Against us he is only a subordinate, controlled by some stupid
major-general."

Eleven o'clock came, and there were twenty-seven men in the tent.
Besides these were the several officers of the regiment in camp, who
were in their quarters ready for the signal.

At the door of the mess tent rose a tall flag-pole, with halyards
attached, which entered the tent. To these, by the hands of Dacre, was
fastened the Royal Standard of England, to be given to the breeze at the
sound of the noonday gun.

At half-past eleven the bugles of the infantry regiments were heard
sounding for a general parade; and in a few minutes the scarlet lines
were seen on the parade ground, forming, wheeling, and marching into
brigade formation.

The commanding officer and the colonels of six out of seven regiments
would call on the troops to cheer for King George when they saw the
royal banner at the mast. Inside the mess tent there was a scene of
quiet preparation, which had its ludicrous as well as pathetic features.
Many of the Royalists had come in military uniforms of various kinds and
countries. As the hour drew near they laid aside their overcoats, and
composed an odd group for a military critic. The Duke of Bayswater wore
an old red tunic of the yeomanry cavalry, which he had commanded in his
county half a century before; Mr. Sydney a lancer's fatigue jacket,
which he had worn as a lieutenant in King Edward's time; there was one
in the tunic of a captain of French artillery, and several others wore
continental uniforms. Every one was armed in some way or other.

As the infantry brigade wheeled into line on the parade-ground a distant
trumpet sounded far in the rear.

"Dacre, what is that trumpet?" asked Geoffrey, in a low tone.

Dacre looked at his watch as he listened. He did not reply, but shook
his head and smiled at Geoffrey.

"That is an artillery trumpet," said the old officer to whom Geoffrey
had spoken before, and who now came quietly to Dacre. "It came from the
direction of Colonel Devereux's battery--though I remember distinctly he
told me that this was not a field day."

It was clear to Geoffrey's eye that Dacre was suffering under some heavy
fear or despondency that quelled his excitement. There was a look in his
face of tense expectancy that was pitiful to his friend.

"The King was to have been here at eleven," said Geoffrey to him at
last. "It is now twenty minutes to twelve. Can anything have happened,
Dacre?"

D