Yet some of the Knaresborough men would not be denied; and the Governor, as he saw the sixty horsemen ride over and down to Beamsley-by-the-Wharfe, wished that his private conscience would let him journey with them. He stood watching the hill-crest long after they had disappeared, and started when a hand was laid gently on his arm. "It is hard to stay?" asked Lady Ingilby. "By your leave, yes. Why should these big Metcalfs have all the frolic?" "Ah, frolic! As if there were naught in life but gallop, and cut and thrust, and——sir, is there no glory in staying here to guard weak?" The Governor was in evil mood. He had seen the King’s cause go, had seen Knaresborough succumb, had watched the steadfast loyalty of a lifetime drift down the stream of circumstance like a straw in a headlong current. "Lady Ingilby," he said wearily, "there is no longer any glory anywhere. It has gone from the land." "It is here among us. Till we were broken folk, I did not know our strength. None but the Stuart, friend, could have kept us in such friendliness and constancy. Oh, I know! I saw you glance round for your horse when the Metcalfs went—saw your struggle fought out, sir—and, believe me, you were kind to stay." They finished their interrupted meal at leisure; and it was not till about four of the clock that Miss Bingham, who had strayed afield to pick a bunch of valley lilies, came running back to camp. The two men in pursuit blundered headlong into the enemy before they saw their peril; and they found scant shrift. Miss Bingham, thoroughbred beneath her whimsies, halted a moment to regain her courage. "These are but outposts, sir," she said. "From the hill-top I could see a whole company of Roundheads." "Their number," asked the Governor—"and are they mounted?" "More than our own, I think, and they go on foot." "And half of us wounded. Come, gentlemen, there’s no time to waste." His weariness was gone. Alert, masterful, almost happy, he bade the women get further down the hill, out of harm’s way. He gave his men their stations—little knots of them cowering under clumps of gorse and broom—until the land seemed empty of all human occupation. Only Elizabeth, the wayward ass, lifted up her voice from time to time, after finishing the last of the thistles Michael had given her. And suddenly, as they waited, the Governor let a sharp oath escape him. "This comes of letting women share a fight. In the name of reason, why is Miss Bingham running up the hill again?" They peered over the gorse, saw the tall, lithe figure halt, clearly limned against the sky-line. They heard her voice, pitiful and pleading. "Parliament men, I am alone and friendless. Will you aid me?" A steel-capped Roundhead showed above the hill-crest. "There are plenty to aid such a comely lass as thee," he said, his rough Otley burr cutting the summer’s silence like a blunt-edged knife. "Then follow quickly."