At the sound of it we sprang up, all of us, and two or three ran out into the street: for the beating up of quarters had become a bad habit with the two armies, useless as the most of us thought it. The night outside was freezing villainously: it struck chill into me after the hot room and the ale-drinking. The moon, as I remember, was high, shedding a soft foggy light down the roadway: and there, by the inn doorway, I stood for a minute or two, with my hand on my sword, peering and listening. To right and left, and from behind me, came sounds of men moving in their billets to the alarm and waiting, as I was waiting. But no noise of attack followed the first summons; and by-and-by I drew back as a brisk footfall broke the hush and came hurrying down to the doorway of the Bear, where it halted. 'Is that you, Fleming?' said the voice of old Price, our Welsh quartermaster. 'Then turn out quick to the West Gate! The enemy has sent in a trumpet in form, and you are to convey him up to the Castle.' Without delay I fetched my roan mare from the stable, mounted, and rode out beyond the West Gate to a point where the little River Wey runs close alongside the high-road. There I found the trumpet in converse with our picket, and took stock of him by aid of the sergeant's lantern. He was a blackavised, burly fellow, with heavy side-locks, a pimpled face, and about the nose a touch of blue that, methought, did not come of the frosty air. He sat very high in saddle, upon a large-jointed bay, and wore a stained coat that covered his regimentals and reached almost to his rowels. A dirty red feather wagged over his hat-brim. As I rode up he greeted me with a jovial brotherly curse, and hoped--showing me his letter--that we kept good drink at the Castle. 'And if so,' he added, 'your little William the Conqueror may keep me so long as he has a mind to.' I told him, as we rode back and into Farnham, that Sir William, as a rule, made quick despatch of business. 'He made pretty quick despatch of it at Lansdowne,' said my Cavalier, and started trolling a catch,-- 'Great William the Con, So fast he did run, That he left half his name behind him!' Perceiving him to be an ill-bred fellow, and that to answer his jeering would be time wasted, I turned the talk upon his message. 'The Lord Crawford sends for an exchange of prisoners?' I hazarded. 'The Lord Crawford does not waste a man of my talents in swapping of prisoners,' was the response. 'And when Orlando Rich takes the road and risks his health on such a night as this, you may be sure 'tis on business of moment.'