"Famously quiet, sir. Not even an owl to trouble it. The sentinels have
kept their eyes wide open, dread of the scalping-knife being a good
wakener, and no sign of any alarm has been seen. I will wait for your
honour, in the court, the moment of relieving guard being often chosen
by a cunning enemy for the assault."

"Yes," sputtered the captain, his face just emerging from the
water--"if he happen to know when that is."

In another minute, the two old soldiers were together in the court,
waiting the return of Jamie Allen with his report, the mason having
been sent round to the beds of the fresh men to call the guard. It was
not long, however, before the old man was seen hastening towards the
spot where Joyce had bid him come.

"The Lord ha' maircy on us, and on a' wretched sinners!" exclaimed
Jamie, as soon as near enough to be heard without raising his voice on
too high a key--"there are just the beds of the three Connecticut lads
that were to come into the laird's guard, as empty as a robin's nest
fra' which the yang ha' flown!"

"Do you mean, Jamie, that the boys have deserted?"

"It's just that; and no need of ca'ing it by anither name. The Hoose o'
Hanover wad seem to have put the de'il in a' the lads, women and
children included, and to have raised up a spirit o' disaffection, that
is fast leaving us to carry on this terrible warfare with our ain
hearts and bodies."

"With your honour's permission," said the serjeant, "I would ask
corporal Allen if the deserters have gone off with their arms and
accoutrements?"

"Airms? Ay, and legs, and a' belonging to 'em, with mair that is the
lawfu' property of the laird. Not so much as a flint is left behind."

"Then we may count on seeing all the fellows in the enemy's ranks," the
serjeant quietly remarked, helping himself to the tobacco from which he
had refrained throughout the previous hours of the night, Joyce being
too much of a _martinet_ to smoke or chew on duty. "It's up-hill
work, your honour, when every deserter counts two, in this manner. The
civil wars, however, are remarkable for this sort of wheeling, and
facing to the right-about; the same man often changing his colours two
or three times in a campaign."

Captain Willoughby received the news of this addition to his ill luck
with an air of military stoicism, though he felt, in reality, more like
a father and a husband on the occasion than like a hero. Accustomed to
self-command, he succeeded in