“You must not give up too much to Martlet, my boy,” said Lady Royland, retaining her son’s hand as he rose to go. “He is a faithful old servant, and will fight for us to the death; but remember that you are governor of the castle.”
“He makes me remember it, mother,” cried Roy, merrily. “Don’t you be afraid of his being presuming, for he will not do a thing without I give the order. There, good-bye.”
“Good-bye? You will be back soon.”
“No,” replied Roy; “I must be on the battlements all night, visiting posts and helping to keep watch. You forget that the enemy surround us now.”
“Alas! no, Roy. I know it only too well. Come back in an hour’s time—you will want some refreshment. I will see that it is ready, and I hope by then you will find things so quiet that you can take a few hours’ rest.”
“We shall see, mother,” said Roy, kissing her affectionately. “How brave you have grown!”
She shook her head sadly as she clung to him for a few moments; and, as soon as the door had closed, and his steps died away on the oaken floor of the corridor, she sank in a chair sobbing as if her heart would break.