The King smiled. "I thought you a fighter only, Rupert. Now you’re an orator, it seems. Go, rescue Lady Derby; but, as you love me, save York. There are only two cities on the map to me these days—York and Oxford. The other towns count loss and gain, as tradesmen do." Long stress of misunderstanding, futile gossip of courtiers unemployed, dripping poison into the King’s mind, were swept away. "As God sees me, sir, I ride only for your honour. The Metcalfs ride only for your honour." "Ah, Coeur de Lion," laughed the King, "have your own way of it, and prosper." At Lathom House, three days ago, there had been a welcome addition to the garrison. Kit Metcalf—he of the sunny smile, because he loved a maid and was not wedded to her whimsies yet—had ridden to the outskirts of the house, had dismounted, left his horse to roam at large, and had crept warily through the moonlight that shone on sleeping men and wakeful sentries. On the left of the moat, near the rounded clump of sedge that fringed its turning, he saw two sentries chatting idly between their yawns. "It’s a poor affair, Giles, this of keeping awake to besiege one woman." "A poor affair; but, then, what could you look for from an officer of Rigby’s breed? Sir Thomas Fairfax had no liking for the business. We’ve no liking for it." Kit ran forward through the moonlight, gripped them with his right hand and his left—neither hand knowing just what the other was doing—and knocked their skulls together with the strength given him by Providence. They tumbled forward over the brink of the moat, and Kit himself dived in. When he came to the water’s top again, he swam quietly to the further bank, then went in great tranquillity up the grassy slope that led him to the postern gate, and was surprised when he was challenged sharply. Remembering what he had gone through for the Stuart, he thought, in his simple country way, that comrades of the same breed would know him, as dog knows brother-dog, without further parley. When he was asked who went there, his temper fired, though the wet of his crossing should have damped its powder. "A Mecca for the King, you wastrel! Have you not heard of us?" "By your leave, yes," said the sentry, with sudden change of front. "All Lancashire has heard of you. What is your business here?" "To see Lady Derby instantly." He was passed forward into the castle, and a grey-headed man-servant came to meet him. Again he said curtly what his business was. "It is out of question, sir," the man protested. "My lady has had three sleepless nights. She gave orders that she should not be roused till dawn, unless, indeed, there was danger from the enemy." Kit was headstrong to fulfil his errand to the letter. "Go, rouse her!" he said sharply. "I come from the King at Oxford, and my news cannot wait." *CHAPTER XIII.* *THE LADY OF LATHOM.*