ons--a flitch of bacon or a bag of
potatoes--against a possible siege. They chose their billets in the
barns, hay-lofts, granaries, the cider-house, even the empty
cattle-stalls, and under the brisk captaincy of Trevarthen fell to work
stockading the weak spots in the defence and piercing loopholes in the
outer walls. Finding that the slope behind the house commanded an open
space in the south-west corner of the yard, they even began to erect a
breastwork here, behind which they might defy musketry.

That night fifty-six men supped in Steens kitchen, drank Roger's health,
and laughed over their labours. But in the midst of their mirth Roger, on
his way to the cellar with a cider-keg under each arm, was intercepted by
Malachi, who should have been standing sentry by the yard gate.

"Go back to your post, you careless fool!" commanded Roger, but the old
man, beckoning mysteriously, led him out and across the dark yard to a
pent beside the gate, and there in the deep shadow he could just discern
the figure of a man--a very short man, but erect and somehow formidable
even before he spoke.

"Good evening, Stephen!" said the stranger in a low, easy voice.

"Sir John!" Roger drew back apace.

"Ay, and very much at your service. I'm your friend, if you'll believe
me, and I don't doubt you've been hardly used; but there's one thing to be
done, and you must do it at once. To be short, stop this fooling; and
quit."

"'Quit'?" echoed Roger.

"This very night. You've put yourself on the wrong side of the law, or
allowed yourself to be put there. You're in the ditch, my friend, and
pretty deep. I won't say but I can get you righted in some fashion--you
may count on my trying, at least. But you've fired on the Under-Sheriff,
the law's after you, and not a hand can I lift until you quit Steens and
make yourself scarce for awhile."

"'Quit Steens'?" Roger echoed again with his hand to his forehead.
"But, Sir John, you are fresh home from London, and you don't know the
rights o' this: 'tis just to bide in Steens and be left quiet that I'm
fighting. And here's the whole country to back me, Sir John; over fifty
men in my kitchen at this moment, and all ready to burn powder rather than
see this wrong committed on me!"

"Yes, yes, so I've just discovered," answered Sir John impatiently;
"and there's your worst peril, Stephen. Man, I tell you this makes
matters worse; and to-morrow may turn them from worse to incurable.