“You may speak for yourself, Mr. Townsend,” replied the insulted hero, “but not for me, or for Archers in general, if you please. We unbarred the door upon the faith of De Grey’s promise—_that_ was not giving up. And it would have been just as difficult, I promise you, to persuade or convince me either that I should give up against my honour before breakfast as after.” This spirited speech was applauded by many, who had now forgotten the feelings of famine. Not so Fisher, whose memory was upon this occasion very distinct. “What nonsense,” and the orator paused for a synonymous expression, but none was at hand. “What nonsense and—nonsense is here! Why, don’t you remember that dinner-time, and supper-time and breakfast-time will come again? So what signifies mouthing about persuading and convincing? We will not go through again what we did yesterday! Honour me no honour. I don’t understand it. I’d rather be flogged at once, as I have been many’s the good time for a less thing. I say, we’d better all be flogged at once, which must be the end of it sooner or later, than wait here to be without dinner, breakfast, and supper, all only because Mr. Archer won’t give up because of his honour and nonsense!” Many prudent faces amongst the Fishermen seemed to deliberate at the close of this oration, in which the arguments were brought so “home to each man’s business and bosom.” “But,” said De Grey, “when we yield, I hope it will not be merely to get our dinner, gentlemen. When we yield, Archer—” “Don’t address yourself to me,” interrupted Archer, struggling with his pride; “you have no further occasion to try to win me. I have no power, no party, you see! And now I find that I have no friends, I don’t care what becomes of myself. I suppose I’m to be given up as a ringleader. Here’s this Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen, were going to tie me hand and foot, if I had not knocked him down, just as you came to the door, De Grey; and now perhaps you will join Fisher’s party against me.” De Grey was going to assure him that he had no intention of joining any party, when a sudden change appeared on Archer’s countenance. “Silence!” cried Archer, in an imperious tone, and there was silence. Someone was heard to whistle the beginning of a tune, that was perfectly new to everybody present, except to Archer, who immediately whistled the conclusion. “There!” cried he, looking at De Grey, with triumph; “that’s a method of holding secret correspondence whilst a prisoner, which I learned from ‘Richard Cœur de Lion.’ I know how to make use of everything. Hallo! friend! are you there at last?” cried he, going to the ventilator. “Yes, but we are barred out here.” “Round to the window then, and fill our bag. We’ll let it down, my lad, in a trice; bar me out who can!”