Gervase watched Macpherson with surprise and admiration. The old soldier seemed like another man under the inspiration of the coming struggle; his eyes flashed, his chest heaved, and his deep strong voice thrilled like a trumpet. Leaping like a youth into his saddle and laying his hand lightly for a moment on the restive charger´s neck, he drew his sword from the scabbard. Then he placed himself across the road in front of the troopers and pointed with his sword to the enemy, who had already quickened their pace and were advancing at a sharp trot. “Yon are Galmoy´s Horse, gentlemen. They are nearly three to one, and I am told they can fight. What say ye?” Already the troopers had caught the joyous spirit of their grim leader; his voice stirred them like a trumpet. They had caught the contagion of his hope, his faith, and his enthusiasm. “We are doing God´s work, sir,” said Sergeant Hackett soberly, as he gathered up his reins and drew his hat tightly over his brow. “We will follow you, Captain Macpherson, even to the mouth of the pit. Not one of us will fail you.” “Then we will show the butchers what we can do. Remember, let ‘no quarter´ be our word this day. Do not crowd together until we have drawn their fire. Then give them a salvo steadily, and like brave men and careful. Thereafter in God´s name, let them feel the sword´s edge and the power of the true religion.” Macpherson had risen in his stirrups, his face glowing with the joy of battle. Already the enemy had shortened the distance between them, and a few minutes more would bring them within pistol shot. They could already hear the heavy trampling of the horses as they came galloping up the hill, the jingling of the bridles and the clank of the swords. As the little troop swept up the hillside it made a gallant show. Gervase felt his heart beat fast and loud; his hand trembled with excitement on the hilt of his sword, and his breath came quick. He found himself longing with feverish impatience for the word to charge, but Macpherson kept his men well in hand, trying their temper, and watching them narrowly like a wary soldier. Not a man showed sign of fear or indecision. “You are a young soldier, Mr. Orme,” said Macpherson, with a joyous laugh, “and young soldiers are ever rash and heedless. Let us give yon sons of Belial time to think of what they do. You will feel in good time the thirst to trample down and slay, and the Devil driving you to rend and to destroy. Wait till they come to where the road widens into the marsh. Yon fellow rides like a gallant gentleman--a Frenchman too, I think, and knows his work. Ha! here they come. Now, my children, follow me, and may God defend his cause this day!” Macpherson put spurs to his horse, and his troopers followed in an orderly array at a hard gallop.