“Yes,” said Roy, frowning; “and I suppose I must give up all hope of the men from the farm getting in.”
“Ah, yes! they are prisoners before this. So your poor father is looked upon as a rebel now.”
“Stop, Master Pawson,” said Roy, hotly; “these words must not be spoken here.”
“I only meant them as the opinion of the other party, who presume to say the estate is confiscated.”
“My father acknowledges no other party. Confiscated! Why, this place has belonged to the Roylands from the days of the Plantagenets, Master Pawson. Let these people come and take it if they can.”
“Ah, yes! that’s brave and true, Roy, brave and true. Then you do mean to fight?”
“Yes, and you too,” cried the boy. “You want to save my father’s estate.”
“Oh, yes, I want to save the estate,” said the secretary, eagerly.
“Then do everything you can,” cried Roy. “Yes, they will soon have formed a ring round the castle now! Well, let them keep their distance, for I shall give orders for the garrison to fire at any one who attempts to approach.”
“And how long do you hope to be able to hold out?”