Let none fear a fever,
       But take it off thus, boys;
     Let the King live forever,
      ’Tis no matter for us, boys.

Ralph found the atmosphere stifling in this place, which was grown noisome now to wellnigh every sense.  He forced his way out through the swaying bodies and swinging arms of the occupants of the pit.  As he did so he was conscious, though he did not turn his head, that close behind him, in the opening which he made in the crowd, his inevitable “Shadow” pursued him.

The air breathed free and fresh outside.  Ralph walked from St. Leonard’s Gate by a back lane to the Dam Side.  The river as well as the old town was illuminated.  Every boat bore lamps to the masthead.  Lamps, too, of many colors, hung downwards from the bridge, and were reflected in their completed circle in the waters beneath them.

The night was growing apace, and the streets were thronged with people, some laughing, some singing, some wrangling, and some fighting.  Every tavern and coffee-house, as Ralph went by, sent out into the night its babel of voices.  Loyal Lancasterians were within, doing honor to the royal message of that day by observing the spirit while violating the letter of it.

Ralph had walked up the Dam Side near to that point at which the Covel Cross lies to the left, when a couple of drunken men came reeling out of a tavern in front of him.  Their dress denoted their profession and rank.  They were lieutenants of the regiment which had been newly quartered at the castle.  Both were drunk.  One was capering about in a hopeless effort to dance; the other was trolling out a stave of the ballad that was just then being sung at the corner of every street:—­

     The blood that he lost, as I suppose
       (Fa la la la),
     Caused fire to rise in Oliver’s nose
       (Fa la la la). 
     This ruling nose did bear such a sway,
     It cast such a heat and shining ray,
     That England scarce knew night from day
       (Fa la la la).

The singer who thus described Cromwell and his shame was interrupted by a sudden attack of thirst, and forthwith applied the unfailing antidote contained in a leathern bottle which he held in one hand.

Ralph stepped off the pavement to allow the singer the latitude his condition required, when that person’s companion pirouetted into his breast, and went backwards with a smart rebound.

“What’s this, stopping the way of a gentleman?” hiccuped the man, bringing himself up with ludicrous effort to his full height, and suspending his capering for the better support of his soldierly dignity.

Then, stepping closer to Ralph, and peering into his face, he cried, “Why, it’s the man of mystery, as the sergeant calls him.  Here, I say, sir,” continued the drunken officer, drawing with difficulty the sword that had dangled and clanked at his side; “you’ve got to tell us who you are.  Quick, what’s your name?”