“There’s help coming,” Hugh answered stoutly, and dragged himself up on one elbow so he could rest against the steps beside his father. “Ay, but it must be quick,” the captain replied, “for Oldesworth is hot upon us. He came hither this morning under the white flag to advise us surrender to his mercy ere he batter down our walls.” “Ordnance?” Hugh asked blankly. “He may bring it from Warwick. Our only hope is that he may be so long in the bringing it— Well, he’s bravely worried that you got in to us, else he’d not have offered us terms. He’s troubled about that relief; and, faith, I’m troubled, too. The men will hold out another twenty-four hours in the hope, but we’ve had neither food nor drink since yesterday afternoon. And we are scant thirty men now, and there are six with disabling wounds besides.” “Couldn’t I make one in the fighting?” Hugh ventured hesitatingly. “I might not be able to steady a carabine with one hand, but I could load—” “Then we could not use you long,” the captain said, with a dry laugh. “That’s the crowning curse of it all, Hugh; there’s not above three bullets left to a man.” Hugh gazed down the dismantled church, where the pews were all turned to sorry defences and the windows were shattered with the rebel balls. He noted, too, the set, weary faces of the nearest men on guard, and something of the hopelessness of the whole position came home to him. His face must have shown his thought, for the captain suddenly put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I’m sorry you are here,” he said briefly. “I care not for that,” Hugh choked, “but if they do not bring aid in time,—Peregrine said they would hang you.” “Peregrine?” the captain queried. “Tut, tut! He should be old enough by now to know a gentleman does not let himself be taken and hanged while he has weapons in his hands. Though I knew from the start ’twould be a fight to the death if ever I came sword to sword with the Oldesworths.” There was a space of silence, then he broke out: “I suppose they taught you I was a scoundrel, did they not?” “At the last, yes, my grandfather said it,” Hugh admitted, “but while my mother lived she told me only good of you.” “Then, she had forgiven me?” the captain asked in a low tone. Hugh’s eyes were not on him, but straying across the church to where the great Oldesworth pew had stood; even at that distance he seemed to read on the tablet set in the wall the name, “Ruth Gwyeth.” “She did not hold there was anything to forgive; she said the wrong had all been hers,” he broke out; “she said you were the best and noblest gentleman that ever lived, and far too good for her.” “Poor lass, poor lass!” the captain said under his breath; he was sitting with one hand shielding his eyes, Hugh noted, but of a sudden he looked down at the boy and spoke curtly: “So you came seeking me, believing all that, and then I thrust you out of doors?”