The siege had indeed commenced. Yonder beyond the Foyle lay Lord Lumley´s command, three thousand strong, the white tents catching the last gleam of the sunset as the evening mists crept up the river. At Brookhall and Pennyburn Mill was a strong force that shut off communication with Culmore. Away towards St. Johnston´s and Carrigans was the main army of the enemy under Eustace and Ramsay. From the heights of Clooney one could see at long intervals a swift leap of flame, and hear the sullen roar of a great gun breaking on the evening air. All thought of compromise or capitulation was at an end; here the citizens must make their last stand, and show the world how dearly they held their faith and freedom. At first sight resistance might have seemed a midsummer folly. On both sides of the river the high ground looked down upon the city, and that within the range of cannon. The streets clomb up the gradual slope toward the square-towered Cathedral; the walls were low and might be easily breached. Still, there were seven thousand men of the imperial race within those walls, and while one stone stood upon another they had sworn to make good their defence. Gervase was up betimes on the morning following his return. He had seen Colonel Murray the night before at the guard house, whither that gallant soldier had just returned after a hot encounter with the enemy, and had heard from his lips an account of their first skirmish that had taken place that very day. Murray had promised him a vacant cornetcy in his own regiment of horse, and the prospect of plenty of service. Gervase buckled on his sword after a hasty breakfast, his mind full of the hope that a high-spirited young-fellow naturally indulges in at such a time. His imagination had been touched and his heart had been stirred by the peril of the situation. He had caught the joyous enthusiasm of the time, and he whistled merrily a bar of Lillibullero as he went down the crooked stair, and came into the ill-lighted shop. The door was lying open, but the shutters had not been taken down. Trade was not of the briskest of late days, and the stock was somewhat meagre. The varied assortment of wares--linens, broadcloth, and laces--had nearly disappeared, and the little linen-draper, Simon Sproule, was seated with a rueful countenance at his desk, with his ledger spread open before him. So intent was he on the open page that he had not heard Gervase come clanking down the stairs, and it was only when the latter stepped forward and laid his hand on his shoulder, that he raised his head with a startled look. Then he jumped up and held out his hand. “God bless my soul! I am glad to see you, Mr. Orme; I had never thought to have laid my eyes on you again. It was only on Thursday I was telling Elizabeth--and she´ll bear me out in what I say--that ´twas likely your dust was mingled by this time with the clods of the valley, and we were both grieved to have lost you.”