Kit, fretted almost to tears, watched him with angry admiration. The crisis had come, and this curly grey-head sat, calm as a village Solomon in his door of summer evenings, and talked baby to his sword. "I don't see _that_ helps much," sneered the boy--"cleaning the plate!" "Nor does fussing for that matter," retorted the other tranquilly. "In war, as in the world, you must do as you're done by. That mayn't be parson's truth; but it is soldier's. And I'm a soldier for the time being. The cards lie with the Gentleman. We shall have to follow suit --or trump. If he's got a card up his sleeve he must play it--now or never." The boy turned to the window. The Gentleman was standing upon the broken wall, hand over his eyes, taking in the situation. He flung a finger here, an order there. The Grenadiers threw forward across the plain in skirmishing order. "Looks like business," muttered the Parson, tucking in his shirt. "What's it going to be?" He had not long to wait. The Gentleman vaulted the wall, and came swiftly across the grass towards them. CHAPTER LXVII THE ACE OF TRUMPS I He came rapidly across the lawn, the sun upon him. Kit thought him the fairest figure of a man he had ever seen. The Parson was comely with the comeliness of an apple, this man was beautiful with the beauty of sun and sword in one. But the boy noticed that there was more of the sword and less of the sun than of old about him. Was the strain telling on him too? "Forgive me for disturbing you so early," called the gay voice. "The Reverend Father was at his devotions doubtless!" "No, sir," retorted the Parson. "The Reverend Father was watching the Horse, Foot, and Artillery, pelting down the hill on top o you." "I've been watching em too," replied the other. "And sorry I am I shan't be here to entertain em--I've a soft place for the soldiers myself. But I'm just off for a day on the water. A pretty morning!" "Yes; as pretty a morning to hang a play-actor on as ever I saw." The other waved a hand. "Ah, but I'm not going to hang you, dear Padre. I have other views for you." He was fascinating, but somehow he was fearful too. He was the python: they were the rabbits. He had power: and that power was none the less terrible because it was mysterious. The Parson leaned out, bold and bluffing. "I take you. The game's up. And you've come to surrender, eh?" The other shook his head. "No. I just stepped across to say good-bye, and see if I couldn't perhaps persuade you to come with me." "No, sir, thank you all the same. I'm a land-animal myself. Besides I'm too cosy here." The other stood silent a full minute, nodding a slow head. "Alas, poor ghost!" he said at length half to himself, and made as though to turn. The Parson was staggered. Had he no card then? was he merely bluffing? "What's it mean?" he whispered fiercely to Kit. "It means he's going--and Nelson's last chance with him!" panted the boy. "O, _make_ him stay!"