cowards.--How
many men do you think there are coming against us, Martlet?"

"Seven or eight hundred, my lady."

"And will they attack this evening?"

"No, my lady; they don't come to attack strongholds with mounted men.
They're coming to call upon us to throw open the gates and surrender the
place; and this is the answer, I think, my lady, is it not?" and he
pointed to the flag.

"Yes, Martlet," said Lady Royland, flushing; "that is our answer to such
an insolent demand."

She turned and left the tower, attended by Master Pawson, and Roy
remained there watching the long line of mounted men approaching with
their arms glittering in the light. "Seven or eight hundred," he said,
half aloud, "against thirty-six."

"Haven't counted the guns, Master Roy, nor the moat, nor the towers, nor
all the other strong things we have. Pah! what's a regiment of horse
against a place like this? But they know, and they're only coming to
bully us, sir."

"I hope you are right, Ben," said the lad, seriously; and he waited for
the approach of the men till they were halted about a couple of hundred
yards away from the tower on which he stood, forming up in squadrons;
and after a time an officer, bearing a little white flag, advanced,
followed at a short distance by a couple of troopers. Roy's heart beat
fast, for he felt that a crucial time had come.

"You'll have to go down, Master Roy; and we must lower the bridge for
you to go out and meet him and hear what he has to say."

"Must I, Ben?"

"Of course, sir; and, if you give the order, the corporal and I will
come behind you as your guard."

"And suppose, when the bridge is down, the others make a rush?"

"Flag o' truce, sir. But if they did, our guns would sweep 'em away."

"And what about us, Ben?"

"Well, sir," said the old fellow, drily, "we should be swep' away too."

"I say, Ben!"

"Yes, sir, sounds nasty; but soldiers has to take their chance o' that
sort o' thing, and look at the honour and glory of it all. Ready, sir?"

"Yes," said Roy, in a husky voice; and a minute later he stood with the
two martial-looking figures behind, and the drawbridge slowly descended
in front. The two guns were manned, a small guard of three was behind
each, and the port-fires sparkled and shot tiny little flashes of fire
as if eager to burst out into flame.

Just then, as Roy was watching the heads of the three mounted men coming
slowly forward, and, as the end of the bridge