“Well,” says he, “that’s a comforting thought to me, Dick, for the lass has served my old age with much diligence and kindliness, though, egad,” he says, “she has the devil’s own temper, an you stroke her the wrong way. But there’s a thing that I want to say to thee, Dick--bend down to me--ye may both be in need of money ere long, for things wear a troubled complexion. Hark ye, lad, there is gold and jewels hidden away under the hearthstone of the room where my dry herbs are kept. Use them as you think fit,” he says, “there may be occasion to carry them about your person--there’s more families than one homeless at this time, and nobody knows what may happen.” “Have no fear, sir,” says I. “Swounds!” says he. “What’s the good o’t? A dying man hath neither fears nor hopes, nephew. And faith, I think I have maybe talked too much; call in the women, Dick,--Alison is the rarest nurse.” So I hastened to the door for my cousin and Barbara, and bade them enter. Sir Nicholas turned his head to me again. “See to thy defences, lad,” says he. “Egad, I wish I could be with thee!” But there his face turned very white, and the women ran to him, so I softly closed the door and went off to see to my men. II. I was in some expectation during the rest of the night that a reinforcement of the besiegers might after all take place, and that we should be severely assaulted under cover of the darkness. The hours went by, however, without anything of this sort happening, and as it wore towards early morning I made up my mind that the night was to be utterly peaceful. We had kept such observation as we could upon the enemy, and it was my firm conviction that some of them at least had escaped from the stable during the night and withdrawn to more comfortable quarters. But since we had no assurance that an assault might not be made upon us at any moment, I kept the men to their posts, and myself patrolled the house ceaselessly, only pausing now and then to call at my uncle’s chamber-door and enquire for his health. About three o’clock in the morning as I stood at the head of the great staircase resting myself a brief moment, old Barbara came out of the kitchen and called my name softly. “What is it?” says I, going down to her in the darkness, which we preserved strictly, lest the besiegers should have any profit of our lamps and candles. “Is there aught afoot, Barbara?” She beckoned me within the kitchen. “Master Dick,” says she, pointing to the door that stood open ’twixt us and the scullery, “there is the curiousest tapping noise on the little window by the horse trough. Tap-tap-tap, tap, tap, it goes,” she says. “I ha’ listened to it this ten minutes. It must be a sign, Master Dick,” she says fearfully. “To be sure, the blind in your poor uncle’s chamber fell this afternoon, but signs may come more than one at a time, eh, Master Dick? Hark you--why, ’tis there again.”