As he advanced up the mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of conversation in the great assemblage died out and was succeeded by a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which his footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound.

Every eye was fastened upon him as he moved along.

He reached the platform, paused a moment, then moved toward Tom Canty with a deep obeisance, and said-- "Sire, the Seal is not there!" A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-patient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little claimant of the Crown.

In a moment he stood all alone, without friend or supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks.

The Lord Protector called out fiercely-- "Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the town--the paltry knave is worth no more consideration!" Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty waved them off and said-- "Back! Whoso touches him perils his life!" The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree.