That brought the defensive operations to an end, for Roy withdrew his men into the castle, and the daylight showed their rough work, which pretty well secured the gate-way; but it also displayed the work of the enemy, who had constructed a well-shaped earthwork, out of whose embrasures peered a couple of big guns. The rapidly increasing light, too, showed something more, for about a couple of hundred yards from the outworks, a horse, saddled and bridled, lay upon its side, quite dead; for the terrible stroke the miller's man had delivered with his pickaxe had struck into the horse's spine. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. LADY ROYLAND TURNS NURSE. Roy was face to face with the first of the stern realities of war, as he hurried into the long chamber beneath the eastern rampart, which Lady Royland had set apart for the use of any of the men who might, she said, "turn ill." Poor Sam Donny had fainted away before he reached the hospital-room, and upon Roy entering, eager to render assistance, it was to find himself forestalled by Lady Royland, who, with the old housekeeper, attended to the wounded man. Lady Royland hurried to her son, as he appeared at the door. "No," she said, firmly, "not now: leave this to us. It is our duty." "But, mother, do you understand?" protested Roy. "Better, perhaps, than any one here," she replied. "Go to your duties; but come by-and-by to see how the poor fellow is. It will cheer him." Roy could not refuse to obey the order, and hurried back to meet Ben on the way to the sufferer's side. "Not go in?" said the sergeant. "Her ladyship says so? Oh, very well-- then of course it is all right." "But I feel so anxious," said Roy; "my mother is not a chirurgeon." "More aren't we, Master Roy; but she's what's just as good--a splendid nurse. So's old Grey's wife; so Sam Donny's in clover. I was being a bit anxious about him, for fear Master Pawson was doing the doctoring, and I'd rather trust myself." "But the wound--the terrible wound?" cried Roy. "Tchah! Nothing terrible about that, captain. Just a clean sword-cut. You've cut your finger many a time, haven't you?" "Of course." "Well, did you want a doctor? No; you had it tied up tightly, and left it alone. Then it grew together again!" "Yes, yes, yes," cried Roy, impatiently. "But this was a terrible slash on the poor fellow's thigh. You saw how horribly it bled." "Come, Master Roy, we're both soldiers, and we mustn't talk like this. I saw his leg bleed, and stopped it, but it wasn't horrible. Leg's only like a big finger, and a strong healthy chap soon grows together again. You mustn't take any notice of a few cuts. They're nothing. What we've got to mind is the cannon-balls. Now a wound from one of them is terrible, because you see they don't cut clean, but break bones and do all kinds of mischief. Well, we mustn't talk away here, but see to the men, and get ready for what's to come." "Do you think they'll attack us to-day?"