Chapter XXXII

"Out of defeat escaped some scant three score
Of all his followers. And night and day
We fled; and while the Roundheads pressed us sore,
And in our road, good as a fortress, lay
The Moated Manse,--where our three-score or more
Might well hold out,--I pointed them the way.
And we are come, amid its wrecks to end
The crime begun here.--Thou must go, my friend!