Roy turned to recross the bridge, feeling as if, in spite of all, this was part of a dream, when something on high began to flutter over the great gate tower, and glancing up, it was to see there in front, gazing down at them as she leaned forward in one of the embrasures, Lady Royland.
“What is it to be, Roy?” she cried, as he came closer. “Peace or war?”
“War!” he replied, sternly; and the sound seemed to be whispered in many tones through the great archway as the portcullis fell with its heavy clang and the drawbridge began to rise.
Chapter Twenty.
War to the Knife.
War to the knife without a doubt, for in the gathering gloom of the evening, as Roy went up to the top of the north-west tower, followed by Master Pawson, it was to see that mounted men were in a goodly body making a complete circuit of the castle, roughly marking out a line about half a mile in diameter, and at every hundred yards or so a couple of troopers were halted, and retained their posts.
“Shutting us in, Master Pawson,” said Roy, after watching the manoeuvre for some time.
“Ah!” said the secretary, with a sigh; “they will patrol the country all round now, and stop communications with the outside.”