sir. He made a big cut at me; but I'll
know my gen'leman again. I'll have a sword next time and pay him back;
and so I tell him." Ben was down upon his knees, busy with a scarf,
binding the wound firmly, a faint suggestion of the coming day making
his task easier; and, summoning help, a rough litter was formed of a
plank, and the wounded man rapidly carried in over the bridge.

That brought the defensive operations to an end, for Roy withdrew his
men into the castle, and the daylight showed their rough work, which
pretty well secured the gate-way; but it also displayed the work of the
enemy, who had constructed a well-shaped earthwork, out of whose
embrasures peered a couple of big guns.

The rapidly increasing light, too, showed something more, for about a
couple of hundred yards from the outworks, a horse, saddled and bridled,
lay upon its side, quite dead; for the terrible stroke the miller's man
had delivered with his pickaxe had struck into the horse's spine.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

LADY ROYLAND TURNS NURSE.

Roy was face to face with the first of the stern realities of war, as he
hurried into the long chamber beneath the eastern rampart, which Lady
Royland had set apart for the use of any of the men who might, she said,
"turn ill."

Poor Sam Donny had fainted away before he reached the hospital-room, and
upon Roy entering, eager to render assistance, it was to find himself
forestalled by Lady Royland, who, with the old housekeeper, attended to
the wounded man.

Lady Royland hurried to her son, as he appeared at the door.

"No," she said, firmly, "not now: leave this to us. It is our duty."

"But, mother, do you understand?" protested Roy.

"Better, perhaps, than any one here," she replied. "Go to your duties;
but come by-and-by to see how the poor fellow is. It will cheer him."

Roy could not refuse to obey the order, and hurried back to meet Ben on
the way to the sufferer's side.

"Not go in?" said the sergeant. "Her ladyship says so? Oh, very well--
then of course it is all right."

"But I feel so anxious," said Roy; "my mother is not a chirurgeon."

"More aren't we, Master Roy; but she's what's just as good--a splendid
nurse. So's old Grey's wife; so Sam Donny's in clover. I was being a
bit anxious about him, for fear Master Pawson was doing the doctoring,
and I'd rather trust myself."

"But the wound--the terrible wound?" cried Roy.

"Tchah! Nothing terrible about that, captain