"Is this a time for Presbyterian scruples?
To table, and help a me play this game, or, by the living God, I'll--" Without completing his threat he leaned forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden breath upon his cheek.

Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, his glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation--intended as an excuse to himself for his weakness--that he submitted since a man's life was at stake.
Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile that made him wince.

Taking up the cards, he flung a portion of them to the boy, whilst those he retained he spread fanwise in his hand as if about to play.

Silently Kenneth copied his actions.
Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights flashed before the window, and the two men, feigning to play, sat on and waited.
"Have a care, Master Stewart," growled Crispin sourly, then in a louder voice--for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a face that watched them from the window--"I play the King of Spades!" he cried, with meaning look.
A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to "Open in the King's name!" Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath.

Then he rose, and with a last look of warning to Kenneth, he went to open.
And as he had greeted Hogan he now greeted the crowd mainly of soldiers--that surged about the threshold.
"Sirs, why this ado?
Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon us ?" In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon the edge of the open door.