To and fro his thoughts went, and they gained clearness as the night went on. For himself, he had no care either way. He had left hope behind at Derby, for his part. His heart was not broken yet, but it was breaking; and, if he had found leisure during this wakeful night for one private, selfish prayer, it would have been that he might die at dawn, facing the Duke’s motley army of pursuit. For the Prince was not himself only, fighting his battle against circumstance with a single hand; he was bone of the Stuart fathers who had gone before, and death had always seemed as good a friend as life, so long as it found him with straight shoulders and head up to the skies. There was the garrison here, resolved to die with gallantry. There was his army, horsemen saddle-sore and footmen going with bleeding feet for Stuart love. And one or other must be sacrificed. It was no easy riddle for any man to solve--least of all for a Prince whose soul knew deeper sickness than usual men’s, whose body was racked by long riding through wet roads. He had an aching tooth, moreover, that moved him to get up at last, and light his black clay pipe, and pace up and down the room allotted to him in the castle. He was no figure to entice the ladies who had danced with him, some months ago, at Holyrood. It was the man’s business that claimed him now, and he fought out the battle of Stuart pity against the bigger, urgent need. At dawn he went down, and met the Governor coming up the stair. “Your garrison can have their wish, Mr. Hamilton,” he said quietly. “It seems the better of two evil ways.” “Can you spare twenty of your men, your Highness? Some few of us have fallen sick since you marched south, and we need strengthening.” And the Prince laughed, because pity and heart-sickness compelled it. “I can spare anything just now,” he said, “even to the half of my kingdom--the kingdom that Lord Murray hopes to win for me in Scotland.” “There are better days coming--believe me----” “To-day is enough for you and me, Mr. Hamilton. My faith, thank God, teaches me so much, in spite of a raging tooth.” He went out, and in the courtyard encountered a friend grown dear to him during a forward march and a retreat that had given men opportunities enough to prove each other. It was Colonel Towneley, whose name even before the Rising had stood for all that Catholic Lancashire had found likeable--Towneley, who had joined the southward march with the loyal company known as the Manchester Regiment; Towneley, who was resolute and ardent both, two qualities that do not always run together. “Mr. Hamilton is insistent to hold the Castle,” said the Prince, with the sharpness that was always a sign of trouble on other folk’s behalf. “Yes, your Highness. I learned yesterday that he’s of my own mind. If a hundred men can save five thousand, why, the issue’s plain.” “He needs twenty volunteers to strengthen the garrison.”