In that moment all distinction of rank lay forgotten.
"I must remain," he answered, speaking quickly.

"That crazy door will not hold for a second once a stout man sets his shoulder to it.

After the door they will find me, and for your sake I trust I may prove of stouter stuff.

Fare you well, sire," he ended in a softer tone.

"God guard Your Majesty and send you happier days." And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his hot lips.
A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and one of its panels was splintered by a musket-shot.