Yet there were others; and day by day, as news of the Prince’s march drifted down to Windyhough, Sir Jasper was heartened to find that after all, he would bring a decent company to join the Rising. Meanwhile, the lives they were living day by day seemed odd to thinking men who, like Sir Jasper, understood how imminent was civil war, and what the horrors of it were. The farmers rode to market, sold their sheep and cattle, returned sober or otherwise according to force of habit, just as at usual times. In the village bordering Windyhough the smith worked at his bellows, the cobbler was busy as ever with making boots and scandal, the labourers’ wives--the shiftless sort--scolded their husbands into the ale-house, while the more prudent ones made cheery hearths for them at home. It seemed incredible that before the year was out there would be such a fire kindled in this peaceful corner of the world as might burn homesteads down, and leave children fatherless, if things went amiss with Prince Charles Edward. But Sir Jasper let no doubts stay long with him. Things would go well. If the risks were great, so was the recompense. A Stuart safely on the throne again; English gentlemen filling high places where foreigners were now in favour; the English tongue heard frequently at Court; a return of the days when Church and King meant more than an idle toast--surely the prize was worth the hazard. He carried a sore heart on his own account these days. He had a wife and sons at Windyhough; he loved the house that had grown old in company with his race; he had no personal gain in this adventure of the Prince’s, no need of recompense nor wish for it; and sometimes, when he was tired-out or when he had found the younger gentry irresolute in face of the instant call to arms, he grew weak and foolish, as if he needed to learn from the everlasting hills about him that he was human after all. And at these times his faith shone low and smoky, like a fire that needs a keen breath of wind to kindle it afresh. On one of these days, near dusk, as he rode home across the moor, dispirited because no news had followed Oliphant’s message of a week ago, a rider overtook him at a spurring gallop, checked suddenly, and turned in saddle. “I was for Windyhough,” he panted. “You’ve saved me three miles, sir--and, gad! my horse will bless you.” “The news, Oliphant? The news? I’m wearying for it.” “Be ready within the week. The Prince is into Annan--Carlisle will fall--get your men and arms together. Pass on the word to Squire Demaine.” “And the signal?” “Wait till I bring it, or another. Be ready, and--God save the King!”