Mark did look as sharp as he could, hurriedly washing and dressing, while still feeling stupid and thick with sleep.
As he went down he saw one of the servants, and asked for Sir Edward, but learned that his father had not long gone to his chamber.
He went out of the battered hall-door, looked round at the shivered casements and the walls blackened and whitened by the powder blast, and then hurried through the gateway into the outer court.
But Dummy was not there now, so he passed through and saw the boy waiting at the entrance of the gateway which had protected the bridge so poorly on the previous night.
“Where is he?” cried Mark.
“Bit o’ the way down the path,” was the reply.
“Is it Captain Purlrose?” asked Mark.
“Yah! No, not him. T’other enemy.”
“What enemy? Whom do you mean?”
“Him you hate so. Young Ralph Darley.”