Macpherson rose to his feet and drew out the small leather-bound volume that Gervase had seen him use before. “There has been enough of this untimely jesting,” he said. “These are not manners that suit our station or our work, and if you, sir, care not to join in the devotions of Christian men, I shall not compel you to remain, but you may retire to your repose. But as for us, we will thank God for His watchful care this day.” “Your devotions, sir, will interest me beyond measure.” “Hackett, give me the light,” said Macpherson, looking for a moment sternly at the speaker from under his heavy eyebrows. The sergeant went to the hearth and taking up a blazing piece of resinous fir held it up to his leader, who opened the book and began solemnly to read one of those Psalms that breathe forth vengeance and savage triumph. “Plead my cause, oh Lord, with them that strive with me, fight against them that fight against me. Take hold of shield and buckler and stand up for my help.” Then he closed the book and dropping on his knees (an example which was followed by all the company except the Vicomte, who was apparently fast asleep) he prayed loudly and fervently. His prayer was to some extent a repetition of the verses he had been reading, clothed in more homely language. He prayed that God would lead His people forth in safety through the perils and dangers that encompassed them; and that the wicked oppressor might be taken in his own toils and destroyed utterly. Then from the language of supplication he passed to the enthusiasm of prophecy. The day was at hand when a great deliverance would be wrought for the people of God. The scarlet woman, sunken in her adulteries and witchcraft, would pass into the darkness of Tophet; they who lived by the sword would perish by the sword, and the Protestant cause would triumph over all its enemies. When he had finished, and his loud Amen was repeated by the kneeling men around him, he remained for some time on his knees apparently engaged in private prayer. Then he rose to his feet with the prompt alacrity that distinguished him, and gave the few necessary instructions for the night. “We march at three,” he said abruptly. “Ralston will do duty at the Bridge, and Given will take the church at the upper end of the village. In three hours they will be relieved. There must be no sleeping on sentry duty, my lads,” he added, with additional sternness in his tone, “for we do not want our throats cut while we sleep. This is not child´s play, and if you fail in aught be assured you have a man to deal with who knows how to punish laggards.”