She nibbled at her food, intent on keeping his riotous appetite in countenance. By the lines in his face, by the temperate haste with which he ate and drank, she knew him for a soldier older than his years. "Tell me how it sped with your riding from the North?" she asked. "It went bonnily—a fight down Skipton Raikes, and into the market-place. Then to Ripley, and running skirmishes; and, after that, the ride to Oxford. I saw the King and Rupert, and all the prayers I ever said were answered." "Oh, I’m tired here, waiting at home with gunshots interrupting every meal. Tell me how the King looked." "Tired, as you are—resolute, as if he went to battle—and he bade me give you the frankest acknowledgment of his regard." "Ah, he knows, then—knows a little of what we’ve done at Lathom?" "He knows all, and Rupert knows." On the sudden Lady Derby lost herself. Knowledge that the King praised her, sheer relief that the Prince was marching to her aid, came like rain about her, breaking up the long time of drought. Then she dried her eyes. "I, too, have fought," she explained, "and have carried wounds. Now, sir, by your leave, are you rested sufficiently? Well, then, I need you for a sortie by and by." From the boy’s laughter, his sharp call to attention, she knew again that he was of the soldier’s breed. "Weeks ago—it seems years by now—this Colonel Rigby who besieges us planted a mortar outside our gates. Our men sallied and killed many, and brought the mortar in." "Good," said Kit. "I saw it as I came through the courtyard, and wondered whether you or they had put it out of action." "My folk put it out of action. And now they’ve brought up another mortar. We dare not let it play even for a day on crumbling walls. There’s to be a sortie within the hour. One of my officers is dead, and two are wounded. Sir, will you lead a company for me?" "Luck always comes my way," assented Kit. "But you do not ask what strength you have to follow you?" "What strength you can give me. I am at your service." When Lady Derby mustered all she could spare from her slender garrison, Kit found himself the leader of twenty men, some hale enough, others stained with the red-rust that attends on wounds. "Friends," he said, "the moon is up, and there’s light enough to guide us in the open." They liked him. He wasted no speech. He was mired with travel of wet roads, and his face was grey and tired, but they knew him, for they had seen other leaders spur them to the hazard. Some went out through the main gate of Lathom, and waited under shadow of the walls. Others joined them by way of little doors, unknown to the adversary. They gathered, a battered company, led by officers half drunk with weariness, and ahead they saw the moonlight shining on the mortar, reared on its hillock.