A sudden light came into Towneley’s face--a light not to be feigned, or lit by any random spark of daring that dates no farther back than yesterday. “By your leave,” he said quietly, “he needs nineteen only. I am privileged to be the first.” The Prince laid a hand on his shoulder. “Towneley, I cannot spare you! Let younger men step in. There’s Lochiel, and you, and Sir Jasper Royd, men I’ve grown to love--I cannot spare one of you.” Towneley met the other’s glance and smiled. “I had a dream last night,” he said. “But, friend, it is reality to-day.” “Let me be, your Highness. Perhaps dreams and reality are nearer than we think. I dreamed that I knelt with my head on the block, and heard the axe whistle--and then--I woke in Paradise.” “Towneley, you’re over-strained with all this devilish retreat----” “Your pardon, but I speak of what I know. I woke in Paradise, your Highness, and found leisure to think of my sins. It was a long thinking. But there was one comfort stayed by me--my Stuart loyalty. Look at it how I would, there had been no flaw in it. The dream”--again the lightening of the face--“the dream contents me.” A little later they went out into Carlisle street. Wet and chilly as the dawn was, both soldiery and townsfolk were astir; and the Prince and Towneley, who had talked together of things beyond this day’s needs, faced the buzz and clatter of the town with momentary dismay. The Prince was losing a friend, tried and dear; but he had lost more at Derby, and dogged hardihood returned to him. He looked at the way-worn men who faced him, eager to obey the Stuart whom they idolised, wherever he bade them go. “We march north to-day, leaving the garrison here,” he said, a straight, kingly figure of surprising charm--charm paid for in advance and royally. “There are twenty needed to volunteer--for certain death, my friends. I have no lies for you; and I tell you it is certain death.” “Nineteen, your Highness,” corrected Towneley. “Nineteen are needed. I forgot that Colonel Towneley----” He got no farther for a while. Wherever a man of Lancashire stood, in among the crowd, a great cheer went up. And Towneley, because he was human, was glad that these folk, who knew his record, loved him quite so well. What followed was all simple, human, soon over, as great happenings are apt to be. There was Carlisle street, with its gaping townsfolk, chattering foolishly and asking each other how these restless Highlanders would affect the profits of good shopkeepers; there was the Castle, set in a frame of murky rain, and, in front of it, Prince Charles Edward, asking for nineteen volunteers to follow Colonel Towneley’s lead.