But the order had come too late. Already they had passed the line of defence and gained the open ground within. Hastily clambering out of the trench, the defenders rushed to meet them with pikes and muskets, in a compact and stubborn body. Gervase was looking about him for some more serviceable weapon than the small sword he carried, when he saw Simon Sproule making prodigious efforts to lift himself out of the trench under the weight of his heavy firelock. The face of the little linen-draper was ghastly pale, the perspiration was running in streams down his face, and his eyes were like those of a startled hare. Reaching him his hand, Gervase helped him to his feet. “Now,” he said, “steady yourself and play the man. If you attempt to flee, which I verily think you do, I´ll even run you through the body, and tell your wife why I did it.” “Never fear for me, Mr. Orme; I´ll stand by you like a man; but this is a fearful trade for a citizen. D--do you think they´ll run?” “We´ll do our best to make them,” answered Gervase, picking up a pike; “follow me, and do the best you can.” “Never fear for me.” The horsemen came on gallantly, but could make no impression on the iron wall that met them at every point. The horses went down in dozens, but the riders leaping to their feet still strove to make good the vow they had taken, and fought with a stubborn spirit. On every side they were surrounded by that cruel wall of pikes and scythes, and a spirit as stubborn as their own. Then they were broken up into little knots, and it became a hand to hand fight in which the advantage was altogether on the side of the garrison.