Gervase smiled where he lay, for he dearly loved a battle royal between the two, in which the victory usually lay with the weaker. Macpherson had gone grimly to the attack, but he had ended by falling nearly as much under her power as her husband himself. “You are very right, Mistress Sproule,” Gervase heard the voice of the old soldier say, “and though it is an urgent matter, he will have half an hour more. You are right to be careful for him, and I like you none the worse for your watchfulness. It may be you will let me sit down within till he wakens?” “That I will not. And you may even go whither you came from and tell them that.” But Gervase, who had been greatly amused at his friend´s conciliatory tone, thought it time to interfere, and called out that he was awake and would see him. “You see how well I am guarded,” he said, as Macpherson came into the room, “and I think you did not dispute the passage very warmly. The enemy was too sharp for you.” “I have been learning my own weakness,” answered Macpherson, sitting down on the bed. “Now, my dear lad, how is the world going with you? I would that I did not see those deep lines on your young face, and the youth dragged out of you before your manhood has well begun. Did I not tell you what it was to stand behind stone walls, and hope against hope for the relief that would never come, and see the tender women and children stricken down without help or pity?” “Nay, Macpherson, you are ill or you would not talk thus.” “Indeed, I think I am, and I am growing old and childish. But I have been mad or worse for a week. With the deep water to the quays, and the good ships yonder with brave hearts on board of them, to think of what might be done and is not! ´Twas all very well,” he went on bitterly, “for Kirke, the lying rogue, to dragoon the poor ploughmen who stood gallantly by Monmouth, but ´tis hard to think that for want of a little courage we should die here like dogs. Better throw open the gates and let them murder us where we stand, than fight for those who will not help us.” “This is but wild talk,” said Gervase. “Truly, I know that, and I would be apt to shoot another through the head did he prate as I have done, but twelve hours´ want of food and rest have somewhat weakened me.” Gervase sprang from his bed, and hastily dressing himself set out his scanty breakfast, for meat and meal had become precious, and he could not afford to waste them. “There is enough for both of us,” he said, “and there is still tobacco for your pipe. The guns are going merrily yonder, and we´ll set ourselves to work as merrily here. We march to the tune of ‘No Surrender.´”