It was light enough to distinguish faces when at length Captain Gwyeth, with his brows drawn and his teeth tugging at one end of his mustache, came up to him. “I’ve a sling here for that arm of yours,” he said brusquely, beginning to fasten the bandage. “’Twould be in your way for any fighting purposes. And here’s a sword. You may have to use it, unless our friends come quickly.” Then he paused a time by Hugh, not speaking, but scowling upon the floor, and at last strode moodily away. The light broadened and brightened within the church; a patch of sunshine gleamed upon the floor, and through an east window Hugh could catch the rays of yellow light glinting across the sombre leaves of the yew tree. It was a rare, warm, August day, a strange time for a life and death struggle, he told himself, as he drew the sword clumsily from its scabbard. Then he looked to the western wall of the church, where the light was smiting in now at a great gap and the crumbled stones lay scattered across the floor. Up above he saw a broken fragment of the roof that hung and swayed so its motion fascinated him. Of a sudden, as he gazed stupidly, he became aware the cannonading had ceased, and he wondered that he had not marked it before. Then he heard again his father’s curt, quick tones, and saw the troopers quit their stations to gather opposite the gap in the wall. Getting to his feet, Hugh went down to join the others. At the west door he perceived Von Holzberg standing with six men, but he passed on into the nave of the church. There at the gap the men had fallen into double line, a battered, haggard little company, some in their breastpieces, some in their shirt-sleeves. There were bandaged arms and bandaged heads among them, Hugh noted, but the carabines were all in hand, and each had his sword, too, ready at his side. Captain Gwyeth was with Ridydale, peering out at the gap in the wall, but now he turned to his men. “As you see, they have made a practicable breach in our walls,” he began. “Now they have it in mind to storm us, and afterward knock us o’ the head. So it behooves you fight for your worthless skins. And in any case, if they destroy us, see to it a good crew of these cursed rebels go to hell before us.” Then he looked about till his eyes fell on Hugh, and, coming to him, he took him by the shoulder and brought him over to front the troop. Hugh faced the men he had once served, and he saw Unger on the farther end of the front line, and Saxon, with his head tied up, and Jeff Hardwyn, who looked at him and fumbled with his carabine. Somehow his eyes rested on Hardwyn, as the captain began speaking briskly: “I’m thinking some of you know this gentleman, my son. He has risked his neck twice to break through the lines and share this fight with us. So I set him in Cornet Foster’s place, and you will follow him as your officer. Cornet Gwyeth, you will take six men and make good the north door.”