It was five o'clock when I awoke next morning. Though the hour was so early, I heard a great trampling and running about the streets, and, looking out of window, I saw a concourse of the townspeople gathered together, listening to one who spoke to them. But in the middle of his speech they broke away from him and ran to another speaker, and so distractedly, and with such gestures, that they were clearly much moved by some news, the nature of which I could not guess. For in some faces there was visible the outward show of triumph and joy, and on others there lay plainly visible the look of amazement or stupefaction; and in the street I saw some women weeping and crying. What had happened? Oh! what had happened? Then, while I was still dressing, there burst into the room Susan Blake, herself but half dressed, her hair flying all abroad, the comb in her hand. 'Rejoice!' she cried. 'Oh! rejoice, and give thanks unto the Lord! What did we hear last night? That the Duke had but to shut the stable doors and seize the troopers in their beds. Look out of window. See the people running and listening eagerly. Oh! 'tis the crowning mercy that we have looked for: the Lord hath blown and His enemies are scattered. Remember the strange words we heard last night. What said the unknown man?--nay, he said it twice: "The Duke had but to lock the stable doors." Nay, and yesterday I saw, and last night I heard, the screech-owl thrice--which was meant for the ruin of our enemies. Oh! Alice, Alice, this is a joyful day!' 'But look,' I said, 'they have a downcast look; they run about as if distracted, and some are wringing their hands----' ''Tis with excess of joy,' she replied, looking out of the window with me, though her hair was flying in the wind. 'They are so surprised and so rejoiced that they cannot speak or move.' 'But there are women weeping and wailing; why do they weep?' 'It is for those who are killed. Needs must in every great victory that some are killed--poor brave fellows!--and some are wounded. Nay, my dear, thou hast three at least at the camp, who are dear to thee; and God knows I have many. Let us pray that we do not have to weep like those poor women.' She was so earnest in her looks and words, and I myself so willing to believe, that I doubted no longer. 'Listen! oh! listen!' she cried; 'never, never before have bells rung a music so joyful to my heart.' For now the bells of the great tower of St. Mary's began to ring. Clash, clash, clash, all together, as if they were cracking their throats with joy, and at the sound of the bells those men in the street, who seemed to me stupefied as by a heavy blow, put up their hands to their ears and fled as if they could not bear the noise, and the women who wept wrung their hands, and shrieked aloud in anguish, as if the joy of the chimes mocked the sorrow of their hearts.