As for me, I believe in coming out with the truth about the clergy and laymen, and King and peasant, alike, whether it be Cain or King David, or Parson Downs or his Majesty King Charles the Second.

However, to do the parson justice, he did not fly until he saw the day was lost, and I trow did afterward better service to me than he might have done by staying.  As for the burgesses, I know not whither nor when they had gone, for they had melted away like shadows, by reason of the great obloquy which would have attached to them, should men in their high office have been discovered in such work.  Ralph Drake was left, who made a push toward me with a hoarse shout, and then he fell, though not severely wounded, and then the soldiers pressed closer.  And then I felt again the door yield at my back, and before I knew it I was dragged inside, and, in spite of the pressure of the mob, the door was pushed to with incredible swiftness by Humphrey Hyde’s great strength, and the bolt shot.

There I lay on the floor of the hall well-nigh spent, and Mary Cavendish was chafing my hands, bandaging my wounds with some linen got, I knew not whence, and Catherine was there, and all the time the great battering blows upon the door were kept up, and also on the window-shutters, and the door began to shake.

Then I remembered something.  There was behind the house a creek which was dry in midsummer, but often, as now, in springtime, swollen with rains, and of sufficient depth and force to float a boat.  And when it was possible it had been the custom to send stores of tobacco for lading on shipboard to England, by this short cut of the creek which discharged itself into the river below, and there was for that purpose a great boat in the cellar, and also a door and a little landing.

I, remembering this, whispered to Mary Cavendish with all the strength which he could muster.

“For God’s sake,” I cried, “go you to the cellar, the boat, the boat, the creek.”

But Mary looked at me, and I can see her face now.

“Think you I did not know of that way?” she said, “and think you I would leave you here to die?  No, let them come in and do their worst.”

Then I turned to Catherine and pleaded with her as well as I could with those thundering blows upon the door, and I well-nigh fainting and my blood flowing fast, and she did not answer at all but looked at me.

Then I turned to Sir Humphrey Hyde.  “For God’s sake, lad,” I cried, “if you love her, save her.  Only a moment and they will be in here.  Hear the door tremble, and then ’twill be arrest and imprisonment, and—­I tell thee, lad, leave me, and save them.”

“They can do as they choose,” cried Mary.  Then she turned to Sir Humphrey.  “Take Catherine, and she will show you the way out by the creek,” she said.  “As for me, I remain here.”

Catherine bent over me and tightened a bandage, but she did not speak.  Sir Humphrey looked at me palely and doubtfully.