others courteously, permitting
them to leave the castle with their effects and seek their homes, as he
had promised. And so ended the taking and retaking of Pontefract Castle.

It was the last stronghold of the king in England, and was not likely to
be used again for that purpose. But to prevent this, Lambert handled it
in such fashion that it was left a vast pile of ruins, unfit to harbor a
garrison. He then drew off his troops, not having discovered the
concealed men in this proceeding. Ten days passed. Then the two flung
down their wall and emerged among the ruins. They found the castle a
place for bats, uninhabited by man, but lost no time in seeking less
suspicious quarters.

Of the six men, Morrice was afterwards taken and executed; the others
remained free. Sir John Digby lived to become a favored member of the
court of Charles II. As for Sir Marmaduke Langdale, to whose
imprisonment Rainsborough owed his death, he escaped from his prison in
Nottingham Castle, and made his way beyond the seas, not to return until
England again had a king.

_THE ADVENTURES OF A ROYAL FUGITIVE._

It was early September of 1651, the year that tolled the knell of
royalty in England. In all directions from the fatal field of Worcester
panic-stricken fugitives were flying; in all directions blood-craving
victors were pursuing. Charles I. had lost his head for his blind
obstinacy, two years before. Charles II., crowned king by the Scotch,
had made a gallant fight for the throne. But Cromwell was his opponent,
and Cromwell carried victory on his banners. The young king had invaded
England, reached Worcester, and there felt the heavy hand of the
Protector and his Ironsides. A fierce day's struggle, a defeat, a
flight, and kingship in England was at an end while Cromwell lived; the
last scion of royalty was a flying fugitive.

At six o'clock in the evening of that fatal day, Charles, the boy-king,
discrowned by battle, was flying through St. Martin's Gate from a city
whose streets were filled with the bleeding bodies of his late
supporters. Just outside the town he tried to rally his men; but in
vain, no fight was left in their scared hearts. Nothing remained but
flight at panic speed, for the bloodhounds of war were on his track, and
if caught by those stern Parliamentarians he might be given the short
shriving of his beheaded father. Away went the despairing prince with a
few followers, riding for life, flinging from him as