“And what became of the other?” “Oh! they did not like our entertainment and begged to be excused; so they stole off and left us with our prize.” “It is good news,” said Gervase; “the best we have had for many a day. I would have ventured something to have been of your company.” “I thought of you, my lad, as we clambered over the gunwhale and gave them the ends of our muskets. But there is still fun in the fair, and I have come for you this morning to join in it. With the boats we purpose paying them a visit yonder by the orchard, and drawing the teeth of the great guns that have been barking somewhat vehemently of late. Baker himself hath asked for you, which is to your credit in a garrison where brave men are not few. I think myself, you have come to handle your sword in a pretty fashion.” “There is no lack of opportunity to learn,” said Gervase laughing, “but you must not spoil me with praise before I have deserved it.” The old soldier looked at him with a friendly glance, as he bent down to examine the lock of his pistol. Most men were drawn towards Gervase Orme. His frankness, his courage, and his ready sympathy had no touch of affectation, while his handsome face and stalwart presence had made him many friends; but Macpherson, who had been on terms of intimacy with few for years, had come to look upon him as a father looks on a son. Gervase had found his way to a heart that had long been closed to human sympathy, and without knowing it, had brought light to a mind warped and darkened by a narrow and visionary creed. It was not that Macpherson´s character had undergone a change, but during the fortnight he had spent in the farmhouse, a part of his nature had awakened to life which he had been sedulously trying to stifle, and which he had not been able to reconcile with the hard and narrow creed he had adopted. “Lay down your weapon,” he said, as Gervase with some eagerness was making his preparations to set out, “lay down your weapon, and listen to me. We have a good hour still; a man should never hurry to put his head in danger. Have you made it up yet with the sweet lass--you know whom I mean.” “I saw Miss Carew last night,” said Gervase with some confusion. “Tut, man, you will not put me off the scent like a young puppy that hath not yet found its nose. She is a wench in ten thousand--the good woman of the preacher, and was made to nurse a brave man´s bairns. You must not let your gay spark of a Frenchman cut out the prize before your eyes, as he means to do, if I have an eye to read his purpose. You know not how to woo, my lad. Women are not to be taken like a town, with the slow approach of parallels and trenches; they ever love to be carried with a rush. The bold wooer is twice a man. You must go blithely about it and tell her what you mean.” “It is true that I love Miss Carew,” said Gervase, “but this is no time to make love, and I will not distress her with any importunity of mine.”