“I spent a fortnight in his company,” said Gervase, “and none can know his worth better than I do.” “He will need to make haste if he is alive. In a week not a mouse could creep into the city. Even now, you can see how the enemy´s lines are drawn round us, and I can hardly hope he will get through. And they will draw them closer yet, for they will have to starve us out; storm us they cannot. Pray God, they do not sleep in England. Now, Mr. Orme, your commission has been made out, as I promised, and I would have you carry a message to Colonel Crofton at Windmill Hill. We have much work to do to-day.” Gervase found his first day of garrison life full of interest and excitement. Apparently satisfied with the sharp skirmish of yesterday, the enemy had not attempted any further offensive operations, but lay sullenly in their quarters, or employed themselves in exercising their levies. Occasionally indeed, a great gun sent its iron missive into the city, but the artillery practice was very imperfect, and as yet did little injury. At Windmill Hill Gervase found four companies under arms in the trenches, but the enemy never came within musket-range, and to Gervase it seemed that the royal army had very little advantage in discipline and order over the silent and determined men who sat in the trenches round him. Ill-armed and ill-clad, the royal troops were wanting in the fine spirit that inspired the defenders of the city. In his own mind Gervase came to the conclusion that whatever might be the issue the struggle would be a long and bitter one. It was nearly six o´clock when he returned home. Mistress Sproule was standing in the doorway, like a colossal statue of domestic virtue, with two of her eight children clutching at her gown. That something had disturbed her equanimity was evident, for her lips refused to relax in their severity, as Gervase came up with his customary salutation. “´Tis a pity you had not come an hour ago, Mr. Orme; your supper is gone, and your friend is hardly satisfied. One would think he had not broken bread for a week.” “I had bidden no one to supper,” Gervase answered in surprise. “Then he hath bidden himself and overlooked your invitation. Had Simon been at home, I should have known more about him, but he stopped me short and told me to mind my own business. He hath very ill manners, and says that no man should reason with a woman.” In a moment Gervase surmised that Macpherson had returned. Leaving the exasperated matron at the door in her growing indignation, he rushed up the staircase, and burst into the room. Macpherson was still seated at the table, the empty dishes ranged before him. His long jaws were leaner than ever, and his clothes were torn and covered with dirt. His head was bound up with a handkerchief which was deeply stained with blood.