calm, but it was evidently not without a mighty effort. Drops of perspiration trickled down his face, and from time to time he put a handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood that rilled from it.
“Behold Nebuchadnezzar!” exclaimed an old Puritan soldier, whose eyes flashed at the sight of the man they called the tyrant.
“Do you call him Nebuchadnezzar?” said Mordaunt, with a terrible smile; “no, it is Charles the First, the king, the good King Charles, who despoils his subjects to enrich himself.”
Charles glanced a moment at the insolent creature who uttered this, but did not recognize him. Nevertheless, the calm religious dignity of his countenance abashed Mordaunt.