“I did not say he was dead, but only as bad as dead; in the hands of the Roundheads--a prisoner up yonder, at his own Castle,” said Lance; “and will have his head cut off, like the good Earl of Derby’s at Bolton-le-Moors.” “Nay, then, comrades,” said Gaffer Ditchley, “an it be as Master Lance says, I think we should bear a hand for stout old Sir Geoffrey, against a low-born mean-spirited fellow like Bridgenorth, who shut up a shaft had cost thousands, without getting a penny profit on’t. So hurra for Sir Geoffrey, and down with the Rump! But hold ye a blink--hold”--(and the waving of his hand stopped the commencing cheer)--“Hark ye, Master Lance, it must be all over, for the beacon is as black as night; and you know yourself that marks the Lord’s death.” “It will kindle again in an instant,” said Lance; internally adding, “I pray to God it may!--It will kindle in an instant--lack of fuel, and the confusion of the family.” “Ay, like enow, like enow,” said Ditchley; “but I winna budge till I see it blazing.” “Why then, there a-goes!” said Lance. “Thank thee, Cis--thank thee, my good wench.--Believe your own eyes, my lads, if you will not believe me; and now hurra for Peveril of the Peak--the King and his friends--and down with Rumps and Roundheads!” The sudden rekindling of the beacon had all the effect which Lance could have desired upon the minds of his rude and ignorant hearers, who, in their superstitious humour, had strongly associated the Polar-star of Peveril with the fortunes of the family. Once moved, according to the national character of their countrymen, they soon became enthusiastic; and Lance found himself at the head of thirty stout fellows and upwards, armed with their pick-axes, and ready to execute whatever task he should impose on them. Trusting to enter the Castle by the postern, which had served to accommodate himself and other domestics upon an emergency, his only anxiety was to keep his march silent; and he earnestly recommended to his followers to reserve their shouts for the moment of the attack. They had not advanced far on their road to the Castle, when Cisly Sellok met them so breathless with haste, that the poor girl was obliged to throw herself into Master Lance’s arms. “Stand up, my mettled wench,” said he, giving her a sly kiss at the same time, “and let us know what is going on up at the Castle.” “My lady bids you, as you would serve God and your master, not to come up to the Castle, which can but make bloodshed; for she says Sir Geoffrey is lawfully in hand, and that he must bide the issue; and that he is innocent of what he is charged with, and is going up to speak for himself before King and Council, and she goes up with him. And besides, they have found out the postern, the Roundhead rogues; for two of them saw me when I went out of door, and chased me; but I showed them a fair pair of heels.”