"Well, then, we will put it to the vote," cried Colonel Hotham, fiercely; "and look to yourself, Captain Marsh. He that puts his hand to the plough must not turn back. Look to yourself, I say."
"I will," replied the old officer of the train-bands, "and I am not to be frightened from a righteous course by loud words or frowning brows. I fear not what man can do unto me."
"Pshaw!" cried Colonel Hotham, turning away. "Your verdict, sir, upon these two men--guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty," said the Londoner to whom he spoke, without a moment's pause.
"Guilty," said the other, on the colonel's left, answering a mere look.
"I doubt," replied Captain Marden of the train-bands, when Hotham turned to him.
"But I do not," rejoined that officer; "and I say guilty too--so there are three voices against two. They are condemned. Take them hence to the water-gate, call out a file of men, and the rest--as yesterday. I spare you the rope, Lord Beverley, in consideration of your rank. You shall die as a soldier."
"And you as a murderer!" shouted Barecolt, rushing towards him so suddenly, that he caught him by the throat with both hands before any one could interpose.
The two parliamentary officers drew their swords; the guards were rushing up from the door; but, under the strong pressure of Captain Barecolt's fingers, Colonel Hotham was turning black in the face, and might have been strangled before he could have been delivered, when suddenly a voice was heard exclaiming, "Halt! Not a man stir! Guard the door!" and all was silence.
Captain Barecolt slightly relaxed his grasp, the parliamentary officers drew back, and Sir John Hotham, with an excited and angry countenance, and evidently in great pain, walked up the room and took his place at the head of the table.