“Listen to the lad!” cried Macpherson, with a gesture of impatience; “importunity of his, quoth he! Our troubles will not last for ever, and a woman will not find her trouble the harder to bear because a brave man tells her he would have her to be his wife.” “You do not know Dorothy Carew,” said Gervase good-humouredly. “I think she would not love a man the better for thinking of himself when other work is to be done.” “Being a woman, I think she would love him none the worse; but you are an obstinate lad and will take your own course. Her brother favours you but little, and the Frenchman is not much burdened with tender scruples. You will see what you will see. But I have spoken my word of warning, and will start when you please.” Gervase could see that Macpherson was dissatisfied, but he thought it useless to prolong the argument and prepared to accompany his friend. The boats were lying at the quay, and the adventurers were already embarking when Macpherson and Gervase arrived. The expedition was full of danger. Every man who took part in it knew that he was taking his life in his hand; but there was glory to be gained, for the eyes of the whole city were upon them. On the other side of the river, encircled by its green hedge, lay the orchard with its battery of guns that seldom were silent for a day together. Only one company lay in the farmhouse hard by to protect the gunners, and it was hoped that by a bold and rapid push, the garrison might cross the river and spike the guns before a stronger force had time to interfere. But they must first face the fire of the guns, and having landed, must take their chance of finding the enemy prepared to give them a warm reception. It was a fine thing to see the gay courage with which the men of the garrison took their seats, and examined the priming of their muskets. It seemed, from their bearing, rather a work of pleasure than one of life and death they were engaged upon. Gervase took his seat in the stern of the smaller and lighter boat--the only one the garrison possessed before they took their prize that morning. Colonel Murray, who had inspired the venture, sat in the stern sheets, holding the tiller in his hand. A saturnine man, with the reserve and silent energy of his race, his face was lighted with the glow of excitement, and his voice was loud and deep, as he bade them push off into the stream. “Now, my lads,” he said, “this is a race for glory--we must be first across, and first we shall be. Keep low in the boat, and do not fire a single shot till we meet them on the bank; then we shall treat them to a taste of our cold steel.” The boat swung out into the stream, and the rowers bent to their work with a will. The other boat was heavier, and soon they had out-distanced it considerably. Murray had been watching the gunners in the orchard, who had already wakened up to the fact that they were threatened with an attack.