Kit was always practical when he had his brother for companion. "We are not into York as yet. What plan have you, Michael?" "My usual plan—to trust to luck. She’s a bonnie mare to ride, I tell you." "But the papers we took from the three Roundheads in the tavern—we had best know what they pledge us to." "The Prince was right, after all. He said that you would steady me. It is odd, Kit, but it never entered my daft head to look at the papers; it was enough that they were our passport." They drew rein, and Michael ran his eye down the papers. "They say that Rupert is marching fast for the relief of York—that will be no news to them by this time—that the Prince has inflicted disastrous reverses on their cause, at Bolton and by relieving Lathom House, and that, at any cost of life, York must be reduced before his coming. Oh, my lad, how all this plays into Rupert’s hands!" There was only one weakness in Michael’s gay assurance that all was speeding well. When they reached the outposts of the enemy’s lines, their way led them, as it chanced, to that quarter of the city which the Scots beleaguered. Their garb, Michael’s peremptory demand that the sentry should pass them forward to the officer in command, backed up by showing of his papers, had their effect. It was when they found themselves in the presence of five Parliament officers, seated at a trestle table ill supplied with food, that they began to doubt the venture. "Who are these?" asked one of the five, regarding the strangers with mingled humour and contempt. "They were passed forward by the sentry, Captain. That is all I know." "Who are they?" laughed a young lieutenant. "Why, Puritans, both of them, and preachers, too, by the look of their wearing-gear. It needs no papers to prove that." Michael was always steadied by surprise. They had garbed themselves so carefully; they were acknowledged as friends of the Parliament cause; he was at a loss to understand the chilliness of their reception. "Puritans undoubtedly," he said, with a hint of his old levity, "but we’ve never been found guilty of the charge of preaching." Captain Fraser glanced through the papers, and his air of rude carelessness changed. "This is of prime importance. By the Bruce, sirs, the Parliament has chosen odd-looking messengers, but I thank you for the bringing of your news." Within ten minutes the Metcalfs were ushered into the presence of a cheery, thick-set man, who proved to be Leslie, the general in command of the Scots. He, too, read the papers with growing interest. "H’m, this is good news," he muttered. "_At any cost of life_. That leaves me free. I’ve been saying for weeks past that famine and dissensions among ourselves will raise the siege, without any intervention from Prince Rupert. Your name, sir?" he asked, turning sharply to Michael.