At nine a servitor came in to say that a party of men were riding up the drive.  Harry seated himself in the colonel’s armchair, and repeated to himself the determination at which he had arrived of being perfectly calm and collected, and of bearing himself with patience and dignity.  Presently he heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard, and two minutes later, the tramp of feet in the passage.  The door opened, and an officer entered, followed by five or six soldiers.

This man was one of the worst types of Roundhead officers.  He was a London draper, whose violent harangues had brought him into notice, and secured for him a commission in the raw levies when they were first raised.  Harry rose as he entered.

“You are the son of the man who is master of this house?” the officer said roughly.

“I am his son and representative,” Harry said calmly.

“I hear that he is a malignant fighting in the ranks of King Charles.”

“My father is a colonel in the army of his gracious majesty the king,” Harry said.

“You are an insolent young dog!” the captain exclaimed.  “We will teach you manners,” and rising from the seat into which he had thrown himself on entering the hall, he struck Harry heavily in the face.

The boy staggered back against the wall; then with a bound he snatched a sword from the hand of one of the troopers, and before the officer had time to recoil or throw up his hands, he smote him with all his force across the face.  With a terrible cry the officer fell back, and Harry, throwing down the sword, leaped through the open window into the garden and dashed into the shrubberies, as half a dozen balls from the pistols of the astonished troopers whizzed about his head.

For a few minutes he ran at the top of his speed, as he heard shouts and pistol shots behind him.  But he knew that in the darkness strangers would have no chance whatever of overtaking him, and he slackened his pace into a trot.  As he ran he took himself to task for not having acted up to his resolution.  But the reflection that his father would not disapprove of his having cut down the man who had struck him consoled him, and he kept on his way to the farm where he had left his horse.  In other respects, he felt a wild delight at what had happened.  There was nothing for him now but to join the Royal army, and his father could hardly object to his taking his place with the regiment.

“I wish I had fifty of them here,” he thought to himself; “we would surround the hall, and pay these traitors dearly.  As for their captain, I would hang him over the door with my own hands.  The cowardly ruffian, to strike an unarmed boy!  At any rate I have spoiled his beauty for him, for I pretty nearly cut his face in two, I shall know him by the scar if I ever meet him in battle, and then we will finish the quarrel.

“I shall not be able to see out of my right eye in the morning,” he grumbled; “and shall be a nice figure when I ride into Oxford.”