The conversation came to an end, Roy walking off into the court-yard, a garden no longer, to see a squadron of horse drawn up before starting upon some reconnoissance. They rode out to the sound of the trumpet; and as the horses' hoofs echoed on the lowered bridge, and mingled with their snorting and the jingle of the accoutrements, Roy felt his heart burn within him, and the longing to be free grew almost unbearable. As the drawbridge was raised again, a grunt behind him made the boy turn sharply, to face the old sergeant, who had come up, his step unheard amidst the tramping of the horses as they passed over the planks. "Sets one longing, sir, don't it?" said Ben. "Ay, it does," said Roy, sighing. "'Tick'larly at your age, sir. Why, I almost wish my wound hadn't got well. It did give me something to think about. If I go on with nothing to do much longer, they'll have to dig a hole to bury me." "Nonsense, Ben!" "No, it aren't nonsense, sir; for you see I always was a busy man. Now there's no armour to polish, no guns to look after, no powder-magazine to work at, and no one to drill. I'm just getting rusty, right through to the heart." "But you've been weak and ill, Ben, and a rest does you good." "No, it don't, sir. Does t'others good; and thanks to my lady and the doctor, every one's got well 'cept Sam Donny, whose leg is reg'lar twissen up like, and as if it would never come straight again. Seems queer, too, as a wound uppards should affect him so downards." "Oh, he'll be right when the war's over." "When it's over, sir? But when will that be?" "Ah! I don't know, Ben," said Roy, with a sigh. "But there, don't fret. Take it easy for a bit, and grow strong." "I am strong, sir. Strong as a horse--but do I look like the sort of man to take it easy? I've sat on that bench in the sun warming one side, and turning and warming the other side, till I've felt as if I hated myself. It aren't as if I could read. Begin to wish I could now, not as I ever knowed much good come out o' books." "Why, Ben!" "Ah, you may say `Why, Ben!' sir, but look what books'll bring a man to! Look at that there Fiddler Pawson. Shuts hisself up even now, doing nothing but read, and only comes out o' nights, and goes prowling round the ramparts like an old black tom-cat. You can often hear the sentries challenging him." "Oh, that's it, is it?" said Roy. "I've heard them challenge some one when I've been watching the stars." "What business have you watching the stars o' nights, sir?" said Ben, sourly. "Can't always sleep, Ben, for thinking." "Humph!" growled the man. "Howsoever, sir, I do live in hopes." "Yes; so do I." "Ah, not same as me, sir. I lives in hopes o' one o' the sentries making a mistake some night." "And shooting him, Ben?" The sergeant winked, nodded, and rubbed his hands. "Only wish they'd put me on duty, sir." "You wouldn't shoot him, Ben, if they did."