"Bad news? Well, sir, that's hardly the word, we're a little nearer the end, perhaps." He watched the long procession of the sick--borne one by one on stretchers up the stairway. "I'd rather the end came quick." "Oh, go and be an angel," said Lancaster, scornfully. "Go and croak at the moon, Jack, weep to the clouds all alone on a damp battlement. We've had more fun and adventure this last month." Browne laughed heartily. "Well," old Branscombe smiled at the two lads; "I suppose I'm a fool," he wheezed. "Just now I was talking with one of our wounded men--Bill Sothern. He saw the whole Republican army in camp, two hundred and fifty thousand men at least, the pick of the Midland counties, well fed, in fine condition, and our poor half-starved troops, what can they do? How could our Lady so much as offer battle. The thing was hopeless--she was right to decline. Well, to-day, the Republican colours are flying on Hampstead Hill. To-morrow, their flag will be hoisted here." "Come," said Lancaster, "cheer us up--go on, Jack." "I wonder"--Jack grunted, looking steadily at the Prince. "You, sir, may be pleased. I'm of a different make. The French and German armies landed yesterday, covering the coast from Dungeness to Portsmouth--half a million men, with two hundred ships of the line to sweep our army away as they advance." "Anything more?" asked Tom of Lancaster. "The Russian Fleet has appeared off the coast of Essex." Lancaster was whistling softly. "'Three blind mice--three blind mice; see how they run.' Well, Jack, I'll lay you three to one in anything you like on Margaret." "In my country," said Browne, yawning, "the sun goes down in the fall of the year and never comes up again. The Arctic Sea is all shifting ice pack, the land all white drifts, and you think the night is never going to end. Yet it does; the sun comes up in the spring, and the mosquito season begins. Perhaps things will come out all right even in this England." "Perhaps," answered Branscombe. "How long is it, Browne, since you joined the Guard--you're only a recruit, eh?" "Thirty-one days and thirty-one nights," said Browne, "and it feels like thirty-one years. Another month of your London will make me a doddering old patriarch." "Another month?" Branscombe rose and walked away with a sigh. "Another month!" echoed young Lancaster. "Why, gentlemen," came a voice from the upper stairway. "Are the Queen's Blackguards so far gone as that? All out of curl, no swagger--like a covey of widows?" Lancaster turned with an acid smile to the civilian. "Who the deuce are you?" "I have the honour," said the civilian grinning, "to be her Majesty's Chief Poisoner." Lancaster whispered to Browne. "Another bounder come to cheer me up. Well," he turned to the civilian. "Tell us all the bad news, there's still room for a fourth invading army from the west." The Chief Poisoner lighted a cigarette, sat down, crossed his legs and chuckled.