She opened her door, and going softly down the stairs, found Martin Valliant still sleeping across them on his bed of fern. And for the moment she felt loth to rouse him, for he lay breathing as quietly as a child, one arm under his head. “Martin Valliant——” She touched him with her foot, and the result was miraculous. He sat up, clutching the billhook that lay on the step beside him, a most fierce and unpeaceful figure in the gray light of the dawn. “Stand! Who’s there?” Mellis retreated a step or two, laughing, for he was a dangerous gentleman with that bill of his. “A friend, Martin Valliant.” He got up, looking not a little angry with himself for having let her catch him asleep. “What, daylight already!” “I was loth to wake you, but there is much to be done.” “It is I who should have been awake, not you.” He looked in a temper that wanted to catch the day’s work by the throat and throttle it. Mellis stepped over the pile of bracken and stood in the doorway that opened on the courtyard. “One does not work well hungry,” she said, “and we must talk over the day’s needs.” Her hair hung loose, and she shook it down so that it fell like a black cloak about her green-sheathed body. The color and the richness of it thrilled Martin to the heart. Her throat looked as white as May blossom, and her eyes had all the mystery of the dawn. And of a sudden a swift exultation leaped in him at the thought that he was her man-at-arms, chosen to shield her with his body, her comrade in this great adventure. “The day is ours,” he said; “I feel stronger than ten men.” She turned her head, and her eyes held his. “I think I am fortunate in you, comrade-in-arms.” He could have taken the hem of her gown and kissed it. Mellis served the meal, and they broke their fast in the garden, sitting on the oak bench and watching the white mist lift and melt from the valley. The woods grew green, the sky became blue above them, the mere flashed gold, the flowers glowed like wet gems in the grass. And Martin Valliant’s soul was full of the dawn, the mystery and freshness thereof; the smell of the sweet, wet world intoxicated him; the red rose that Mellis had given him lay over his heart. He looked at her with secret, tentative awe, and life seemed a strange and miraculous dream. She began to speak of the day’s needs. “That bridge does not please me, comrade. We want a thing that can be dropped and kept raised at our pleasure. And then there is the gate.” “The hinges and nails are all that are left of it.” “I have it. There is some good timber in those outhouses; we could build a new gate. The curtain walls are still strong and good. Then there is the gate leading into the kitchen court; we could wall that up with stones. We must hope to keep the Lord of Troy’s men from crossing the water, if they come before we have raised a garrison.” She grew more mysterious.