As to you, Master Pursuivant," he continued, with a look so stern that the other quailed before it, "unwilling as I am to shed blood, I shall hold your life, if I am compelled to take it, but just retribution for the fate you have brought upon the unfortunate Elizabeth Orton.
"Ha!" exclaimed the pursuivant, starting.

"I thought I recognised you.
You are the soldier in the Spanish garb who saved that false prophetess from drowning." "I saved her only for a more lingering death," rejoined Guy Fawkes.
"I know it," retorted the pursuivant.

"I found her dead body when I visited her cell on my way hither, and gave orders to have it interred without coffin or shroud in that part of the burial-ground of the Collegiate Church in Manchester reserved for common felons." "I know not what stays my hand," rejoined Guy Fawkes, fiercely.

"But I am strongly tempted to give you a grave beside her." "I will put your daring to the proof!" cried the pursuivant, snatching a pike from one of his followers, and brandishing it over his head.

"Throw down your arms, or you die!" "Back!" exclaimed Guy Fawkes, presenting a petronel at him, "or I lodge a bullet in your brain." "Be advised by me, and rush not on certain destruction, good Master Pursuivant," said the foremost soldier, plucking his mantle.