Only two minutes had elapsed since the enemy made the first move. Alarmed at the sudden silence of the bell, from which he concluded that its clanging had achieved its object, Delarousse despatched one of his men to the high ground northward to report the approach of any armed force. Meanwhile he himself made a rapid circuit of the Towers, keeping, if not out of range, at least beyond easy-hitting distance. The back entrance seemed to him a vulnerable point, and the more promising, because it was not commanded by the tower, but only by the small window at which Dick was stationed. His ill-success at the front door made him resolute to go the shortest way to work at the back. He sent half-a-dozen men across the open stable-yard into the half-ruined stable to haul down one of the stout balks of wood that supported the roof, for use as a battering-ram. This movement was concealed from Dick by the angle of the building. While his men were gone about this errand, Delarousse, impatient of the loss of time, took it into his head to summon the garrison to surrender. He trotted back to the front of the building, set his legs apart, and, lifting his eyes to the top of the tower, shouted a loud "Hola!" The Squire showed his head above the parapet, but did not reply. "Hola!" repeated the Frenchman. "Trevanion! Render Trevanion; zen I go." "A trick!" thought the Squire. "He thinks I’m worth a ransom!" "Trevanion!" cried Delarousse again. "Ze ozers I not touch." "I’ll see what they say," shouted the Squire. "Anything to gain time," he thought. Going to the door opening on the staircase he called for Dick. "This fellow wants me, Dick," he said. "Goodness knows why! I suppose he imagines some rich imbecile will buy me back. If I surrender myself, he promises to spare the rest. Just run and see what your mother says: my old bones don’t take kindly to those stairs." Before Dick returned Delarousse lost patience and shouted for an answer. The Squire kept out of sight. "Mother says you must not think of it for a moment," said Dick, running up again. "I knew she would." "To tell the truth, so did I," replied his father. "But we have gained two or three minutes. Now to decline as civilly as possible—though he might at least Mounseer me, I think." As soon as his head reappeared above the parapet, Delarousse shouted: "Eh bien! You render Jean Trevanion?" Father and son looked at each other. Dick’s face expressed surprise mingled with relief; a strange smile sat upon the Squire’s countenance. "We give up nobody," he called down firmly. "Do your worst." Dick thrilled with filial pride. It was a lesson in chivalry that he never forgot. A word from his father, he could not doubt, would have sent the Frenchmen in hot haste to the Dower House; but that word the Squire could not speak, even though John Trevanion was his worst enemy.