Alison was in the death chamber, where Sir Nicholas’s body lay stiff and stark in its shroud. They had prepared him for his burial, Alison and old Barbara, with as much care as if he had been like to be buried with all the pomp and ceremony that is the due of a man of rank. The good old knight lay in his finest night clothes, the best linen the house afforded was spread on his bed, and they had lighted candles on either side of him, and hung the walls with black cloth. And since everything in that room was so mournful I would not talk there, but took my cousin down the stairs to the hall, where I made her sit near the fire while I addressed myself to her on the business then troubling me. She was looking pale and wearied, which was no matter of surprise, seeing that there had been precious little rest for anybody in that house since the investment began. “Now, cousin,” says I, “there is need for some counsel ’twixt you and me. We are come to a sharp pass, cousin,” I says, “and unless we use our wits we are like to be undone.” “What is it?” she says. “Has aught of moment happened to us?” “Why,” says I, “’tis difficult to say what is and what is not of moment--one thing so leads to another. But I fear that the worst will happen to us in the morning.” “The worst?” she says. “And what is that?” “We killed their captain this afternoon,” says I. “As pleasant a fellow as e’er I spoke to, poor gentleman! And now I hear from that knave Wiggleskirk--though, indeed, he has done us more than one good turn--that another commander is coming with the dawn, and will bring cannon with him.” She raised her head and looked at me steadily. “So we shall have the old house tumbling about our ears?” “We shall,” says I. “Well?” says she, after regarding me again at some length. “Well?” says I. “Is that all you had to say?” she asks. “Nay,” says I, not seeing aught of her meaning, “I wanted to speak with you of our escape.” She lifted her head somewhat, and stared at me for a full minute ere she broke into a shrill laughter. “Escape?” she said. “Escape? Did you say escape, Master Richard? So you would flee the old house, eh, and leave”--she turned and pointed her hand towards the stair--“and leave his body to--come, I think you did not mean escape?” she says, with a searching look at me. “Faith!” says I, not taking her at all, “but I did, cousin. Bethink you--what can we do against cannon? The old walls will be shattered to pieces with half a score discharges. ’Tis our duty, I take it, to think of our own lives--and besides, there are those in the house,” I says, “that we must needs consider, for we’ve no right to peril their lives for the sake of ours.” “Let them begone, then,” says she. “Did I ever ask them to come here? Escape? We might be rats that have crept to the very bottom o’ the stack!” she says, with a flash of the old temper.