apprentice cautiously admitted Gregory Swindlehurst and his comrade.  The latter was habited like the other watchman, in a blue night-rail, and was armed with a halberd.  He appeared much stouter, much older, and, so far as could be discovered of his features—­for a large handkerchief muffled his face—­much uglier (if that were possible) than his companion.  He answered to the name of Bernard Boutefeu.  They had no sooner entered the shop, than Leonard locked the door.

“Who are these persons?” asked Amabel, rising in great alarm.

“Two watchmen whom I have hired to guard the house,” replied Leonard.

“We are come to protect you, fair mistress,” said Gregory, “and, if need be, to cut the Earl of Rochester’s throat.”

“Oh heavens!” exclaimed Amabel.

“Ghost of Tarquin!” cried Boutefeu, “we’ll teach him to break into the houses of quiet citizens, and attempt to carry off their daughters against their will.  By the soul of Dick Whittington, Lord Mayor of London! we’ll maul and mangle him.”

“Silence!  Bernard Boutefeu,” interposed Gregory.  “You frighten Mistress Amabel by your strange oaths.”

“I should be sorry to do that,” replied Boutefeu—­“I only wish to show my zeal for her.  Don’t be afraid of the Earl of Rochester, fair mistress.  With all his audacity, he won’t dare to enter the house when he finds we are there.”

“Is it your pleasure that we should thrust a halberd through his body, or lodge a bullet in his brain?” asked Gregory, appealing to Amabel.

“Touch him not, I beseech you,” she rejoined.  “Leonard, I have your promise that, if I can prevail upon him to depart, you will not molest him.”

“You have,” he replied.

“You hear that,” she observed to the watchmen.

“We are all obedience,” said Gregory.

“Bless your tender heart!” cried Boutefeu, “we would not pain you for the world.”

“A truce to this,” said Leonard.  “Come to the yard, we will wait for him there.”

“I will go with you,” cried Amabel.  “If any harm should befall him, I should never forgive myself.”

“Remember what I told you,” rejoined Leonard, sternly; “it depends upon yourself whether he leaves the house alive.”

“Heed him not,” whispered Gregory.  “I and my comrade will obey no one but you.”

Amabel could not repress an exclamation of surprise.

“What are you muttering, sirrah?” demanded Leonard, angrily.

“Only that the young lady may depend on our fidelity,” replied Gregory.  “There can be no offence in that.  Come with us,” he whispered to Amabel.

The latter part of his speech escaped Leonard, but the tone in which it was uttered was so significant, that Amabel, who began to entertain new suspicions, hesitated.

“You must come,” said Leonard, seizing her hand.

“The fault be his, not mine,” murmured Amabel, as she suffered herself to be drawn along.