In twenty seconds' time all four were in the saddle, men as masters setting themselves firm in the stirrups, taking tight hold of the reins, with a look to their swords to see there was no entanglement against unsheathing them. Then, at a word from Sir Richard, the yard gate, hitherto shut, was thrown open, and out they all burst, spurring to a brisk canter as they rode round for the front of the house. CHAPTER NINETEEN. IN THE MIDST OF A MOB. The people who had followed the soldiers were still outside the haw-haw; a file of troopers having been stationed by its gate to prevent their passing through. They could easily have sprung over out of the _fosse_, but for some reason seemed not to care for it. Lunsford, after dismounting, had rushed up into the porch, but too late to hinder the shutting of the door; at which he was now thundering and threatening to adopt the alternative he had been dared to. "We shall certainly break it in," he cried out in a loud voice, "if not opened instantly." This elicitating no response from inside, he added,-- "Burst it in, men! Knock it to pieces!" At which the sergeant and a file of troopers, now also in the porch, commenced hammering away with the butts of their dragon-muzzled muskets. But they might as well have attempted to batter down the walls themselves. Not the slightest impression could they make on the strong oaken panels. They were about to desist, when something besides that caused them suddenly to suspend their strokes, Lunsford himself commanding it. He at the same time sprang down from the porch and back to his saddle, calling on them to do likewise. Odd as might seem his abrupt abandonment of the door-breaking design, there was no mystery in it. A cry sent up by the crowd of people had given him notice of something new; and that something he now saw in the shape of four horsemen sweeping round from the rear of the house. These were also outside the haw-haw, having crossed it by another causeway at back. A second shout greeted them as they got round to the front, and drew bridle in the midst of the crowd--a cheer in which new voices joined; those of the Ruardean men, just arrived upon the ground. "Foresters?" cried Sir Richard, as they gathered in a ring around him, "will you allow Ambrose Powell to be plundered--your best friend? And by Sir John Wintour--your worst enemy?" "No--never! That we won't?" answered a score of voices. "Well, the soldiers you see there are Sir John's, from Lydney, though wearing the King's uniform?" "We know 'em--too well!" "Have seen their ugly faces afore." "Curse Sir John, an' the King too?" were some of the responses showered back. Then one, delivering himself in less disjointed but equally ungrammatical phrase, took up the part of spokesman, saying,--