LAWRENCE LEE SAVES THE KING
"Ay, come, then," said Lawrence, turning, and catching up the little animal with one hand, he thrust it into his pocket. Then tightening his clutch upon the king, he dragged him to a square hole in the side of the wainscoted wall as yet untouched by the flames, and almost flung him down on his knees as with a vigorous push he thrust him through the aperture.
"What is the meaning of this, sirrah?" angrily demanded the king, as, after a maddening interval passed in stumbling and sliding through pitch darkness encircled by Lee's arms, he went round and round, down and down, as if in some hideous nightmare dream, till at last his feet were safely deposited on level ground, and his shoulders against a rough stone wall, which struck ice cold through his silken dressing-gown. "Say! what does it all mean?"
Fire on the brain.
"Fire! fire! your majesty," was all Lawrence could find breath to articulate, as, reeling from the weight of his burden, he advanced towards a lamp whose rays sufficed dimly to reveal a low stone vaulted roof, supported by thick pillars, whose outlines loomed ghost-like through the obscurity. "The palace is on fire;" and catching up the lamp, and again seizing the king, this time, however, only by the arm and with a more gentle grip, he succeeded in dragging him a few paces farther.
"This way! this way—"
"No," said the king, wrenching himself free, and coming to a dead standstill with his back resolutely planted against the wall! "I'll go no farther; not a yard. 'Tis some plot," he added, casting suspicious looks round from Lee's face to the darkness visible, and then again to the eager agitated countenance of the young man. "Some scurvy plot. Villain!" he cried, suddenly seizing Lawrence by the throat. "How many are there of you? Speak!"
It was only by something like a miracle, however, that Lee was still able to breathe. "Speak!" shouted the king, and his imperious tones echoed again and again through the vaulted place, till for the moment he might well have fancied that a host of conspirators were hidden away behind the pillared arches; but not a creature came to the rescue, and Charles's grip relaxed. "I cry your pardon," he said then, a little shamefacedly, and retaining his hold about Lee's shoulder more in kindness now than in anger. "Such doubts are unworthy. A miserable requital indeed for this good service you have shown me. Your face should be no traitor's. Nay, never blush. I thought this morning that 'twas as honest a one as I had seen for many a day, and should tell its own story."
A desperate plan.