"And I come back to find two gentlemen fighting in the hall," Martin went on. "Were you trying to rob King James of a supporter, my lord?" Rosmore laughed. "No, Martin; I was endeavouring to punish a man for insulting a lady." "Truly the world is upside down when it falls to your lot to play such a part as that," was the answer. "How many men has Monmouth?" asked Sir John, silencing the laugh against Lord Rosmore. "They come by the hundreds, 'tis a labour to write down their names fast enough. From the ploughs, from the fields, from the shops they come; their tools turned into implements of war even as Israel faced the Philistines long ago. Men cut loose the horses from the carts and turn them into chargers; labourers bind their scythes to poles and carry reaping-hooks for swords; the Mendip miners shoulder their picks making a brave front; and here and there a clerk may wield a ruler for want of a better weapon. And night and day they drill, march, and countermarch. The cause is at their heart and no leader need feel shame at such a host." "A rabble," said Rosmore. "A rabble that will not run counts for much, my lord, and Monmouth is no mean general as those who fought at Bothwell Bridge know well." "You talk as though you were a messenger from Monmouth himself," said Rosmore. "Were you a witness of the landing?" "No, no; my fiddle and I have been to a wedding--besides, I am far too changeable a fellow to take sides," said Martin. "Were I for Monmouth to-night, I might wake to-morrow morning and find myself for King James. I shall make a song of victory so worded that it will serve for either side. Were I Monmouth's messenger I should have made certain of my company before telling my news. You may all be for the King; that would be to send you marching against Monmouth. He does not want such a messenger as I am. Do you march early to-morrow, Sir John?" "Not so soon as that, I think, Martin." "And you, Lord Rosmore?" "Is it worth while marching at all against such a rabble?" was the answer. Martin took up his fiddle. "You, Sir Philip, will hardly leave the ladies, I suppose? Like me, you are no fighting man." Sir Philip Branksome chose to consider himself a very great fighting man, and every acquaintance he had knew it. His angry retort was drowned in the laughter which assailed him on all sides, and by the time the laughter had ended Martin Fairley had left the room. "That madman knows too much," said Rosmore, turning to Sir John. "You give him too great licence. Had I anything to do with him I should slit that wagging tongue of his." "He talks too freely to be dangerous," said Sir John. "His news is doubtless true, and we--which side do we favour?" Mrs. Dearmer propounded a question. "Does it not depend upon which is the good? If popery, then Monmouth and the Protestants claim us; if Protestantism, then must we die for King James and all the evil he meditates."