sank, seeing their chests,
the horses' heads, and finally their legs come into sight, Ben leaned
towards him, and said, in a whisper--

"They don't know how young you are, sir. Let 'em hear my dear old
colonel speaking with your lips."

"Yes," said Roy, huskily; "but what am I to say, Ben?"

"You don't want no telling, sir. Advance now."

The officer had halted his men about fifty yards from the outer gate,
and rode forward a few paces before drawing rein and waiting for some
action on the part of those he had come to see; and he looked rather
surprised as they stepped forward now, crossed the bridge, and advanced
to meet him. For he had not anticipated to find such careful
preparations, nor to see the personage who came to meet him in so
perfect a military trim, and supported by a couple of soldiers whose
bearing was regular to a degree.

The officer was a grim, stern, hard-looking, middle-aged man, and his
garb and breastplate were of the commonest and plainest description. He
seemed to glance with something like contempt at the elegantly fluted
and embossed armour the boy was wearing, and, above all, at the gay sash
Lady Royland's loving hands had fastened across his breast. But his
attention was keen as he scanned the soldierly bearing of Ben and the
corporal, and a feeling of envy filled his breast as he compared them
with his own rough following. Perhaps he would not have thought so much
if he had seen the rest of the garrison, but they were too distant.

Roy saluted the officer, and drew a deep breath as he tried to string up
his nerves till they were stretched like a bow. For Ben's words had
gone home, and he felt fully how big a part he had to play.

The officer saluted in response in a quick, abrupt manner, and said
shortly:

"I come from the general commanding the army here in the west, to demand
that you give up peaceable possession of this castle, once the property
of the rebel, Sir Granby Royland, who is now in arms against the
Parliament of England."

Roy gave a start at the word "rebel," and felt the hot blood rise to his
cheeks. That insult acted like a spur. The nervous trepidation had
gone, for there was no room for it alongside of the anger which flashed
through him. Ben was right: the boy knew what to say. It was there
ready, and only wanted bringing out.

"Look here, sir!" he cried, sharply; "you come here under a flag of
truce to deliver a message, but that does not warrant