"And what," Brilliana asked, "has this great man to do with Harby that he sends you here?" "He sends me here," the Puritan answered, "to haul down your flag." "That you shall never do," Brilliana answered, steadily, "while there is a living soul in Harby." The Puritan protested with appealing hands. "You are in the last straits for lack of food, for lack of fuel, for lack of powder." Brilliana made a passionate gesture of denial. "You are as ignorant as insolent," she asserted. "Loyalty House lacks neither provisions nor munitions of war." There was a kind of respectful pity in the stranger's face as he watched the wild, bright girl and hearkened to the vain, brave words. "Nay, now--" he began, out of the consciousness of his own truer knowledge, but what he would have said was furiously interrupted by a volume of strange sounds from the adjoining banqueting-hall. There was a rattle and clink as of many pewter mugs banged lustily upon an oaken table; there was a shrill explosion of laughter, the work of many merry voices; there was the grinding noise of heavy chairs pushed back across the floor for the greater ease of their occupants; there was a tapping as of pipe-bowls on the board, and then over all the mingled din rose a voice, which Brilliana knew for the voice of Halfman, ringing out a resonant appeal. "The King's health, friends, to begin with." All the noises that had died down to allow Halfman a hearing began again with fresh vigor. It was obvious to the most unsophisticated listener that here was the fag end of a feast and the moment for the genial giving of toasts. Many voices swelled a loyal chorus of "The King, the King!" and had the great doors of the banqueting-hall been no other than bright glass it would have been scarce easier for the man and woman in the great hall to realize what was happening, the revellers rising to their feet, the drinking-vessels lifted high in air with loyal vociferations, and then the silence, eloquent of tilted mugs and the running of welcome liquor down the channels of thirsty throats. This silence was broken by some one calling for a song, to which call he who had proposed the King's health answered instantly and with evident satisfaction. His rich if somewhat rough voice came booming through the partitions, carolling a ballad to which the Puritan listened with a perfectly unmoved countenance, while the Lady Brilliana's eager face expressed every signal of the liveliest delight. This was the song that came across the threshold: "What creature's this with his short hairs, His little band and huge long ears, That this new faith hath founded? The Puritans were never such, The saints themselves had ne'er so much, Oh, such a knave's a Roundhead."