Brilliana gave her handmaid a glance of something near akin to displeasure. "I think you all talk and think too much of the gentleman. I see little to praise in him save a certain coolness in peril. Let us have no more of him. We must use him well, but he will soon be gone, and a good riddance. Is my lute tuned, Tiffany?" Tiffany answered "Ay," and her lady took up the lute and picked at a tune, yawning. The world seemed to have grown very tedious all of a sudden, and it did not seem so pleasant as she deemed it would prove to sit again in the yew circle and sing. She began a song or two, to leave each unfinished with a yawn, and, because yawning is contagious, Tiffany yawned too, discreetly behind her fingers. It was while Tiffany looked away to conceal a vaster yawn than its fellows, too vast for masking with finger-tips, that she saw a soldierly figure coming across the garden towards the pleasaunce. "My lady," she cried, turning to Brilliana, "here comes Captain Halfman. Let us ask him his mind as to the Parliament man." Brilliana's face brightened. Here was company, and good company. She had believed him too busy to be seen so soon, for she had bade him see about raising a troop of volunteers in the village, and she turned round readily to greet her companion of the siege. Through the yew portal Halfman came, gravity reigning in his eyes and slaking their wild fire. He saluted Brilliana with the deep reverence he always showed to his fair general. Brilliana turned to her adjutant eagerly: "Master Halfman, Master Halfman," she cried, "how do you measure our rebel?" Halfman's gravity lightened amazingly at the thought of his prisoner. "I take him," he answered, emphatically, "for as proper a fellow as ever I met in all my vagabond days. Barring his primness he would have proved a gallant"--he was going to say "pirate," but paused in time and said "seaman." "God pardon him for a Puritan," he went on, "for he has in him the making of a rare Cavalier." Brilliana turned to Tiffany, whose cheeks were very red. "Hang your head, child," she cried; "for you are outvoted in a parliament of praise. Beat a retreat, maid Tiffany." The crimson Tiffany fled from the pleasaunce. "Where is your prisoner?" Brilliana asked. "I have envoyed him over park and garden," Halfman answered, "and brought him to port in the library." "Alas! I pity him," sighed Brilliana; "it holds few books of divinity. But come, recruiting-sergeant, what of our volunteers?" "So pleases you, my lady," Halfman said, "our troop is swelling fast, and the sooner we clap them into colored coats the better." Brilliana's curls danced in denial. "Alas! friend, I have sad news for you. Of cloth for coats I can indeed command a great plenty"--she paused doubtfully. "Why this is glad news, not sad news," Halfman said. "So may you serve it out with all despatch."