A strange breaking sound, and the rattling of the windows as a heavy report followed directly after, and Roy sprang from the chair he had taken by the wounded man’s couch.
“On’y hark, sir—that was my gun atop o’ the gate tower begun firing, and me not there.”
“Be patient, Sam,” cried Roy, excitedly. “It was not one of our guns, but the enemy’s, and the fight has begun in earnest. Good-bye, and lie still.”
He was half across the room as he said this, and the door opened to admit Lady Royland, looking deadly pale.
“Roy, my boy,” she cried, in a low, pained voice, as she caught his hands; “they are firing.”
“Yes, mother; and so will we,” cried the lad, excitedly.
“You—you will not expose yourself rashly,” she whispered; “you will take care?”
“I’m going to try not to do anything foolish, mother,” he said; “but I must be with the men.”
She clung to him wildly, and her lips trembled as she tried to speak; but no words came, and Roy bent forward, kissed her, and tried to withdraw his hands, but they were too tightly held.
Boom! came another report following closely upon a peculiar whizzing sound, apparently over the open window.