“At noon,” replied Stafford. “Give me your hand upon it, Osbert Clinton.”
“Readily,” rejoined the other, grasping the hand stretched out to him.[him.]
At this moment the lamp was suddenly thrown down, and the crypt plunged in darkness.
“Traitors, before to-morrow you shall be all clapped in the Tower!” cried a voice.
“’Tis the King!” mentally ejaculated Osbert Clinton. And he sprang towards the door.
“Perdition! we have a spy among us,” cried Stafford. “Seize him and put him to death!”
And, as he spoke, swords were drawn by the conspirators.
“Let no one go forth, but let each man answer for himself. Where is Osbert Clinton?”
“Here,” he replied, from the door.
“Where is Sir Henry Dudley?”